During the mid 1970's I traveled on the Indiana Horse Show circuit. Waking at 4AM, driving my car or joining a caravan of sorts, a show awaited. Some were at beautifully manicured lawns of expensive private estates, some were in muddy fields at night under spot lights.
The sounds and smells of a horse show--nothing else like it. Prim and proper English saddle or Cowboy hat Western, all the horses and riders are at their prime and eager to show off.
At one jumping show, there was THE horse to beat. What a horse! Every time he jumped, always a perfect jump, he kicked up his heels. So cute.
I never had the guts to ride the big horses, but I did take a stab at the ponies. The large estate I hung out at with my horse-loving lover, was so dreamy. In evaluating my broken heart when I was dumped, I came to realize that much of what I missed was the surroundings of our time together. That magical estate, with rolling hills of green, the early morning mist rising from the dew from the acres of grass, the scent of straw, the soft sound of birds--I didn't know it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
The estate was so big, the owner so wealthy, that Bob Hope once flew in for a visit, a birthday party, I think. In the middle of Indiana nowhere. All hush-hush. One old lady down the dirt road had a MJ Neverland type "yard" with lions, giraffes, and miniature horses in her mansion. One could drive past this estates and never have a clue what laid ahead, through all the trees.
Once I drove down the long road to the estate home and my love was hanging from a tree top with white flowers in her hair, "babysitting" the owner's children, much like the scene from The Sound of Music. Can you blame me for not wanting to lose all of that?
It still amazes me--how such magical places are hidden next to the cornfields of Indiana.
I would never go to a horse show again. Too many memories I chose to forget.
She called me, my young lover, in the middle of the night, to drive her to the stall where a horse was giving birth. I was at her beck and call, so I drove with urgency, speeding down winding, dark country roads, and we arrived just in time to see a baby horse being born.
So many memories.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Indiana Horse Show Memories and Bob Hope
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The sounds and smells of a horse show--nothing else like it. Prim and proper English saddle or Cowboy hat Western, all the horses and riders are at their prime and eager to show off.
At one jumping show, there was THE horse to beat. What a horse! Every time he jumped, always a perfect jump, he kicked up his heels. So cute.
I never had the guts to ride the big horses, but I did take a stab at the ponies. The large estate I hung out at with my horse-loving lover, was so dreamy. In evaluating my broken heart when I was dumped, I came to realize that much of what I missed was the surroundings of our time together. That magical estate, with rolling hills of green, the early morning mist rising from the dew from the acres of grass, the scent of straw, the soft sound of birds--I didn't know it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
The estate was so big, the owner so wealthy, that Bob Hope once flew in for a visit, a birthday party, I think. In the middle of Indiana nowhere. All hush-hush. One old lady down the dirt road had a MJ Neverland type "yard" with lions, giraffes, and miniature horses in her mansion. One could drive past this estates and never have a clue what laid ahead, through all the trees.
Once I drove down the long road to the estate home and my love was hanging from a tree top with white flowers in her hair, "babysitting" the owner's children, much like the scene from The Sound of Music. Can you blame me for not wanting to lose all of that?
It still amazes me--how such magical places are hidden next to the cornfields of Indiana.
I would never go to a horse show again. Too many memories I chose to forget.
She called me, my young lover, in the middle of the night, to drive her to the stall where a horse was giving birth. I was at her beck and call, so I drove with urgency, speeding down winding, dark country roads, and we arrived just in time to see a baby horse being born.
So many memories.
The sounds and smells of a horse show--nothing else like it. Prim and proper English saddle or Cowboy hat Western, all the horses and riders are at their prime and eager to show off.
At one jumping show, there was THE horse to beat. What a horse! Every time he jumped, always a perfect jump, he kicked up his heels. So cute.
I never had the guts to ride the big horses, but I did take a stab at the ponies. The large estate I hung out at with my horse-loving lover, was so dreamy. In evaluating my broken heart when I was dumped, I came to realize that much of what I missed was the surroundings of our time together. That magical estate, with rolling hills of green, the early morning mist rising from the dew from the acres of grass, the scent of straw, the soft sound of birds--I didn't know it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
The estate was so big, the owner so wealthy, that Bob Hope once flew in for a visit, a birthday party, I think. In the middle of Indiana nowhere. All hush-hush. One old lady down the dirt road had a MJ Neverland type "yard" with lions, giraffes, and miniature horses in her mansion. One could drive past this estates and never have a clue what laid ahead, through all the trees.
Once I drove down the long road to the estate home and my love was hanging from a tree top with white flowers in her hair, "babysitting" the owner's children, much like the scene from The Sound of Music. Can you blame me for not wanting to lose all of that?
It still amazes me--how such magical places are hidden next to the cornfields of Indiana.
I would never go to a horse show again. Too many memories I chose to forget.
She called me, my young lover, in the middle of the night, to drive her to the stall where a horse was giving birth. I was at her beck and call, so I drove with urgency, speeding down winding, dark country roads, and we arrived just in time to see a baby horse being born.
So many memories.
The sounds and smells of a horse show--nothing else like it. Prim and proper English saddle or Cowboy hat Western, all the horses and riders are at their prime and eager to show off.
At one jumping show, there was THE horse to beat. What a horse! Every time he jumped, always a perfect jump, he kicked up his heels. So cute.
I never had the guts to ride the big horses, but I did take a stab at the ponies. The large estate I hung out at with my horse-loving lover, was so dreamy. In evaluating my broken heart when I was dumped, I came to realize that much of what I missed was the surroundings of our time together. That magical estate, with rolling hills of green, the early morning mist rising from the dew from the acres of grass, the scent of straw, the soft sound of birds--I didn't know it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
The estate was so big, the owner so wealthy, that Bob Hope once flew in for a visit, a birthday party, I think. In the middle of Indiana nowhere. All hush-hush. One old lady down the dirt road had a MJ Neverland type "yard" with lions, giraffes, and miniature horses in her mansion. One could drive past this estates and never have a clue what laid ahead, through all the trees.
Once I drove down the long road to the estate home and my love was hanging from a tree top with white flowers in her hair, "babysitting" the owner's children, much like the scene from The Sound of Music. Can you blame me for not wanting to lose all of that?
It still amazes me--how such magical places are hidden next to the cornfields of Indiana.
I would never go to a horse show again. Too many memories I chose to forget.
She called me, my young lover, in the middle of the night, to drive her to the stall where a horse was giving birth. I was at her beck and call, so I drove with urgency, speeding down winding, dark country roads, and we arrived just in time to see a baby horse being born.
So many memories.
The sounds and smells of a horse show--nothing else like it. Prim and proper English saddle or Cowboy hat Western, all the horses and riders are at their prime and eager to show off.
At one jumping show, there was THE horse to beat. What a horse! Every time he jumped, always a perfect jump, he kicked up his heels. So cute.
I never had the guts to ride the big horses, but I did take a stab at the ponies. The large estate I hung out at with my horse-loving lover, was so dreamy. In evaluating my broken heart when I was dumped, I came to realize that much of what I missed was the surroundings of our time together. That magical estate, with rolling hills of green, the early morning mist rising from the dew from the acres of grass, the scent of straw, the soft sound of birds--I didn't know it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
The estate was so big, the owner so wealthy, that Bob Hope once flew in for a visit, a birthday party, I think. In the middle of Indiana nowhere. All hush-hush. One old lady down the dirt road had a MJ Neverland type "yard" with lions, giraffes, and miniature horses in her mansion. One could drive past this estates and never have a clue what laid ahead, through all the trees.
Once I drove down the long road to the estate home and my love was hanging from a tree top with white flowers in her hair, "babysitting" the owner's children, much like the scene from The Sound of Music. Can you blame me for not wanting to lose all of that?
It still amazes me--how such magical places are hidden next to the cornfields of Indiana.
I would never go to a horse show again. Too many memories I chose to forget.
She called me, my young lover, in the middle of the night, to drive her to the stall where a horse was giving birth. I was at her beck and call, so I drove with urgency, speeding down winding, dark country roads, and we arrived just in time to see a baby horse being born.
So many memories.
The sounds and smells of a horse show--nothing else like it. Prim and proper English saddle or Cowboy hat Western, all the horses and riders are at their prime and eager to show off.
At one jumping show, there was THE horse to beat. What a horse! Every time he jumped, always a perfect jump, he kicked up his heels. So cute.
I never had the guts to ride the big horses, but I did take a stab at the ponies. The large estate I hung out at with my horse-loving lover, was so dreamy. In evaluating my broken heart when I was dumped, I came to realize that much of what I missed was the surroundings of our time together. That magical estate, with rolling hills of green, the early morning mist rising from the dew from the acres of grass, the scent of straw, the soft sound of birds--I didn't know it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
The estate was so big, the owner so wealthy, that Bob Hope once flew in for a visit, a birthday party, I think. In the middle of Indiana nowhere. All hush-hush. One old lady down the dirt road had a MJ Neverland type "yard" with lions, giraffes, and miniature horses in her mansion. One could drive past this estates and never have a clue what laid ahead, through all the trees.
Once I drove down the long road to the estate home and my love was hanging from a tree top with white flowers in her hair, "babysitting" the owner's children, much like the scene from The Sound of Music. Can you blame me for not wanting to lose all of that?
It still amazes me--how such magical places are hidden next to the cornfields of Indiana.
I would never go to a horse show again. Too many memories I chose to forget.
She called me, my young lover, in the middle of the night, to drive her to the stall where a horse was giving birth. I was at her beck and call, so I drove with urgency, speeding down winding, dark country roads, and we arrived just in time to see a baby horse being born.
So many memories.
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