This weekend, I was forced to watch an animal movie. It’s true – forced. My husband has been trying to get me to watch Secretariat for weeks and I flat out refused. This animal lover hates watching animal movies because they always make me cry. I hate to cry. It doesn’t matter if it’s a happy movie – any heart-tugging story will turn on my waterworks. Besides, I grew up in a horse-loving family and I knew the story of the horse known as Big Red. Sure enough, Big Red made me cry, but he also brought back some long-forgotten memories.
I grew up on the east coast – Maryland, to be exact. Every summer, we would visit my grandparent’s farm. That farm was a kid’s dream. And because I happened to love animals, it was paradise. My grandparents had dogs, cats, chickens and, of course, a pony. Her name was Nelly and she was the first love of my life. She was the same color as Big Red, but she had a shiny mane as black as coal. Her mane was so long that it would get in her eyes. I’d feel bad for her and trim it with Granny’s scissors.
I can’t remember a time at my grandparents without Nelly. She lived in the barn about a quarter of a mile from the house. I would constantly beg my grandfather (I called him “Pop”) to bring her into the yard. Of course, he always did and then Nelly and I would disappear for the entire day. Back then, we kids could go out on our own without causing great concern to the adults. I would ride through the thick woods that lined the mountain road where Granny and Pop lived. I loved hearing Nelly’s “clippity clop” as we traveled down the blacktop road. All the kids could hear us coming and would run up to pet her soft nose or give her a carrot. Then, we’d go off the beaten track and ride all day. I was sad to leave Nelly at the end of every summer, having to go home, where there were no horses.
The horseless situation didn’t last for long. My parents realized my love of riding and eventually succumbed to my begging for a horse. But before we got our own, I took riding lessons. Every Saturday morning, I’d be up at the crack of dawn, ready to go to the barn. I was learning to ride English style. I always rode Nelly bareback or with a Western saddle, so this was something new for me. And I loved every minute, especially the jumping. There was nothing more exhilarating than galloping on a horse with the wind in my hair, feeling at one with the horse, then leaving the ground to glide through the air as she jumped over a fence.
And then, it was time for my dad and me to go find a horse for me. I remember taking the hour-long ride to the auction. I’m not exactly sure how my dad (a complete “Yankee” and city boy) knew where to go to find a horse. It was an overwhelming experience for me. There were horses of all shapes and sizes. I wanted to take them all home. My dad apparently did, too, because instead of bringing one home, we brought back three.
Madison was a gorgeous white horse with a white mane. She was a Lipizzaner and was known to prance around the grounds. Casey was a Palomino and as blonde as I was at the time. She was feisty and a little stubborn – a lot like me, or so I’m told. Peaches was an Appaloosa, a breed known for their distinctive leopard-spotted coats. She was a soft cream color and her spots had a reddish tint to them. Her mane was dark brown and she stood out like no other horse I’ve known. She also happened to be pregnant. Tommy came along a few months later. He was chestnut with the traditional white saddle markings of many Appaloosas. Peaches died while giving birth to Tommy.
Every weekend, I’d go riding. Madison was fast and a fearless jumper. When I’d take her out, we’d race like the wind and fly over fallen trees, faster and faster until we were both exhausted. Like Secretariat, she simply loved to run.
I’d take Casey out on occasion, too. She was a stocky little girl and loved to go on long rides most of the time. She did have a stubborn streak and when she was done, I knew it. Once, while taking a twilight ride through the cornfields, Casey decided she was ready to go back to the barn. I, on the other hand, was not. It was a battle of wills – my stubbornness against hers. Who won? She did. My saddle unexpectedly broke and I landed on my head in the middle of a field. By the time I got up, Casey was long gone. I was about a mile away and had to carry my 50-pound saddle home. When I got back to the barn, Casey was there and turned to look at me, pawing at the ground and tossing her blonde head back. Yes, I’d say she was laughing at me.
I’d forgotten how much I loved riding and how much of my life was spent wandering the wilderness with these gorgeous creatures. It looks like a new hobby may be in store for me. I think my husband may regret forcing me to watch Secretariat. Or maybe he’ll join me for a sunset ride and fall in love with the majestic beauty of a galloping steed. There’s nothing quite like it in the world.
Lori Fusaro has been voted the best portrait photographer by FoxTV three years in a row. She lives in Culver City with her husband, four cats and dog. Contact: Lori@FusaroPhotography.com or FusaroPhotography.com.
