For the men the day had started a few hours before. The men worked for hours. Instead of a few hours to the men it felt like years. When the men came home the women’s day started. They cooked and cleaned for hours. To the women the hours felt like years. When the people lay down on their fluffy beds to sleep the animals’ day began. They hunted, nursed, and dodged their enemy. They did this for hours. To the animals it felt like years. The hours were years to the people and animals. Everyone wanted a horse to ride. They were slick and much faster than walking. Out in the open, a white-silver mare roamed around in circles, charging every movement. Her mother had been captured and forced to leave her foal. The mare was so beautiful the people all wanted to capture her and tame her too. The snow was Mother Earth’s protection for the mare. The mare was hard to find because of her white coat. Some people called the mare Silver Ghost. Some called her The Snow Goddess. Others call her Snowflake. But no matter what you call her she will capture your eyes and hide them in her flaky mane. The mare and foal didn’t need to worry about men anymore The mare was not just beautiful and fluffy and soft, but she was as fast as the wind, as slick as a fox, and as quiet as the dead. Many men had tried to capture her with tricks and food. But the mare had learned about the tricks and was too smart for the foolish men. But she had to deal with one problem. Winter. Though the crystal trees and blankets of fluffy white snow were beautiful, the mare had to find food. She had two hard choices: she could either go down low near her enemy, men, or go up high where men were not likely to come but there was less food. One winter the mare had made the choice of going near men. The first day the mare stayed up in the mountains. The second day she went to graze in the furthest place from men where there was grass. The grass freshened up the mare’s mouth. In the summer the men came often to the grassy place. The mare was white and couldn’t use camouflage then. Every day the mare hoped for mist. She would run into the mist and disappear like a ghost. But not every day was a storm of mist bound to come. The men would come and go. The mare became tired out. The mare was expecting a foal. The men knew now that they could capture her. When the foal was born she got started with its lessons of survival. The mare showed the foal the good foods and the bad food. She also taught the foal how to escape traps and how to avoid traps. The men were amazed. The mare was impossible to capture. The men couldn’t stay by the mare forever. Their food was running out. They had no choice but to leave. They had to leave the land. They did the mare a great favor. The mare and foal didn’t need to worry about men anymore. But the mare kept teaching her foal to avoid men and their traps and harm. The foal won’t be captured, thought the mare. It was quite unlikely for the mare’s baby to be captured because his mom was the great top horse of the land. But one day the mare had to let the foal go. Now full-grown, he had to leave. Neither the mare nor the mare’s son wanted to leave one another, but the mare knew her son’s life would not be complete if they stayed together forever. The mare was weak. It was her turn to leave the crystal mountains and never-ending valleys. She had lived a life of freedom. She could be free forever, but she could not live forever. Emily Villano, 7Rochester, New York Lina Kavaliunas, 9Hoffman Estates, Illinois
Horses
The Riding Lesson
The gravel crunched under the weight of my wheels, and for a moment I held my breath fearing my chair would tip over as one side was lifted as it went over a rock. But my chair righted itself and I continued down the path to the barn. I was certain I could see my heart pounding against my sweater. I hate to admit that I was scared, but I was. I had told my mother to wait in the office. Since the accident, I had needed her help so many times to do so many things, this I wanted to do by myself. I had met Lucy, the riding instructor, when I came here two weeks ago to visit, and I recognized her at once as the only familiar face. I wheeled over to where she was standing inside the barn with a saddle cradled in her arms. She told me to wait while Chelsea, the horse I’d be riding today, was being tacked up. I was too embarrassed to ask what that meant. Then Lucy walked out of the barn into the stable. A flash of color caught my eyes as I sat there. Someone was flying a kite in a nearby field. I watched as the kite dipped and then shot straight up. The kite moved across the sky like a ballet dancer, but thinking about it, it occurred to me that the kite couldn’t move on its own. It needs the wind to lift and carry it, and it was connected to a person who controlled it. My thoughts were interrupted by another girl walking into the barn, leaning heavily on a crutch. I sat and she stood for about five minutes in silence before I saw Lucy return to the stable area, now leading a horse. I reached up to stroke her nose “Am I riding Garfield again today?” asked the girl with the crutch as soon as she saw Lucy, and Lucy nodded. The girl smiled broadly. “I just love my Garfield!” she said, turning toward me. Lucy brought the horse over to me. “This is Chelsea,” she said, and then addressing the horse, “Chelsea, this is Clara, she’ll be riding you today.” She turned to me again, “Do you want to pet her? She won’t bite you. Just be really gentle.” I reached up to stroke her nose. She snorted and I quickly pulled back. “Chelsea, have some manners! You’ll have to wait a few more minutes, Clara. There was a mix-up in the tack room,” said Lucy. I nodded, “OK.” Lucy walked Chelsea over to a post and tied her to it, then she walked back past me and into the stable area. I drummed my fingers on my helmet, which sat in my lap. I watched the girl with the crutch still leaning against the wall. She was looking into the arena watching the lesson that was going on now. Suddenly, she turned to look at me. This startled me, and I hit my helmet, sending it rolling off my lap. I peered over my knees and looked down at it. I tried to reach it, but I knew that was pointless. The girl with the crutch saw me and started hobbling over to help. “Oh, no, you don’t have to . . .” I started to say, but she just shook her head and stiffly bent down to pick it up. Then I realized that she did have to, not her in particular, but anyone. I couldn’t even pick something up by myself, I felt so useless. The girl slowly stood back up. “Here,” she said, handing it to me. “Thanks,” I replied. ” I’m Helen,” she said, and then pointed to her knee. “Just had surgery done last month. I used to ride a few years ago, so now I’m riding again to help it get stronger.” I nodded and replied, “I’m Clara,” but refused to tell her why I had come. She didn’t seem to mind. Garfield was brought out and Helen gave a little shriek of delight, and rushed over to him the best she could, wrapping her free arm that wasn’t holding her crutch around the pony’s neck. “Isn’t he just adorable?” she asked me. I nodded. Then Chelsea was untied and brought over. Seeing her this second time, with her saddle on and ready to go, made me realize how nervous I really was. Although she was a small horse—maybe a pony—she seemed big to me, looking up at her. “Over here,” said Lucy, as she began to lead Chelsea over to the mounting ramp. I followed behind and wheeled up the ramp. Helen followed behind me. I moved my chair as close to the end of the ramp as I possibly could without falling off, and two of Lucy’s helpers helped me stand and swing my leg over onto Chelsea’s back. I’m so high up! I thought, and as I looked down at the ground oh-so-far below, it was like being at the top of a Ferris wheel. Then Chelsea began to move. It was only one step, but it felt huge and I lurched forward in the saddle. I nearly screamed. Chelsea took another tentative step. There was a big thing moving me and I had no way to control it! “I’m gonna fall off!” I said, as Chelsea was taking her third step. “Relax,” said Lucy. “You’re not going to fall. See,” she motioned to the two side-walkers who stood on either side of the horse holding onto the saddle, “they won’t let you fall.” “Yeah, we won’t let you fall,” repeated one of the side-walkers. Lucy handed the lead rope over to a girl who had just arrived, and then Lucy walked into the center of the arena. “Helen! Take the outside. Work on what we were practicing last week with trotting. Kari, bring Chelsea into the center.” My leader nodded and led me into the middle as Helen began
Memories
Karen walked out into the blazing August sun. She smiled to see the horses grazing contentedly in the fields, swishing their tails at the bugs and stomping the ground occasionally, as if to remind strangers or newcomers that it was their grass to eat. She brushed a fly off her top and walked over to the water spigot. Her hand grasped the handle, turning it, and she dunked her face into the stream of water spilling down to get a drink. After quenching her own thirst, she wiped her mouth with her wrist and filled a nearby bucket to the brim with cold water. She turned the handle again, until the water came only in drops, and picked up the bucket. She carried it through the field, stopping at each horse and letting them have a drink. When she reached the bay near the peach tree, she took an extra minute to stay with the horse. It was her favorite horse, Calla, the most spirited filly of them all at Piping Greens. She cooed softly to the horse, then swung her long leg over Calla’s back. Karen tapped Calla with her bare feet and grabbed the horse’s coarse black mane. The filly began to trot, and the two went smoothly across the perimeter of the paddock. Karen’s hair flew back as the horse picked up speed. Her hair was a golden blond, contrasting beautifully with her brown eyes and tanned skin. How I loved to watch her ride, from my seat halfway up a peach tree How I loved to watch her ride, from my seat halfway up a peach tree. I grinned and grabbed a peach. As I bit into it, all of the luscious juice streamed into my mouth and filled my head with memories of my own horse, Bosa, who I had owned two—or was it three—years ago. She was an old mare, nineteen or so. She was an Appaloosa, a big brown Appaloosa with grayish-white spots on her rear and a long blaze on her nose. She looked rather like me, dark and freckled, with big brown eyes. We had more in common than looks, too. We both were very eager about getting our own way, and it made it quite a challenge to ride her. Yet it was those times when she threw me off or refused a jump that made me remember her so fondly. There was the time when we came to a bridge, and I urged her forward, but she stayed put. I urged again, and still she did not move. Finally, she took one quick step, then bucked me into the water. I could remember so clearly the look on Karen’s face when she pulled me out of the stream. It was a look of sheer bliss, laughter, joy, and any other words that would appear on a list of when a girl sees her sister in a stream with a riderless horse nearby. Then there was the time I rode her to a restaurant. I tied her up outside and went in. Nearly twenty minutes later the door opened and in marched Bosa, feeling competent and proud. I could almost swear she was grinning. The strongest memory, however, was the day we parted. It was early February, the first snow of the year. One of our best studs, Parker, had been put down, so the year had been financially bad. My father decided that we would have to sell our two leisure horses, Troy and Bosa. I had been heartbroken. Some stout man came in a big gray horse van. He took Troy. Then a woman came in a green horse van. It was a small stall, but the hay smelled fresh and the water was cold. I led Bosa in, kissed her neck and let the woman close the back and drive away, while tears rolled down my cheeks . . . I was suddenly awoken by Karen tapping my shoulder. I opened my eyes. A long stream of peach juice was streaming down my chin. I licked my lips and we laughed. Chappell Sargent, 10Charlestown, Massachusetts Hanna Kozlowski, 13Batesburg, South Carolina