This tiny girl of eight had walked the four mile, round trip trek to school everyday, and her older brother Cal had worried about her. His solution was to buy her a horse because winter weather in the Northeast was serious business. They discovered a little mare named Bess after she had “flunked” West Point as an army mount. Her army rider had found her to be too cantankerous for him: “She just doesn’t like men,” he claimed. At any rate, the two just didn’t get along. So when he returned Bess (which happened to be with the local horse trader), the setting was ripe for a little girl to find her dream horse.
The rest of the story emerged on the first day of school. Ellen had to face, right from the start, the taunts from the boys as she unsaddled her prized mare.
“That ole black mare couldn’t chase a flea,” they teased.
“We’ll show them,” Ellen murmured to her mare as she stroked her slick, black coat. All day at school, she glared at the entire lot of boys. They sensed her fury which spurred them on all the more. As soon as school was over, everybody gathered their horses together along the street just outside of the tiny town of Bloomville where they would race. As soon as Ellen galloped through, the race was on. Ellen was in the lead right from the start. She could hear the hollers and whoops behind her as the boys, like angry bees, chased her. They never did catch her though.
Today, riding alone, the pair galloped the turn up Webster Brook toward home. It never mattered to them to ride home alone. The blur of memories from many after school races flooded back into view in an instant like dear companions. In the mind of a young girl, if the only race was with the wind, it was the only thing that would ever catch them.
Do you remember the moment—THE moment—when horses became a part of your world forever? Everyone has a unique story to tell. You either have that burning flame ignited at some point into your DNA, or you don’t. Horses are such a dynamic “all-in” sport that unless you’re half crazy, you’ll burn out.
This story of Ellen speaks to another time in history, yet, it speaks to the heart of every rider. After our time was up, Ellen shook my hand and told me that if I came back in ten years she’d really tell me something.
Next month, Lord willing and the creeks don’t rise, I’ll tell you my story, along with the stories of our fantastic editors— Laurie and Jenn.
Riding alone, the pair galloped the turn up Webster Brook toward home. It never mattered to them to ride home alone. The blur of memories from many after school races flooded back into view in an instant like dear companions.
West Point as an army mount. Her army rider had found her to be too cantankerous for him: “She just doesn’t like men,” he claimed. At any rate, the two just didn’t get along. So when he returned Bess (which happened to be with the local horse trader), the setting was ripe for a little girl to find her dream horse.
The rest of the story emerged on the first day of school. Ellen had to face, right from the start, the taunts from the boys as she unsaddled her prized mare.
“That ole black mare couldn’t chase a flea,” they teased.
“We’ll show them,” Ellen murmured to her mare as she stroked her slick, black coat. All day at school, she glared at the entire lot of boys. They sensed her fury which spurred them on all the more. As soon as school was over, everybody gathered their horses together along the street just outside of the tiny town of Bloomville where they would race. As soon as Ellen galloped through, the race was on. Ellen was in the lead right from the start. She could hear the hollers and whoops behind her as the boys, like angry bees, chased her. They never did catch her though.
Today, riding alone, the pair galloped the turn up Webster Brook toward home. It never mattered to them to ride home alone. The blur of memories from many after school races flooded back into view in an instant like dear companions. In the mind of a young girl, if the only race was with the wind, it was the only thing that would ever catch them.
Do you remember the moment—THE moment—when horses became a part of your world forever? Everyone has a unique story to tell. You either have that burning flame ignited at some point into your DNA, or you don’t. Horses are such a dynamic “all-in” sport that unless you’re half crazy, you’ll burn out.
This story of Ellen speaks to another time in history, yet, it speaks to the heart of every rider. After our time was up, Ellen shook my hand and told me that if I came back in ten years she’d really tell me something.
Next month, Lord willing and the creeks don’t rise, I’ll tell you my story, along with the stories of our fantastic editors— Laurie and Jenn.
black coat. All day at school, she glared at the entire
lot of boys. They sensed her fury which spurred
them on all the more. As soon as school was over,
everybody gathered their horses together along
the street just outside of the tiny town of
Bloomville where they would race. As soon as Ellen
galloped through, the race was on. Ellen was in the
lead right from the start. She could hear the hollers and whoops behind her as the boys, like angry bees, chased her. They never did catch her though.
Today, riding alone, the pair galloped the turn up Webster Brook toward home. It never mattered to them to ride home alone. The blur of memories from many after school races flooded back into view in an instant like dear companions. In the mind of a young girl, if the only race was with the wind, it was the only thing that would ever catch them.
Do you remember the moment—THE moment—when horses became a part of your world forever? Everyone has a unique story to tell. You either have that burning flame ignited at some point into your DNA, or you don’t. Horses are such a dynamic “all-in” sport that unless you’re half crazy, you’ll burn out.
This story of Ellen speaks to another time in history, yet, it speaks to the heart of every rider. After our time was up, Ellen shook my hand and told me that if I came back in ten years she’d really tell me something.
Next month, Lord willing and the creeks don’t rise, I’ll tell you my story, along with the stories of our fantastic editors— Laurie and Jenn.
lead right from the start. She could hear the hollers and whoops behind her as the boys, like angry bees, chased her. They never did catch her though.
Today, riding alone, the pair galloped the turn up Webster Brook toward home. It never mattered to them to ride home alone. The blur of memories from many after school races flooded back into view in an instant like dear companions. In the mind of a young girl, if the only race was with the wind, it was the only thing that would ever catch them.
Do you remember the moment—THE moment—when horses became a part of your world forever? Everyone has a unique story to tell. You either have that burning flame ignited at some point into your DNA, or you don’t. Horses are such a dynamic “all-in” sport that unless you’re half crazy, you’ll burn out.
This story of Ellen speaks to another time in history, yet, it speaks to the heart of every rider. After our time was up, Ellen shook my hand and told me that if I came back in ten years she’d really tell me something.
Next month, Lord willing and the creeks don’t rise, I’ll tell you my story, along with the stories of our fantastic editors— Laurie and Jenn.
them to ride home alone. The blur of memories from many after school races flooded back into view in an instant like dear companions. In the mind of a young girl, if the only race was with the wind, it was the only thing that would ever catch them.
Do you remember the moment—THE moment—when horses became a part of your world forever? Everyone has a unique story to tell. You either have that burning flame ignited at some point into your DNA, or you don’t. Horses are such a dynamic “all-in” sport that unless you’re half crazy, you’ll burn out.
This story of Ellen speaks to another time in history, yet, it speaks to the heart of every rider. After our time was up, Ellen shook my hand and told me that if I came back in ten years she’d really tell me something.
Next month, Lord willing and the creeks don’t rise, I’ll tell you my story, along with the stories of our fantastic editors— Laurie and Jenn.
This story of Ellen speaks to another time in history, yet, it speaks to the heart of every rider. After our time was up, Ellen shook my hand and told me that if I came back in ten years she’d really tell me something.
Next month, Lord willing and the creeks don’t rise, I’ll tell you my story, along with the stories of our fantastic editors— Laurie and Jenn.