When I was a kid, my favorite days were the long summer ones when we spent the day horseback. There was always something to do around the ranch…either moving cattle to a different pasture, checking the wells to make sure there was adequate water, or riding colts always prevented boredom from overtaking us. But I can think of some stories when we just had too much time on our hands.
There was a forest of pine, cedar, and locust trees covering the hills behind our house, and my siblings and I loved exploring in the trees when we were kids. We discovered a clear cut path made by deer and other wild animals that ran the length of the forest strip. Many hours were spent gathering long branches to prop up against standing tree trunks to make tee-pee style houses where we pretended we were our own wild tribe living in the woods. Some of the locust trees were dead, so we would shake them until they fell down, shouting, “Timber!” at the top of our lungs and dragging them to where we wanted them.
Then one day we had the bright idea of making jumps all along the deer trail to ride our horses over. We used piles of the downed trees to fashion small jumps across the trail. Our ranch geldings seemed to take on extra energy and an uncharacteristic spookiness when we rode them in the trees, but the trail was so plainly laid out that they stayed on it solidly, forcing them over the small jumps we had built. We would ride bareback and take the trail at a fast gallop, hooting and hollering about how well our horses leapt over the jumps. Having grown up riding bareback with just a handful of mane to hold, we were pretty good at this and rarely fell off. The horses seemed to enjoy the wild race through the woods, following a small circle turn-around at the end, and racing back home to end at the barn.
I can think of a few times we would have visitors come out to go riding with us. We would take them over the jumps, one would inevitably fall off, and we’d have to swear all around not to tell anyone’s parents to avoid getting in trouble for it. No one ever got hurt on the “jump trail”, but our folks eventually found out that we were taking visitors up there, and forbid us from taking any more risks.
Another silly thing we loved to do in the summer was ride our horses into the overflow ponds from the windmills or the spray of the irrigation systems in the fields. The horses would spook at sound of the big spray of the end gun hitting the ground or the corn leaves, but once the water hit them they would act as if it had just started raining on them, and they would stand stock still, lower their heads, and turn their tails to the pressure of the water. It was great fun, but would make their backs slippery and hard to hang onto as we trotted back home.
I remember another time when we had a college group visit our ranch, as they were conducting a teen ministry at our church in Brewster, Nebraska for the week. We took them horseback riding, and rode up to a grove of trees just north of our place to show them the Hermit’s Cabin. There had been a hermit named Rolly Towne who lived there and passed away just before my folks purchased the ranch. He had a little square tar-paper shack built in the trees, and it was about 12 feet wide and 6 feet tall, with a table, a wood stove, and a bed with quilts on it hand-sewn from his old jeans and coats. The cabin is still there, but has a big tree fallen on it and will most likely return to the prairie in the next twenty years or so.
But as we rode through the forest, somebody suggested that we play “Sardines” on horseback. This was great fun, as one person would ride into the trees and hide, while the group would spread out and search for him, hiding with him when he was found, until there was just one rider left searching, who would become the next person to hide. Of course, this was complicated on horses, because they could smell each other and would nicker if a buddy of theirs went trotting by. There was no limit to the fun you could think up when you had the whole day to spend riding.
We also often escorted visitors up into the tallest hills of the school section, which was a pasture my Dad rented from the government and the proceeds went to the school district. These hills were so tall you could snow ski down them, and they were excellent habitat for deer and other wildlife, and visitors enjoyed seeing the different types of Sandhills inhabitants. When you reached the very tallest peak, you could see for ten or twelve miles on every side, it was an amazing view! The hills are still there, but I doubt that anyone rides up to the top anymore.
We kept cattle in that pasture most every summer, and often when we were gathering the cattle we would spook up a coyote, and the race would be on! We loved chasing coyotes on horseback, and the horses really got into it too. It was often just a little too scary to let your horse run full-out after one, but I think in the right conditions we could have caught up to one. I did chase a deer one time, but I soon realized it was sick and couldn’t run very fast, so I felt sorry for it and left it alone.
These days when I have to make a conscious effort to go out and work with my horse, I look back on those summer days with a wistful happiness. When we were kids, we lived and breathed horses. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t pet my horse, talk to him, and make some fun memories that would last the rest of my life. It’s so rewarding to have horses in your life.
