March
26, 2009
We left our home in Colorado like fugitives: In the middle
of the night as the first few snowflakes of an approaching blizzard swirled down like a warning. Hurry,
hurry, hurry, they seemed to say. I brushed a wet snowflake out of my eye and continued to haphazardly
fling the remaining flotsam and jetsam of our belongings into the camper. An early spring blizzard was
headed our way, and we knew if we didn’t get a head start on it, we’d be trapped in our home state for days before
the roads would be clear enough for a 26-foot moving van and a truck/camper/horse trailer to pass safely on down the road.
My husband had a new job to get back to, and a prolonged delay would not be a good thing.
So
at three in the morning with the first wet snowflakes drifting out of an inky black sky, I loaded Nadrah, my Arabian mare
and the undisputed herd leader. To my surprise, she got in without a fuss, even though I could tell she
was wondering what the heck was going on. Wasabe, my yearling colt, willingly followed. This
would only be the second trailer ride in his life (the first one was around the block and back). Then my
daugher’s Arab, Taz, who also hopped in as if he’d been briefed the day before. They seemed
to sense my urgency, and were surprisingly compliant. Knowing how horses can be when they know you're
in a hurry, I was pleasantly surprised.
The snow was really starting to fall, and my husband,
Michael, and I quickly debated our decision to proceed with the storm right on our back. We decided to
take the risk, praying that we wouldn’t get stuck on the open plains of eastern Colorado with three horses, two kids,
and a moving truck without four-wheel drive…….With that in mind, we carried both sleeping children into the
backseat of the truck with pillows and blankets. Looking at our house through swirling snowflakes, I realized
that this was it, time to say goodbye. The months of planning and packing were done, and now the moment
of leaving had come.
Thank goodness, I thought, let’s get on
with it. For me, anticipation is much harder than just doing it. With that, I started up the diesel truck,
and headed up the driveway where my husband waited with the moving van’s engine idling. As we drove away, I felt
sure we’d forgotten something, but that’s how I always felt when I left on a trip. Same ole, same ole, maybe
one day when I’m eighty I won’t have that feeling, but I doubt it.
The ride
from Loveland to Denver felt like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. The streets were wet and slick, snow was
falling fast and collecting on my windshield, the wiper blades beat a frantic staccato, and I tried not to be blinded and
confused by the assortment of semi-trucks and car headlights blazing into my vision. As we careened down
I-25 in the early morning hours, I had white-knuckle moments where my heart raced as semis roared past us through narrow road
construction areas. I had to remind myself to just breathe.
The kids slept peacefully in the back, blissfully unaware of the road chaos.
Daybreak was
a yellow-gray smear on the horizon as we headed east on I-70, towards the Colorado/Oklahoma border. As
we drove through Lamar, Colorado, they were predicting a severe blizzard warning with the storm to hit at 3 pm.
It was now 11 am. The blizzard was still on our tail, chasing us out of our home state.
Okay, okay, we’re going, I thought. Sheesh!
Later that
day as we came into Amarillo around 2 pm, we flirted with the idea of stopping there for the night, rather than continuing
on to Wichita Falls. But then we heard that Amarillo was expecting a blizzard that night, as well—with
a record 6 to 7 inches of snowfall! So onward to Wichita we went, with the weather continuing to chase
us across Texas.
We drove into Sam Cruse’s Horse Motel at around 8 pm, after 15 hours of
driving. I was exhausted, and a brief glance in the mirror did nothing to revive my spirits.
I looked like hell. The kids were bouncing off the walls. The horses had dazed,
anxious looks on their trusting faces. We unloaded them into a large paddock with a roomy stall and plenty
of fresh water and hay. I’d fed and watered them at every stop, but they hadn’t had much.
Taz already looked as if he’d lost a hundred pounds, and we still had another whole day of driving tomorrow.
(Highly recommend the Cruse place—clean, comfortable, really nice people: 940-767-9284 ask
for Sam Cruse). We were up on a high hill with the city of Wichita Falls spread below us like a blanket
of twinkling lights. The horses looked out with wide, surprised eyes, as if to say: Golly, what’s next???? This was a far cry from our secluded 40
acres in the Colorado foothills.
As we headed into eastern Texas the next day, the landscape got
progressively greener. Huge pine trees grew thickly on the sides of the highway and standing water lined
the ditches carved out on each side. The occasional dogwood tree made a surprising splash of white in the
dappled green of the woods. Coming from a landscape that was still held hostage in winter’s icy grip,
the change into sudden warmth and color felt wonderful.
It was late afternoon as we approached
the new boarding facility on River Road just outside of Baton Rouge, LA. I’d gone from my own 40-acre
“ranchette” and a herd of seven horses to someone else’s farm and a group of just three: Nadrah,
my can’t-live-without Arabian endurance mare, Taz, my daughter’s talented, tolerant and versatile Arabian gelding,
and Wasabe, my “designer” yearling half-Arab colt, in whom rested many of my future riding
ambitions. (To be honest, it is a relief to have only three horses. I find I am able
to spend much more quality time with each individual, and the result is that the refinement in their training and our partnership
is greatly increased.)
To my great relief, the boarding facility at Sunshine Acres was everything
I was hoping it would be: clean, green, well-accommodated, laid-back and friendly. In
addition, the levee was right across the street, and this is where I planned to continue with my conditioning program for
my endurance riding. Yes, it is flat and yes, it is not as exciting as the mountain trails I am used to,
but it was close, it went for miles, and the humidity would take the place of elevation (for now) in terms of challenging
terrain.
You take what you get and you don’t throw a fit.
It was a mantra that was repeated often in my household—our kids had learned the rhyme at an early age, and it
worked for adults, as well. Especially adults in transistion, like I was. Moving from
Colorado to Louisiana was a big change for all of us—different landscape, culture, weather, food, etc. In
fact, it almost felt like we’d moved to a different country, the change was so marked, and that part of it thrilled
me. I love seeing new parts of the world and experiencing different ways of looking at life, even if it
takes me out of my comfort zone.
Several times prior to my move, well-meaning
acquaintances and riding buddies had said things like, “If my husband got a job in Louisiana and expected me to move
there, I would just have to tell him he’d be on his own.” This mind-set both amused and floored
me. It became clear very quickly once my husband left us to work in Baton Rouge that the separation of
our family was not an option any of us could live with. Our kids needed “dad” as much as they
needed “mom" and a husband and wife need to be together--or at least we
did. Furthermore, why throw away a perfectly good opportunity to taste and experience another way of life?
And in the relatively specialized world of endurance riding, I could now add two more “regions” to my repertoire
of riding experience, going from the “mountain” region to the “southeast” and “central”
regions. From Colorado, Utah, Montana, Wyoming, and Nebraska to Mississippi, Florida, Georgia, Texas, Oklahoma,
etc. How cool is that?
So far what I am finding about my new digs
in Southern Louisiana is that there are a lot of things I really enjoy: live oaks, herons, turtles,
green grass, Cajun music, crawfish boils, cypress trees with gnarled knees and lime-green algae that coats the swamp water
like neon, the amazing music that birds and frogs make in the woods……. And there are also things I’m expecting
to struggle with, like the dog-days of summer. (The Cox Cable guy that came to our house to connect us
described summer in Louisiana perfectly: “It's like going out on a really hot day with a blanket on.”
With that description, I suddenly got it, and felt real fear for the first time…….).
I’ve already been out “ridin’ the Levee” several times now and am taking advantage
of long, flat straight-a-ways that make speed work not only possible, but fun. A seven mile workout
on the levee takes me a little over an hour and includes a couple water stops and at least one grazing stop while I get my
mare acclimated to the humidity, which is very noticeable, even now in the great weather that makes up spring here.
By comparison, a seven mile conditioning ride in Colorado would usually take me a minimum of two and a half hours on
the mountainous terrain where I rode, where frequent elevation climbs, rocks, and switchbacks slow you down. My
first ride here in the Southeast region is May 16th in the DeSoto National Forest near Laurel, Mississippi (Blazing
Saddles, Ride Manager Terry Price). I plan to do a 25 with my 7-year old daughter, and we are both looking
forward to seeing new terrain and getting a hands-on “feel” for the rides in the South.
So
far, we are the first endurance riders anybody at my barn has ever met. There is a lot of interest, I get
a lot of questions, and the reality of driving for hours to get to a ride seems foreign to most people I talk to…..Maybe
it’s an east/west thing? The Western states are so wide open and sprawling, that you end up driving
a lot just to get to the grocery store, much less to an endurance ride. But mostly I think the main difference
is that there is less National Forest land in the state of Louisiana. So much of Louisiana is fertile,
valuable farmland that not as much of it was set aside for public use as was done in the Rocky Mountains, for example.
(Last weekend we did take a three-hour drive out to Chicot State Park, which is south of Alexandria, LA.
It’s a beautiful state park, but I was disheartened to learn that out of 22 miles of trail, only 5.8 miles are
accessible to equestrians.)
But I’m not giving up—there are
other areas within an hour or two to explore. My next stop will be Abita Springs, a small town north of
New Orleans, and also home to a great brewery (I am a new convert to their micro-brews to be sure! Find out for yourself at
http://www.abita.com). The trail is said to loop and follow some old railroad tracks for thirty-three
miles. And I swapped notes with an avid trail rider at my barn who gave me the skinny on six trailheads
within 1-3 hours away from us that sound great. And to be sure, we’ve been taking advantage
of the great arena at the barn and fine tuning the training on our horses, which never hurts. My daughter’s
even been to a barrel race with a new riding buddy (although Taz doesn't seem to have much barrel talent--he spooked at
every barrel even though we’d practiced…..the only difference was they were white instead of blue and apparently
he knew the difference and was having none of it!).
Everybody says the humidity here is a killer,
and I believe them. And yet I find it amusing that almost everyone I talk to, who groans, sighs and raises
eyebrows about the almost unbearable summers here, has more often than not lived here either from birth or at least for a
very long time. Well, it can’t be that bad if you’re still
here, is what I always say, and they’ll usually grin and shrug. In fact, the stable manager
at the barn, who’s a lifelong resident of Louisiana, claims if she ever moves anywhere else it will be further
south….she hates being cold more than anything else. Quite honestly, the main draw to the Baton Rouge area is
the healthy economy--many people, like us, are here specifically for good jobs. Fortunately, it's also a really beautiful
and unique state with a lot to offer, especially if you're someone that's open to change.
To
make the reality of a Louisiana summer harder for me to fully comprehend, the weather has been nothing short of perfectly
glorious since we’ve arrived: mid-70s, one or two days in the 80s, cerulean blue sky with fluffy
cotton ball clouds and a refreshing breeze, enough humidity to erase those fine lines in your skin and get rid of any static
in your hair. We’ve had a couple of “toad stranglers” (my husband’s term), but
they’ve been fun affairs, with water pouring out of the sky in buckets, and a great display of thunder and lightening.
And then gone, and mostly dried up within a day or two. Well, time will tell, and I’m sure
I will be singing a different tune in July and August!
Meanwhile, life is good and I’m not
too homesick--yet. I know in the soon-to-come sticky heat of August here in the deep south of Louisiana,
I’ll be dreaming of pine-scented alpine forests and popsicle mountains with icy streams, but for now, one thing feels
really clear: Home is a place that’s really more inside of you than anywhere else.
--Michelle Smith, April 22, 2009
