Close encounter of an orange kind

Linda Cameron

Linda sets off for a riding lesson.

AS a girl growing up in the prairie grasslands of southeastern Saskatchewan I used to dream of horses. Every chance I got I went to my uncle's farm. I did any chore including feeding the pigs and gathering eggs in order to win my uncle's favour and be allowed to ride one of his big, draft horses, Rex or Maude.

Once while riding Rex, a tall horse of at least 17 hands, my younger cousin Angeline was seated behind me. We were passing under my aunt's clothesline and I missed grabbing the line. It caught me under the chin and whipped both of us off the horse into a pond. My little cousin started to cry and I had to hush her up quickly so auntie wouldn't hear otherwise I wouldn't be allowed to ride.

As I grew up the opportunities for me to ride diminished and my life took me in other directions. That is until one day very recently when I spotted an advertisement in The Gleaner offering polo lessons. I figured where there is polo there must be horses. I sent an e-mail to enquire if it would be possible to take riding lessons.

The reply was quick and encouraging. I could start lessons that Saturday with an outride. Saturday morning found me eagerly on my way to Bog Walk where I was to turn right at the Police Station and drive 4 1/2 miles to Knolford Polo Farm.

On my arrival, the horses were saddled and off we went. We crossed the road and rode up into the orange groves on the other side. Up and down the hills we rode, the scent from the orange blossoms was intoxicating. The panoramic 360 degree view from the top of one of the higher hills was breathtaking. At one point we rode through a small creek bed and looking up the creek to the distance beyond was like looking into a picture postcard. It was a lovely ride even for a green and nervous rider.

After the ride I arranged to ride again the following weekend, and promptly spent the next week doing exercises in order to try to strengthen my inner thighs and legs. The following Saturday we again rode up and down the orange orchard.

This became a pattern. Then three Saturdays ago my will to continue was tested. I was riding a green horse and of course I'm an inexperienced rider. The horse shield at something and began to back up. He backed into an orange tree, which frightened him, and he reared knocking me in the face with the back of his neck. I realised I was in trouble and decided I better get off.

I stood up in the stirrups but unfortunately didn't plan my exit well and proceeded to launch myself into the orange tree. If I'd gone left instead of right my flight path would have been unobstructed. In the end I received a couple of nasty bruises and scrapes and some sore ribs. It could have been a lot worse.

Did I get back on? Yes, I rode again that day and have ridden several times since. Although I'm not fully over either the physical or emotional trauma I am determined to stick with it and to learn how to ride properly and well.

­ Contributed

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