Chapter Three

That evening I took a walk. Even though the summer heat was unbearable, I couldn't stand being in that dingy house any longer, so walked the lonely country roads. It wouldn't be long before I could start working at the farm. But until then....what?

The path I took was another one very familar to me; one that crossed abandoned farm fields and had come to be a sort of "unofficial" trail of sorts in what passed as our neighborhood. Via this path, and across the gravel road, I came to another farm, this one where people boarded their horses, and as no one was around, they didn't mind that I stood for hours gazing at the animals grazing so contentedly. And just down the road a little further was another farm; this one smaller, dingier, in need of a lot of maintenance, but which housed some of the most beautiful equines I'd ever seen.

Their manager, Dale, saw me coming that day. The horses were gone for the season; they were racing at Canterbury for the summer, and only a green colt too young to race, and his stable buddy, a palomino gelding, remained.

"Looking for work?" Dale was just climbing down the ladder he'd been using as he repaired some broken boards around the old haymow.

I shook my head, too hot and uncomfortable to speak. So often, I didn't come by Trinity Creek Farms; they were a long hike by the road, and some of the year the makeshift farmland "trail" was simply impassable. But they were good people, like most in the area, and, like everyone else, indulged me in my love for horses.

But they didn't have the setup like the Sheik from Dubai, and even I, an ignorant kid, could see they were really struggling. I could see that this farm used to be something great; but over time, it was falling apart. Given the competetion from the Oil Barons from the Middle East, prices were going up, Stud Fees were going up...and they didn't have the winning purses to continue. They, like a lot of American racing families, were being slowly phased out. At the same time, though, they had spirit, they were forging ahead with what they had, and even if they weren't going to be a part of it, they were champions for American racing and proud contributors to the Horsemen's Association. This farm was not going away without a fight, no matter how hard the times they had fallen upon.

Dale was one of their two employees; it was he and a groom named Paco who ran the farm and wore many hats. And one of those hats was, apparently, to tolerate annoying neighborhood children.

I was grateful for his solicitude, however, as I settled onto a hay bale in the shade of the barn, sipping some bottled water from the mini-fridge in the tack room. Dale took a moment for a break, too, obviously happy to get out of the formidable late-summer sun.

We sat in companionable silence for awhile, sipping water, listening to the locusts chorus in the trees, waving away the ever-preset flies.

Finally Dale stood up and fished around in his pocket for something. He approached me with something in his hand. I put my own hand out as he placed a penny in it. Staring at it uncomprehendingly, I asked, "What's this for?"

"Your thoughts."

Dale sat down again, this time busying himself with a bridle that needed repair.

"Ha. You're like my Mom."

"So? Spill." He went about his work, silently, waiting.

Between the haze and now the expectant silence, I could do nothing but obey. Dale was nothing if not an ally.

"Mom won't let me be a jockey until I turn 18!"

"Is that all?"

I stared at him. He HAD to understand!

Dale glanced up from his work. "Ridin's dangerous business. You could get killed. Seems to me your Mom is bein' a Mom."

I had nothing to say to that; we both knew he was right. I tried to formulate an argument, but already I knew there was nothing I could say to prove Dale wrong in his statement.

He knew it, too, so he continued. "Will she let you work over at the Dubai's farm as a groom like you planned?"

I nodded. "She told me it would 'give me a good work ethic'".

"Well, she's right. There's nothin' on this earth that builds work ethic, or character, more so than working on a farm. It pays what you scoop, that's a downside, so those who do it for a long time do it because they love it. They can get factory jobs that pay more and give perks on the side. There's no perks on a farm. It's back-breaking work, and if you do decide to ride...well, that might be literal, young lady." He glanced at me sidewise to be sure I got his meaning. All of it. Including the sidewise part of it.

"I know." I could say no more. My life was not really under my control, and I was happy Mom would even let me work around the horses. At that time, I didn't understand that I wasn't immortal so the idea of injury, death, or dismemberment was completely outside my radar. Never mind the offenses to morality I may experience.

We chatted until the sun hung low on the horizon then I scampered home, patting the noses of the friendly boarder horses on the way, dreaming of the day I would have my own.