Horses

Horses and other thoughts

I was not and am not a “horsy” person but at camp one of the best activities was horse back riding. Camp had a beautiful barn with standing stall, a storage room, feed room and the funkiest bathroom down one side. The other side was box stall and a tack room—the tack room had a crank telephone that reached the Newman’s house as well as the maintenance man’s house. I think Aaron made these or at least refurnished them.

When you had riding, you waited along the road, sitting on a log bench, for the counselor to come and get you. You could ride in the small ring, the big ring, or on a trail ride. Camp had almost 350 acres and lots of trails. They also shared adjoining land with the park, Hendy Woods and the ranch above, Highland Ranch.

The coolest rides were dinner rides. You’d pack a sack dinner and ride to somewhere like Hendy Grove, eat dinner and ride back—often pretty late. River rides were cool unless you were riding Rawhide, a Palomino pony who liked to roll in the water, or Brandy whose favorite trick was blotting and then releasing the saddle to slide to the side. I remember one ride where we got lost and were really late—Paula was on this ride.

I liked riding because of the skills and technology—I liked all the stuff, saddles, bridles, learning how to tie the special know so that you could release your horse even if they pulled back. I used to wake early to do junior wrangling, bringing in the horses, getting them brushed, and their feet cleaned. Fred would try to squash me against the wall of his stall when he wasn’t also trying to step on my feet. Horses in the early morning, the barn, manure, hay and feed, all bring back great memories.

As I mentioned, the only award at camp was for falling off a horse—didn’t happen often. At the last dinner Irv would share some thoughts and give out the award. I think the idea that doing something, even when not perfect, and persisting, was an underlying portion of camp. That and making choices.

In my later staff years I lived in the Wranglers shack, just about the most classic structure in camp. The first year the maintenance man, Renaldo, would come by with the milk pail and bang it along the walls yelling a variety of vile suggestions to wake Erik and I up. He was too cheery in the morning. He and his family had lived in, I believe, Ecuador on an agricultural exchange program—selling John Deere’s to the locals. He had four children; the only one I remember by name was Mickey- a tough little 2-year-old who could pull his father in a Radio Flyer Wagon.

Renaldo also had the habit of eating a gelatin capsule each morning with ground chilies and garlic—this made him quite odoriferous. Oh, and he smoked Ecuadorian cigarettes as well. Riding in the truck on a hundred degree day was exciting!

I loved hanging out by the barn—the surrounding oaks, the barn itself. One of the cooler areas on hot summers. Horses coming up from the pastures to drink at the water trough, huge old goldfish living on the algae, nibbling at the horses lips as they drank. Sweet memories.

Horse names- Rawhide, Tar Baby, Fred and Topman, Tawny, Tonka, Brandy, Gordon (a true inside joke), and so many more.