I said goodbye to Banjo (and his "mom," Karla) last night. I've really, really enjoyed re-learning how to handle and ride this horse and I'm going to miss it immensely when I'm gone. It's strange to say that, I suppose, since I haven't made time to get out to the farm since last August--but I know it's there and if I have a free evening, I can give Karla a call and be in the barn in just over an hour. But not in Chicago. I suppose I might be lucky enough to find someone with a few horses and enough patience to teach a clumsy horse lover, but they won't have the beautiful views of south-eastern Ohio like the one below.
Oh, and speaking of clumsy...I had my first fall last night. Flew right out of the damn saddle. Luckily, I'm good at falling, and today, all I have to show for it are a couple of bruises and a sore knee. As I sat there in the dust, looking up at Banjo (who looks, um, well, massive when you're on the ground), all I could think about was the good old cliche about falling off and getting back in the saddle. You know, things can only become cliche if they're true, right? So even though I was shaking and sore, I got back up and rode again. And I'm not even a little bit scared to do it again.
