Horse Tales
My family has always raised horses. My brother and sister and I all rode before we walked. When we lived on the farm, Ginger and her newest foal were right there, ready to be petted and ridden. Even when we lived in the hotels, the horses were close by.
Ginger was Dad's horse, a shiny, black mare that he rode from the time he was a teenager. It was rare to find anyone from outside of the family who wanted to ride her because she was half American Saddle horse and half thoroughbred, very fast, and more than a little bit feisty. Man o' War was her grandfather. We kids rode Ginger double with Dad, or Dad led her while we perched on the saddle high above the ground. Ginger was not a kid's horse, but we loved her anyway.
When we moved from the farm to Norfolk, Ginger lived in a rented pasture not too far from town. Her buckskin colt, Mr. Ed, was born there. (I wonder how many colts were named "Mr. Ed" in the early sixties.) Unfortunately, we had to leave gentle Mr. Ed behind when we moved to Fairbury. Ginger moved with us, and took up residence in the pasture adjoining Crystal Springs, a beautiful park located just a mile or two outside of Fairbury's city limits. It wasn't long before she was joined by Bob, a well-trained Shetland pony that we could safely ride alone.
Our family spent many days at Crystal Springs, year round, because we went there to tend to the horses. We always stopped to pet and feed the goats that lived in a pen right next to the horses. Our whole family devoured numerous picnic lunches there, too, in spring, summer, and fall, and whenever the temperature ventured above freezing in the winter time. We wandered all over the park, crossing and re-crossing the footbridge that spanned the twin lakes. We fished a little in the summer and ice skated a little in the winter. Frequently, we each invited a few friends, and took our sleds (and a giant metal salad bowl) with us on snowy Sunday afternoons so we could slide down the hills at the park, often ending up out on the edge of a frozen lake. We rode our horses in the park often in every season.
Ginger was an experienced saddle club horse who was well-versed in bending poles. At two and three years old, Laura loved riding with Dad to "bend trees" at break-neck speed. I seem to remember all three of them grinning from ear to ear as they finally slowed down enough to trot back to the red trailer that housed the tack and feed. Laura received her first pair of cowboy boots when she was just a toddler, refusing to take them off at nap time, and wearing them with shorts and dresses, as often as jeans. I doubt that she's been without a pair of boots since then, although she has been without a horse for brief periods of time in her life.
Dad rode Ginger in a Sheriff's posse in the Nebraska centennial parade on March 1st, 1967. At around that same time, he and Ginger participated in one of the first Pony Express re-enactments, cantering a mile to help transport the mail from Independence, Missouri, clear to the west coast.
Dad bought an old buggy somewhere, just in time for Fairbury's centennial celebration in 1968, and spent a lot of time refinishing it. There was no chance that Ginger could be trained to pull the buggy, so Bob was elected. Dad rigged up a training chariot, which was basically a flat, wooden platform with small wheels. He stood in the middle of his makeshift chariot, balancing rather precariously, holding the reins of Bob's harness while Bob learned to pull. I think that Dad only fell off a couple of times, but when that happened, Bob left him sitting in the road and high-tailed it back to the tack shed. I wish we had taken pictures of them, jerking and zigzagging up and down the roads at Crystal Springs until Dad was satisfied that Bob could safely pull the buggy. We all rode in the buggy for Fairbury's centennial parade. A few years later, the buggy sat on the roof of The Stable, the steakhouse that Mom and Dad opened in 1973.
I remember being excited about taking a trail ride with my family at Fort Robinson when I was about twelve, but we were all disappointed to find that the entire ride was taken single file, at a walk. We visited Uncle Doc's ranch near Gordon several times when I was a teenager. We were so pleased to be able to ride his cattle horses all over the ranch. Those horses were the real thing, challenging to ride, but well-trained. I still enjoy our visits to the ranch, but I must admit that I miss the trail rides we used to take there, when we could explore the beautiful, breathtaking Pine Ridge from horseback.
Ginger and Bob are long gone, replaced with a skittish, papered Arabian named Char, and Laura's horses, Glory and Spirit. My older daughters, Erin and Meagan, have fond memories of riding Char and Caesar, Dad's naughty but beloved llama. (Dad traded Caesar's brother, Bruno, the nice llama, for Char, who originally belonged to my cousin Kathy and her husband, Jim.) These days, Dad's pastures are empty, save for a few foxes and too many white-tailed deer. If we want to interact with horses, we have to visit Uncle Lee and Aunt Rose, who still raise horses near Bloomfield. Or, we can visit my nephew, Wes, and his wife, Ashley, who are carrying on the family tradition near Hastings, where they keep Laura's horses, along with several of their own. Like I said, my family has always raised horses.
Ginger was Dad's horse, a shiny, black mare that he rode from the time he was a teenager. It was rare to find anyone from outside of the family who wanted to ride her because she was half American Saddle horse and half thoroughbred, very fast, and more than a little bit feisty. Man o' War was her grandfather. We kids rode Ginger double with Dad, or Dad led her while we perched on the saddle high above the ground. Ginger was not a kid's horse, but we loved her anyway.
When we moved from the farm to Norfolk, Ginger lived in a rented pasture not too far from town. Her buckskin colt, Mr. Ed, was born there. (I wonder how many colts were named "Mr. Ed" in the early sixties.) Unfortunately, we had to leave gentle Mr. Ed behind when we moved to Fairbury. Ginger moved with us, and took up residence in the pasture adjoining Crystal Springs, a beautiful park located just a mile or two outside of Fairbury's city limits. It wasn't long before she was joined by Bob, a well-trained Shetland pony that we could safely ride alone.
Our family spent many days at Crystal Springs, year round, because we went there to tend to the horses. We always stopped to pet and feed the goats that lived in a pen right next to the horses. Our whole family devoured numerous picnic lunches there, too, in spring, summer, and fall, and whenever the temperature ventured above freezing in the winter time. We wandered all over the park, crossing and re-crossing the footbridge that spanned the twin lakes. We fished a little in the summer and ice skated a little in the winter. Frequently, we each invited a few friends, and took our sleds (and a giant metal salad bowl) with us on snowy Sunday afternoons so we could slide down the hills at the park, often ending up out on the edge of a frozen lake. We rode our horses in the park often in every season.
Ginger was an experienced saddle club horse who was well-versed in bending poles. At two and three years old, Laura loved riding with Dad to "bend trees" at break-neck speed. I seem to remember all three of them grinning from ear to ear as they finally slowed down enough to trot back to the red trailer that housed the tack and feed. Laura received her first pair of cowboy boots when she was just a toddler, refusing to take them off at nap time, and wearing them with shorts and dresses, as often as jeans. I doubt that she's been without a pair of boots since then, although she has been without a horse for brief periods of time in her life.
Dad rode Ginger in a Sheriff's posse in the Nebraska centennial parade on March 1st, 1967. At around that same time, he and Ginger participated in one of the first Pony Express re-enactments, cantering a mile to help transport the mail from Independence, Missouri, clear to the west coast.
Dad bought an old buggy somewhere, just in time for Fairbury's centennial celebration in 1968, and spent a lot of time refinishing it. There was no chance that Ginger could be trained to pull the buggy, so Bob was elected. Dad rigged up a training chariot, which was basically a flat, wooden platform with small wheels. He stood in the middle of his makeshift chariot, balancing rather precariously, holding the reins of Bob's harness while Bob learned to pull. I think that Dad only fell off a couple of times, but when that happened, Bob left him sitting in the road and high-tailed it back to the tack shed. I wish we had taken pictures of them, jerking and zigzagging up and down the roads at Crystal Springs until Dad was satisfied that Bob could safely pull the buggy. We all rode in the buggy for Fairbury's centennial parade. A few years later, the buggy sat on the roof of The Stable, the steakhouse that Mom and Dad opened in 1973.
I remember being excited about taking a trail ride with my family at Fort Robinson when I was about twelve, but we were all disappointed to find that the entire ride was taken single file, at a walk. We visited Uncle Doc's ranch near Gordon several times when I was a teenager. We were so pleased to be able to ride his cattle horses all over the ranch. Those horses were the real thing, challenging to ride, but well-trained. I still enjoy our visits to the ranch, but I must admit that I miss the trail rides we used to take there, when we could explore the beautiful, breathtaking Pine Ridge from horseback.
Ginger and Bob are long gone, replaced with a skittish, papered Arabian named Char, and Laura's horses, Glory and Spirit. My older daughters, Erin and Meagan, have fond memories of riding Char and Caesar, Dad's naughty but beloved llama. (Dad traded Caesar's brother, Bruno, the nice llama, for Char, who originally belonged to my cousin Kathy and her husband, Jim.) These days, Dad's pastures are empty, save for a few foxes and too many white-tailed deer. If we want to interact with horses, we have to visit Uncle Lee and Aunt Rose, who still raise horses near Bloomfield. Or, we can visit my nephew, Wes, and his wife, Ashley, who are carrying on the family tradition near Hastings, where they keep Laura's horses, along with several of their own. Like I said, my family has always raised horses.
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