No, seriously. I want you to. Here's why:
- I'm new to this blogging thing and a little apprehensive about it.
- I am a 30-something female. When The Outsiders first came out I was absolutely convinced I should have been named Pony Girl, and this may be my only chance at that.
- See picture below. That's me at age 7 with my first pony, Daisy. I really was a pony girl!
Agreed? Pony Girl it is. We're going to get along just fine.
Let me tell you a little about why I started this blog. As you probably guessed, I am a horse person; I have been told that makes me weird. More on that in a minute, but after 30 some odd years of being a horse person, I'm inclined to agree.
I come by it honestly. My mom is a horse person. She too is weird, although I'm not sure that it is necessarily because of her horsieness. (Note: one of the many benefits of following this blog will be an increase in your vocabulary. "Horsieness" may not be found in any traditional dictionary, but it should be.)
Growing up in South Carolina, Mom worked on a Saddlebred farm to pay for lessons: mucking stalls, feeding, and even breaking Hackney ponies to drive. Eventually she was able to half-lease a pleasure mare, Tar Baby. Here is Mom and Tar Baby at the SC equitation finals:
I'm trying to find the picture of her in her pedal pushers and beehive sitting in a sulky. I think she may have hidden that one from me.
Anyway, Mom grew up, got married, had me, and kind of got out of the horse thing. For a little while. Then when I was about 4 the bug bit me.
Mom got a job at a local farm, and the rest as they say is history. Over the years she had many horsey jobs - riding instructor, barn manager, summer camp counselor. For a while she bought thoroughbreds off the track and retrained them. She even leased her own place when I was in high school, though she gave that up once her primary stall mucker (me) went off to college. She was a tough broad to work for, but it was worth every minute.
Basically I had the greatest childhood ever. I rode every day while Mom taught. Because most of the farms she worked at were large riding academies, I had a great group of horsey friends. And yes, every one of them was weird like me. At the time, perhaps because we were all so like-minded, I had no idea that we were weird. That realization first came to me in college.
I set about applying to colleges with my priorities in order - first criteria was a good riding program. I spent one horrifying semester in the dorms(NOTE: horse people rarely co-habitate well with non-horse people, who have odd hang ups about dirty saddle pads and muddy boots being brought inside, 5 AM alarm clocks, and bits hanging in the shower).
That experiment having failed, I moved into an apartment with two of my equestrian teammates where saddle pads and boots were embraced no matter how filthy they may have been. The apartment was the lower half of a duplex whose upper floor was occupied by three guys, all non-horsey. Although we got along well, these three had a habit of periodically rolling their eyes and proclaiming:
"Horse people are weird."
Any number of very normal activities would produce this response. I could list them here,but that's kind of the point of this blog and I want to leave something for future posts. Let's just say not everyone appreciates the ability to clean tack on the kitchen table while cooking dinner.
Horse people may be weird, but we can multitask.
A few weeks ago I came across a box of photos that I probably meant to scrapbook at some point, meaning I probably went to the barn instead. One of the pictures was the (admit it) insanely cute image of me and Daisy, which got me thinking about how long horses have been in my life and how that has affected me in sometimes strange and profound ways.
Another picture was of me, my two roommates, and the boys upstairs(I would post that one but I would like this to be a family blog and those were some crazy college days). Anyway, that photo got me thinking too and with all those thoughts swirling around at once it hit me.
The boys upstairs were right.
Horse people are weird.
So here I am, a baby blogger trying to connect with other weirdos in this world. Along the way I'll share some stories...hopefully you will share some too..and together we can find comfort and laughter in our perceived weirdness.
I can't really make any promises as to the consistency of this blog; just look what became of the scrapbook. I may not be able to write because I'm at the barn. But if you're weird like me you'll understand that.
Stay Gold!
PG
Horse people may be weird, but we can multitask.
A few weeks ago I came across a box of photos that I probably meant to scrapbook at some point, meaning I probably went to the barn instead. One of the pictures was the (admit it) insanely cute image of me and Daisy, which got me thinking about how long horses have been in my life and how that has affected me in sometimes strange and profound ways.
Another picture was of me, my two roommates, and the boys upstairs(I would post that one but I would like this to be a family blog and those were some crazy college days). Anyway, that photo got me thinking too and with all those thoughts swirling around at once it hit me.
The boys upstairs were right.
Horse people are weird.
So here I am, a baby blogger trying to connect with other weirdos in this world. Along the way I'll share some stories...hopefully you will share some too..and together we can find comfort and laughter in our perceived weirdness.
I can't really make any promises as to the consistency of this blog; just look what became of the scrapbook. I may not be able to write because I'm at the barn. But if you're weird like me you'll understand that.
Stay Gold!
PG
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