Dad did know a thing or two about horses and was an excellent horseman. We always had horses at Grandma’s property. Every Saturday growing up, Dad took me riding. It was just him and me. I was on a horse from the time I was two.
Those Saturdays were special between father and daughter. We had time to talk while riding along side by side on the country roads—about birds, trees, how water rolls over the rocks in streams, and some important thoughts during the ride would tumble out. In Dad’s wisdom, he knew that you needed to let conversation breath and some things would “just happen” if not forced. Even today the smell of horse poop will instantly make all the worries in my world disappear.
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