GRAMA ON HORSEBACK

by Eloise Barton

It's amazing what we grandparents will do to make our grandchildren happy: we walk miles through playgrounds, zoos and amusement parks; we sit through raucous puppet shows and sing silly songs. But when they become teenagers, it's difficult to find activities both generations can enjoy.

"What can we do to have fun together?" I asked my thirteen-year-old granddaughter.

"We can go horseback riding!" she suggested.

I shuddered, but told her "If you can find a stable that will take a grandmother who hasn't been on a horse since she was ten years old, we'll go."

She found one: Shadow Glen Stables in Fair Oaks, California.

I worried about how I'd get on a horse, and if I'd be able to stay on it. I worried about being able to handle such a large beast.

I didn't have to worry about this last, I realized, when our guide walked into a separate paddock and slapped the rump of a white-maned horse snoozing in the sun.

"Come on, Grampa," she called. "Wake up. You've got work to do."

Smokey, she told me the horse was called, as she boosted me up into the saddle, a long way from the ground.

Once I was up on top of old Smokey, she adjusted my stirrups, then directed us to take our place in line with the other riders.

We rode with guides in front, behind, and along the side. My granddaughter rode near the front with the other children. I rode near the end--a good place for an old lady on an old horse, I thought. And no one would see my white-knuckled clutching of that thing sticking up at the front of the saddle.

Smokey put his head down for a few bites of fresh spring grass.

"Don't let him eat," the guide called. "Pull his head up, then kick him to get him moving again."

I did as I was told. If a horse could sigh, mine did, but he got back in line with the other horses. However, at the next stand of high grass, he reached over and grabbed a mouthful, then munched on it as we traveled on down the trail. Old Smokey knew all the tricks.

When we reached a little dip, the other horses raced down and up: Clop Clop Clop Clop Clop Clop Clop. Smokey's pace sounded more like: Clop Clop..Clop  ... Clop .... Clop ...... Clop. But slow and easy did just fine. We soon caught up with the other riders.

It was a beautiful day for a horseback ride: bright sunshine, cool breezes, the fragrant smells of spring and fresh horse droppings.

We rode past mounds of river rocks--tailings from the dredgers that had sucked up river bottoms looking for gold. We rode in the shade of live oak and valley oak trees.

Rippling fields of green grass and purple wildflowers surrounded us. Wind rustled through the cottonwood trees. Sun glinted off golden poppies and leaves of poison oak, just starting to turn red. I found I could let go of the saddle and ride just holding the reins.

When we finished our trail ride, I told my granddaughter I was glad she'd suggested we go on this outing. Although I walked funny for the next hour, and moved with a groan for the next few days, I'd added one more experience to my collection of memories.

And now, one of my grandchildren wants me to go with him on something called a Reverse Bungee, where they strap you into an ejector seat attached to a giant slingshot, rachet it down, then snap it free to shoot you 150 feet into the air, going from zero to sixty in two seconds. Well, anything to make the grandkids happy.

It is such fun, being a Grama!