I Dream of Ranches

I think I could live on a ranch. I mean, I wouldn't want to do all the hauling and corralling and sweating that ranch life would include, but I think I could handle the simplicity of being out on acres and acres of earth. I could handle wearing a cowboy hat and jeans and boots. I could handle riding my horse down to the creek and swinging into it on the old rope swing. Except that I hate horses. Not the idea of horses, mind you, but the horror of actually riding them. Oh I'd have a horse on my ranch. She'd be named something like Bailey or Henrietta. She'd be entirely brown and would stand, stoically in the field. Unfortunately, I wouldn't get within twelve feet of her. Such is my fear of horses.

I wouldn't hate the horse itself, just the giant teeth that could take off my finger, the bucking ability, and the sheer hugeness. I wish I liked to horseback ride but there was a particular horse who managed to buck me off, knock the wind out of me, and then break my arm all in the course of, like, a week when I was seven years old. I know, I know. You gotta get back on. I did. But I hated it. And that's when I stopped believing in horses. Or, at least, believing that I ought to ride them.

But I should have loved riding because then I could have lived on a ranch. Even a smallish farm would do. Someplace with hard work and huge morning breakfasts. A world where simple is better. I grew up with plenty but, like most kids, I had friends who had so much more. And sure, there were times when I wanted the newest things but, for the most part, I was content with what we had. My favorite times were vacations at "our" cabin at Tahoe or tent camping in a national park. The best times were the simple times.

It's no secret that I didn't marry for money. Undoubtedly, I married for love. In the grand scheme of things, we have plenty but, like most people, I have friends who have so much more. Sometimes I wonder if they can be truly happy. I mean, can one be truly happy without ever having learned to tent camp? I'll probably get hate mail for that very statement but I'm only slightly kidding because I, myself, cannot comprehend it. I am so thankful that my parents taught me about life and showed me how to live one where the best times were the simple times.

I would love to love riding my horse through the breeze, one hand on my cowboy hat so it doesn't blow away. Sometimes I think about going somewhere, sometime, and hopping up onto a horse. I ponder overcoming my fear of the collosal beasts. I consider, even, getting close enough to feed one an apple. Then I start convulsing and nearly pass out.

It's almost irrational, this fear I have of horses.