And Great Was the Fall of It

Have you ever wondered what it felt like to do something crazy or scary? For instance, at the university I attended, we had chapel four days a week. It was held in a large auditorium that held 6,000 (I think). I would be sitting there wondering what it would feel like to stand up in the middle of chapel and start screaming, singing or just talking. Then I would start thinking “I could just stand up right now and there is nothing to stop me.” Then I would be afraid that I was actually going to do it, so I would sit there and grip the armrest tightly to prevent myself from standing up and making a fool out of myself.

Anywhoo, I always wondered what it felt like to fall off of a horse. I accomplished that task (though it was not on my Bucket List), and I am alive to relate that experience to you. But first a little background information for you as to our life with horses and why I am thinking about them today.

I always take news of an impending business trip with calm, grace and fortitude, but when I realize that this means I have to take care of the horse, to put it mildly, I get upset. Now I like the horse. But I just don't like to take care of it. I am not the pioneering type. For starters the barn is located up Mount Everest behind our house, and I am loath to climb up to it with a zillion cats swarming around my ankles. Let me draw you a diagram.

Invariably, I forget about the horse until about midnight, and then I have to trek out to the barn in the pitch black dead of night with every scary scene of every episode of Criminal Minds that I have ever watched racing through my mind.

I have to admit that I drove the van up there one day this week for a feeding. But alas, it has rained, and that steep a grade mixed with rain and my van do not a good thing make.

We did have two horses, a mother and daughter, named Babe and Penny. Though they were always referred to as a single unit, "BaveandPenny”, by Boo. Babe was a huge horse. Hunka-Hunka is 6'5" so he looked normal on Babe. The rest of us looked like we were atop an elephant. We acquired the horses, and indeed the farm, because of Boo and his autism. We wanted him to be someplace where he could be outside and run, jump and wander. We had read about using horses with autistic children and decided to try it with the Boo.

Now I said “did have two horses”. We are, unfortunately, down to one. About a year ago we lost Babe. Boo referred to her last week by saying, “When the dark brown horse rises from the dead, he will be alive again.” He is fuzzy on the resurrection bit. Babe was also a girl so he is also fuzzy on the gender bit. But Babe was a wonderful horse. The few times I rode her, she was so easy to direct. When she galloped, she slipped smoothly into her stride, and it was easy to match it.

Before Bams was a glint in Hunka-Hunka's eye, he had a dream of us riding together, the wind whipping through our hair with strains of "A Man from Snowy River" playing in the background. Okay, maybe not, but he did want us to ride together. at night. out on the road. We had no cleared, flat place to ride on our property (refer to diagram a). Now this was quite safe because there are very few cars on our road and at night it's easier to see them coming.

The opportunity finally arose during the months my parents were staying with us when they moved down and were looking for a house. Hunka-Hunka got the horses ready and met me at the house. I rode Babe because she was the calmer, steadier of the two even though she was so big. We rode off into the dark. It was quite exhilarating. The air was cool. You could see all the stars and hear all the night sounds. We galloped a bit, and on a horse like Babe, it was easy. We rode to the top of a hill and looked down over the houses in the small valley. As we turned to go, Hunka-Hunka asked me whether I wanted to go further or head home. All I heard was 'head home" and, being a good little wifey, I did just that. Well, he didn't have time to warn me that when Babe heads home, she means business, so you have to keep a tight rein on her. As I turned her head toward home, Babe was off. I was not worried at first. But as we came to the first turn, I became concerned about what would happen should a car be approaching.

What happened next was one of those happenstances that happened too fast. I pulled on the reins to slow Babe down. As she changed strides, my foot slipped out of the stirrup and I was bounced sideways. Providentially, I let go of the reins which at that time were not wrapped around my hands, my other foot did not get tangled in the stirrup and I was bounced away from Babe and not under her feet. The fall was surreal and, I like to think, graceful. It actually seemed like it was happening in slow motion. My only thought was “I'm falling off of a horse. I always wondered what that would be like.” It never crossed my mind that this was going to hurt. And then I hit the road. Yes, the road, not the soft, springy grass at the side of the road.

Babe stopped for a bit, but when Hunka-Hunka caught up to us she took off again. At first Hunka-Hunka, who had no clue what was going on, saw me lying in the road and thought I was a dog from one of the nearby houses. Ummm, thanks, Hon. But in his defense it was dark, and he did not say “I thought it was a massive, ugly, rabid mutt”. Small mercies.



He implored me to arise and walk because he did not want me to be squished like a bug by any oncoming cars. I, on the other hand, had the breath knocked out of me so hard that I thought I would never draw breath again. All I could manage was a very quiet “aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”. Then I remember looking up at the sky and wondering at all the bright stars. Like I said, surreal.

I finally was able to take a blessed gulp of air and slowly get to my feet. When I was up Hunka-Hunka took off for home. He needed to get to Babe before she ran into a car, and he needed to get the van to come get me because there was no way on this earth that I was crawling back on another horse even if I was physically able (which we were unsure of at the time). I started to walk toward home thankful that it only hurt when I breathed, thankful that I was alive, thankful that the night sky was so pretty and wondering what in the world was taking Hunka-Hunka so long.

It really didn't take him long to arrive in the van. We went home, told my parents and then went to the emergency room. No broken bones, no bruises, just unable to move for about a week. That's when I decided that since I was a mother with small children, I needed not to do such things again.

So to sum it all up, falling off a horse is easy and painless. It's hitting the asphalt that hurts. You're welcome.

Edited to Add: Like I said in the comments, I look back on the experience fondly because, for a whole week after, I got to sit in a chair the whole time and be waited on hand and foot. It was like a mini vacation. That didn't even happen after my last c-section. Win-win.