A few weeks ago, my daughter asked me to come out to the field with my camera. She wanted to do a photoshoot with one of her old dress-up-gowns-that-now-fits, and her horse.
Out by the shed, with the goats and dogs underfoot, I helped her wriggle into the dress. Zipping it tight was no small feat — Stop breathing, girl! — and then she had to somehow get up on the horse.
The whole thing was hilariously inelegant, and we spent most of the time either yelling at each other — Just get on the dang horse already! — or doubled over laughing.
She trotted Velvet around for a minute and then decided she wanted a different halter, so I had to go into the horse shed — Foresight, child, I grumbled — and rummage around in the dark.
When I didn’t find it fast enough, she rode the horse straight into the stalI. While she awkwardly lunged over Velvet’s neck, trying to harness (bridle, whatever) her, I tried not to get trampled.
Back out in the field, she made Velvet canter. But she kept hunching. Her posture was terrible.
“Put your shoulders back,” I yelled. “That dress is so tight it’s not going anywhere!”
Even so, she couldn’t stop herself from tugging it up every few seconds. Here, wanna see the photographic evidence?
When I finally called it quits, she vaulted off the horse…….
and then promptly plopped down in the middle of all the chicken poop and goat droppings for yet a few more photos, pretty please?
This same time, years previous: the quotidian (12.5.16), welcoming the stranger, the quotidian (12.7.15), in my kitchen: 6:44 p.m., cinnamon raisin bread, 17 needles and 4 children, holding, iced ginger shortbread, zippy me, baked corn, butter cookies.
A girl and her horse young enough to still do dress up in barnyard heaven. But on the brink of exploding into all grown up.
Love this girl and her horse!
It’s the cover of a romance novel without the man
Dan and Diione Murch