Outdoor writing contest runner-up: Clear as dust

A world awash in gray. Gray gravel crunching, spraying, flinging across the ground. Gray hoofbeats up and over and down, in a three-beat rhythm. Gray-tinged ears with a tilted gray world going past once. Then twice. Then over and over again until my vision blurs as the palisade of whirling gray air thickens and rises. Until finally, the circle slows and stops, at the behest of a gray voice.

I blink away the gray, blink my mind back into its place, on the scoop of the saddle upon which I sit. The thousand pounds of muscle and bone beneath me exhales as the reins loosen. Following suit, I take a deep breath, the rich musk of horses and the freshness of the towering pine trees filling every fiber of my lungs. I lift my eyes from the cloudy ground beneath me to look toward the trees as we ease forward.

The gray dust hasn’t yet drifted away, but instead has extended out past the fence, into the trees. It rises partway up the bare trunks then abruptly pauses, as if caught by the same beauty. The most vibrant golden and vermillion hues glow boldly through the mossy branches, sending rusting rays tumbling across the pine needles, filtering across the top of the thick dust layer. The gray ears in front of me twist back toward me, the fuzzy edges glowing the color of rich gingerbread. And there in the amber light of the most glorious sunset I have ever witnessed, my mind clears. I am simply present.

When I was in fourth grade, I checked out the Eyewitness Encyclopedia Handbook of Horses from the school library. And for two years straight, I renewed that book and scoured over the yellowing pages every morning on the school bus. Within its frayed binding, were water-stained pages filled with images of almost every known equine breed in the world, along with a plethora of historical and scientific information. It was my catalyst, my portal. It was a building block in one of my family’s biggest mysteries – my undying love for horses.

My family has never had any involvement with horses or livestock. But I grew up on a few acres of land and for a long time, our closest neighbors were bison and cattle. The combination of gazing out at various bovine species every day and fervently reading that encyclopedia, created a world in my imagination in which I could disappear. So, I spent my childhood running barefoot through fields, pretending I was a cowgirl in a stampede or protecting a herd of cattle. In the hot, dusty summers, I was fighting rabid coyotes in the desert. In the winter, I was leading a string of mules along a mountain trap line. I was the kid who would run outside in a thunderstorm, just to feel the wind.

But as I entered middle school, things began to change. Most girls my age had outgrown their pony phases and were too busy with the tribulations of early teen hood to care. Those who hadn’t were ostracized. So as to not be the weird “horse girl” I tucked that passion away. I buried it for the sake of fitting in, but as a result, I never truly felt like I belonged.

By high school, I was convinced that I would never have the experience to achieve my dreams in the livestock and equestrian community. So, the summer before my sophomore year, when I heard about a small riding lesson facility north of town, I wasn’t so sure. I was embarrassed by my age and my lack of experience. But of all people, my mom was the one who wouldn’t let me turn it down. She refused to allow her daughter to pass up an opportunity that she had wanted for so long, even though my mother herself didn’t really understand why. So, I signed up.

And as mothers usually are, she was right. I fell in love at my first lesson. Yes, I was the oldest. But not by much, and as I rode in different lesson groups and camps, I met people from all walks of life. Ten-year-olds who were practically born in the saddle and women in their seventies who were learning for the first time. Kids who struggled in school or socially, but could ride with the most beautiful fluidity. Adults who just wanted to brush off their riding skills and be part of a community. Learning to ride has been the hardest thing I have ever done, but also the most rewarding. Spending hours outside, whether in blistering heat and learning how to sort cattle, or returning horses to their paddocks on a cold night, helps clear my head like nothing else. I dream of spending days out in the mountains, with just a couple horses or mules. Whether under summer suns and winter moons, I find clarity and peace on a horse. Developing trust and communication with a different species has also helped me connect better with people, not just nature. Confidence, as well as an eagerness to grow and improve, are the most vital strengths I have and am continuing to develop, all while in the saddle.

So, as I watch the sun sink to the forest floor, into the whispers of settling dust, I remember the little girl on that old yellow bus. The heels of her sparkly converse digging into the gray leather edge of her seat, a little book balancing on her knees. Holding the worn encyclopedia so close that she can smell the pages, that girl has no idea that in just seven years, she would be under a crystal blue sky, while sitting on a beautiful roan, with an autumn breeze blowing his mane across her fingers. And as the pulsing orange flames of the September sun sink beneath the towering pines, she is enraptured in an incomprehensible sense of peace.