My mom has often told me as I grew older that when we were children she didn’t lie to us; rather she created alternate realities. Many of those “alternate realities” followed me around for several years – the realization that they were “alternate” usually coming at inopportune times. For instance, my mother told us that an Indian Guru had taught her how to walk across a bed of hot coals and lie on a bed of nails. So, as a child, whenever I say a nail or a hot coal I asked my mom to lie on it, or walk on it. She would sagely reply, “Ah, but it is not a bed of nails or hot coals. I can’t do this with just one nail or one piece of coal. I am a master and must have the bed.” It made sense to me, so I didn’t push it. Though I did wonder what type of Indian it was that taught her. Was it like the Indians who shot at cowboys, or the ones who danced around prettily at the state fair grounds?
When I was 16, I was fortunate enough to be a part of WKU’s Junior Scholar program – it’s a summer program where kids who are going to be senior’s in high school live on campus, take college classes for the summer. Part of that program was a research project. My group chose Ghandi, which was the film for good behavior at my school that spring – I was inspired. And at the age of 16, some 10 or 11 years after my mom’s presentation of the alternate reality, I finally learned that a GURU was an Indian (ohmmm, I’m hindu and praying type of Indian and not an wa wa wa wa {imagine yourself putting your hand over your mouth there – can’t figure out how to type that sound effect} me friend o kemo sabe type of Indian) from India. And of course, I have to tell the whole story to my group mates, to which they respond by looking at me as if I’m a bit crazy.
However, my life as a child has given me some great stories to tell in the Big Fish (props to Ashlee who likes this movie a lot) sort of way. For example, there are few people in the world who have had the opportunity to witness barnlot surfing as my family has had the opportunity to witness it.
As I’ve mentioned before, my mother’s ambition was to become a true gentleman farmer – or perhaps Mr. Greenjeans. So on our farm, we had a true menagerie of animal life: geese, chickens, goats, ponies and horses, and a cow. Ironically, I have a terror-filled memory with each and every one of these animals. The geese would chase us, hissing with wings spread ready to attack. Only several years of Basil Griffen park have helped me overcome my unease in their presence. The white rooster would chase us unmercifully, trapping us on the front porch. The goats would chase us, pull our hair – but were perhaps my favorite of the animals because they were occasionally nice. And the horses. It is every girl’s dream to have a horse, to be able to ride around with hair blowing in the wind. My mom had a pretty white horse named Baby—I believe he was a Missouri Walking Horse. We had another horse, I vaguely recall as being named Angel, but I’m not too sure about that. And we had the ponies. My sister had a pony, I had one, and my brother, in true Jason form, ran through three or four. I think Jodi’s was named Pokey Sawdust, mine was Smokey, and one of Jason’s was named Blackie. Jodi’s may have just been named Sawdust and I’m confusing pokey with smokey – there’s really no telling – but I like the name pokey sawdust, it has a ring to it, so from here on out in my memory, pokey sawdust it is. Anyway, on rare occasions, we’d all get the wild hair to go riding. And what an “occasion” that was. It seemed to take hours upon hours to get everything ready for a ride. In fact going riding was probably a bit like riding a roller coaster. 3 hour wait for a 2 minute ride. First we’d have to put a little grain or gravel in a coffee can and walk about shaking it to lure the horses to us so that we could get them into the barn.
I have a distinct memory of being assigned the job of holding the horses. And getting very nervous because I was very small – horse knee height, and the horses, were very big. And the longer I stood there holding the reins, the longer I had to look at their feet, and the longer I had to think about how much those feet would hurt. I think in the end, I was hiding behind a tree with my arm stretched around holding the reins so that they wouldn’t be able to step on me. Anyway, we’d finally get all the horses in the barn lot, and often that was the hard part. Mom and Robin’s horses were tamed and quietly moved into the stalls to get saddled. Even the ponies were apt to follow. However, Blackie, Jason’s jet black Shetland pony purchased more for mom’s dream of a Dick and Jane get a pony book than for other reason had other ideas. Blackie wasn’t interested in being one of the herd. He wanted to be free! And so he was running around the barn lot. We had tried to corner him, bribe him with grain and goodies, but all to no avail. So, my mom decided that it would be best if we could get him to run through the barn and she would rope him when he came out the other side. Seemed like a good idea to us as well, so we chased Blackie through the barn. My mom swung the lasso and missed. So chased Blackie again through the barn, again my mom swung and missed. I wasn’t surprised really because she wasn’t doing it right. Real cowboys swing the thing over their head and then hurl it over the horses head. My mom wasn’t doing that. She was just sort of tossing out there. It was hopeless I knew. But we chased Blackie again through the barn. Mom swung the lasso and missed . . . or so she thought. Mom began to pull the rope back when instead it began to run through her hands… and caught at the knot at the end. Logically, I know that Blackie must have only pulled her down in surprise before she let go, but as in all good stories my memory has expanded the true events. In my minds eye, I see my mom hanging on to the rope and Blackie pulling her through the barn lot almost cartoonishly on her belly and bouncing around a bit. And that part of me thinking that it looked like fun. I remember that when it was all over, Blackie still wasn’t captured, but mom had already had her ride anyway.
