Later in life, Emma decided she liked horses just fine. For a few summers she spent a couple of weeks at a half-day riding camp. She did some grooming and learned about the tack and, of course, took riding lessons. She made good progress as a rider and thoroughly enjoyed being at the barn. The little girl who wouldn’t even sit on a horse when she was two had suddenly become completely fearless around horses, which, frankly, concerned us sometimes.
I remember her talking to a new riding teacher at the start of her second summer at the riding camp. The teacher was trying to get a sense of Emma’s riding level and asked her what she had done so far in her riding lessons. Emma volunteered that she had cantered and had even jumped once.
Fortunately, I overheard this conversation. It is true that the summer before one of her mounts had run away with her at a canter when she was supposed to be trotting. It is also true that while this horse was running off with her he hopped over some cross rails. And yes, to Emma’s great credit, she had managed to stay calm and in the saddle the whole time. But to say that she could canter and jump was a shade over-confident. Needless to say, I set the record straight with the instructor before her lesson began.
This was Emma, though – a study in contradictions. One moment she’d be cautiously observing a classroom activity rather than participating, the next moment she’d be belting out a tune in front of an audience of 100. One moment she’d steadfastly refuse to get on even the tamest of amusement park rides, the next moment she’d be climbing back aboard a 1,000 pound animal that had recently run off with her. I suppose we’re all a little bit like that, but we’ve often thought that the verse from Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself described our Emma; Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes)
No comments:
Post a Comment