| Doing All Right by Ralph Rice The black mare’s size and conformation were perfect. Her only flaw was a missing right eye, the result of being driven into a brushy mess as a two-year-old. Now six, she was prompt, willing, and well broke. I fell for this mare and bought her that day. Draft horses had surrounded me as a child. My grandpa and great grandpa on both sides of my family owned and used them for farm work. I had been exposed to them early and was bitten by the draft horse bug at a young age. Their majestic beauty and awesome power impressed me then as much as now. Their willingness to work, their desire to please, and their vast personalities I would discover on my own. I unloaded my new mare Dolly and walked her to the barn with light steps, high spirits, and a huge smile. I tied her in the barn as a host of emotions rushed in. My grandparents were gone. My dad lived across the country. How in the world would I ever learn about these incredible beasts? Up to this point in my life, I had owned draft ponies. I harnessed my first team when I was nine years old. My harnesses were made by my grandpas from an old set of buggy harness. I eventually upgraded harness and ponies. I had almost 18 year’s experience at harnessing, driving, and animal care, but still, like any new horse owner, I had questions and concerns. The friend I bought Dolly from was 35 years my senior and was soon my mentor as well as my friend. BJ was old school and slow at handing out compliments. I remember him giving me only two. Each came at a time I needed it most, and both times the praise was genuine and offered with respect. The first compliment came during a gathering of 15 to 20 teamsters. My friend, in front of the other men, told me I handled and drove my team as well as any man he had known. It was high praise coming from a man who, at that time, had worked and driven horses for more than 50 years. My heart soared. I had just been admitted into the inner circle of great teamsters, a place existing perhaps in my own mind, but entered by invitation only. Our relationship grew over the years as BJ continued to offer advice, help me in many ways, and shed light on a multitude of subjects. We broke a few colts, traded horses, and exchanged ideas, always with mutual respect. He became like a second father to me—even to the point of bawling me out once in a while. In the last 20 years of his life, BJ battled cancer. His love of life, family, and good horses gave him strength through some dark days. He was quick with a joke and often related some good horse stories. I will forever be in his debt for sharing information and caring for me. The last visit BJ paid to my farm was to see a weanling colt I had bought. I walked beside him as he shuffled with his cane. We rounded the corner of the barn, the colt came into view, and BJ’s eyes lit up. “Ralph,” he said, “He’s a dandy.” He stroked the colt’s neck and spoke to him. We talked about the youngster’s breeding and my plans for him. I told BJ I hoped I could get him broke in the style we both liked—honest and quiet. BJ chuckled, then with tears welling up in his eyes he said, “You’ll do all right.” Looking at that black colt, I jammed my shaking hands into my pockets, choked back tears, and accepted my second and most treasured compliment. My old friend—wracked with pain, bent from age, yet standing tall—patted the neck of a fine colt and smiled proudly. He could see the promise in the colt and his legacy living in me. BJ and Dolly are both gone now. It pleases me to sometimes think of them together in a grassy meadow, young and healthy. Dolly stepping off in her majestic style, up on the bit with her neck proudly arched. BJ with the lines laced through his fingers, telegraphing his thoughts to the willing filly as they drive off toward a bright horizon. This vision keeps me steadfast in my endeavor to work good horses, share my knowledge, and live my life to humbly reflect the teamsters who have molded me and moved me. Ralph Rice's column "Reflections" appears regularly in Rural Heritage. This column appeared in the Spring 2007 issue. |
09 May 2007