Childhood on Horseback

I still remember Christmas afternoon, when my Dad drove me up to Charleston, Maine.
"Just wait and see," he kept saying.   My heart fluttered as we drove in our blue mini van, hands clasped together how I always do.
A beautiful barn appeared out my window after a few different turns.  The barn smell of hay and horses filled the air.  To this day, it's still the best smell in the world.
"Follow me," Dad said as he began to walk to the door, crunching ice while doing so.
I can still remember opening the barn doors and hearing the softest winnies of more than 30 horses tucked away, cozy in their stalls.  After all, it was Christmas afternoon.  Many of the owners were at home with their families.  Not Dad and I.  Here we were, in a beautiful barn, with the best company.  I followed him.  He took a left, and then walked down the aisle.  Stall after stall, horses perked up as they heard our footsteps.  When finally we got to her.  Abigail.  My horse.  My beautiful Arabian Quarter horse who was given to me from a family friend.  I peered into her stall and saw her jet black mane and long tail.  I gently opened the stall door only to find a handmade sign Dad must have made.  It said, God made little girls to beautify the world.  And of course, to ride a horse.  A few years ago, I went back to this barn and tried to find this sign but couldn't.  It will forever be etched in my memory.  Dad decorated Abigail's stall door too.  A beautiful red bow was on it.
"Look, this is Abigail's new home now.  She'll be here where you can ride in the arena and trails and take lessons," Dad explained to me.

And boy did I do just that.  Years and years went by and hundreds of trail rides were ridden.  Jumps were jumped, and hours were spent laying out in the pasture listening to the gentle tear of grass from horses grazing.  When I think back on my childhood, it always goes to horses.  One memory that is so vivid to me was during middle school.  It was a summer night, around 7 o'clock.  I was riding by myself out in the outdoor riding arena.  With the security of the western saddle, I cantered around and around, hair blowing and feeling free.  If someone were to ask me what is one of your happiest memories, this would be up there.  I remember finally slowing down to a gentle lope and raising my arms.  Those were the days.