Like all stories ever written or reflected upon, there is always a beginning. Sometimes you know when your own personal narrative starts, and other times your story begins without you even knowing. Your tale catches you by surprise while it sweeps you off your feet and begins to move you toward an unknown climax to your story. The plot twists, the characters interact and the story deepens.
I can still remember when my story started.
My story came upon me unexpectedly, and it walked, or should i say gaited, into my life on four sturdy black legs and a saddle on her back. Her name was Gypsy.
Prior to my sophomore year in high school, I had little to no understanding about anything horse related. In all honesty, I do not think that I had ever touched a horse at that point in my life. I knew exactly what horses were, but I could not understand them in any respects. That was where my knowledge about horses began and subsequently ended.
While I was leading a horseless existence, fate was concocting a chain of events that would end in a reexamination of my life and that would ultimately result in my introduction into the equestrian world. While I was doing something irrelevant and most likely unmemorable to my overall life, 125 miles away in Unadilla New York, a black mare named Blackberry was being pulled from the Unadilla horse auction. She was a spirited, middle-aged horse who was placed in the dark aisle, making her chances of finding a home slimmer than it would have otherwise been.
However, like all of life’s seemingly random events, this horse would be given a second chance. If we think of individual lives like a ball of yarn, this piece of fabric would continue to be pulled rather than cut. This horses string would be given the chance to play out, a chance it would not have had if a culmination of perfectly laid out moments had not happened.
And while I sat nearly three hours away, the string of my life began heading toward Blackberry’s string. I did not know it at the time, but eventually our strings would tangle, merge and begin to be pulled in the same direction. Whether I knew it or not, our strings were meant to be lie next to one another’s. If you told me at the time, however, I would not believe a word you were saying.
Fast forward about a month, and I was receiving news that my Mom was buying a horse. I knew that she was beginning to discover her love for the equestrian world, and it was a love that I had no concept of. She was purchasing a new horse. I knew that. It was a black mare. I understood that, too. The horses name was going to be Gypsy. Her old name, as it turns out, was Blackberry. Blackberry was rescued, brought back to a level of good health and now she was a member of my family.
Our first meeting was awkward to say the least. I was uncertain of this immense being. I had no prior knowledge that could give me some sort of solstice or act as a spring board to help me connect with her. Should I pet her? I had more questions than answers, and that scared me, but it also left me with an unrelenting hunger for answers. I left after our first encounter without knowing that I would come to love this black mare with that little patch of white between her eyes, and short, almost nonexistent mane.
As time began to pass, I found that I was spending an increasing amount of time at the stable that Gypsy lived in. Before I knew it, I had landed a job as a farm hand there. On the days I was not working, I found that I was taking the 20-minute drive over to the stable just to say hello. There was something about being with the horses. It was a nice reprieve from everything else in life.It was simple comfort. They were fascinating and yet so unbelievably real.
Gypsy, as I began to learn, loved Nature Valley bars. Honestly, however, I think it was just that she loves to eat, but then again, who doesn’t? I discovered that she enjoyed having the back of her ears gently rubbed. She was a pro at losing her fly mask. Great in cross ties and more than willing to be groomed. A little cranky when getting her girth tightened and impatient when dinner was being served. Endlessly gentle and unbelievably sweet. For all of her imperfections, I still began to uncover perfection.
For all that Unadilla gives away, it also gives back. I was given the chance to meet Gypsy. I was also handed the opportunity to become devoted to a cause.
And then there’s Gypsy. Gypsy was given a loving home. She was given somewhere to be loved, nurtured and grow old. Most importantly, she was given a second chance.
For all the second chances that are not given at Unadilla, there are also many that are handed out. And each new chance gives with it the propensity of changing many lives in varied and differing ways. This second chance gave one horse a new home, a mother her first horse and a young man an entirely new perspective on the world.
This is only one story. I would love to hear more about your stories. Please comment and share your stories below.