The smell of horses (musing)

The smell of horses

4/28/23

All copyright remains with the author. No use of any kind is permitted without express written permission from Melanie Heard.

The smell of horses reminds me of my mom.

Sabrina was excited to come back to the barn, but I knew for me, it would be bittersweet.

My mom gave me the gift of horsemanship at a very early age, and then, when Sabrina was old enough, she did the same for her…paying for lessons (with an amazing teacher) and cowboy boots and a helmet. Sabrina has always loved horses and she took to riding immediately. Just like her Nana Ellen.

My first horse was named Major- a dark brown, tall lanky drink of water with a bit of an attitude. I think I must have been turning about 10 years old when my parents wound red yarn throughout the house, beginning at my bedroom door and going around every fixture and every dining room table leg until it eventually led to the barn where there was a big red bow on Major.

Best. Gift. Ever.

Shortly thereafter, because of his attitude problems, Major was replaced with my big four legged sorrel couch, Bubba. He was SO handsome…. A full white blaze and four white feet. As a child, I could hop on Bubba‘s back, and literally ride him around with just a halter. I could lay flat down on his back with my head on his butt and stare at the clouds. We went on so many trail rides, trying to see what kinds of interesting things we could see. He was my first boyfriend. I French braided his tail and brushed him till he sparkled, and I loved him so much.

My parents made all that possible. And when I moved out to go to live in Los Angeles (and maybe a little bit before that when I started doing musical theatre nonstop), my mom took such good care of Bubba for me until his dying day. Losing Bubba used to be one of the hardest things I ever endured.

Used to be.

My mom and I loved to go horse camping near Lake Cuyamaca. It was the most beautiful spot and we had so many fun times. So many memories. We used to go for day long trail rides up Mount Azalea, and boy did I get sore. I remember seeing the indented spots in the big boulders where the Native Americans ground corn into maize. I remember the wildflowers, and the lake, and all of the beautiful trees, and the blue sky, with puffy, white clouds. I think that this was the time that I fell in love with nature. Being alone together, and listening to the sounds of the birds with nothing else to hear, but the clip clop of the horses hooves. And then we would eat our slightly warm turkey sandwiches, and just stare out into the beauty of the world that we lived in.

And of course, my mom would always bring the best junk food and snacks whenever we went camping. Because “junk food doesn’t count when you are camping.” My favorite was bags of Cheetos, Dr. Pepper in the can, and marshmallows roasted over the campfire. Plus, she would always make the most delicious meals.

She would say, “Everything tastes better when you’re camping.”

As an adult, I asked my mom why her food always tasted better than mine. She looked at me, and with a very deadpan response said, “One word: Butter.”

But I don’t really think that was all there is to it.

At the end of our horse camping trips, we would always drive through a town called Julian. We would stop and snoop through the gift shops, and would always buy a homemade hot apple pie from the Julian pie company. When we got home, we would heat it up and then we would  

put Häagen-Dazs vanilla ice cream on top and enjoy every spoonful. It literally tasted like heaven. It was the last tradition of all of our horse camping trips.

So now I will sit here and wait for Sabrina to finish her riding lesson and I will try not to cry. My mom instilled a love of horses in me, and in my daughter….and I’ll be forever grateful.

The only other thing I want to say before I go is….

I hope they have horses where you are, mom. I really do.