Cookie Jar Sweet Memories

Day 1

 

 

Cookie Jar Memory:

 

“Hours of horseback riding on the levee”

 

 

That classy Lovely-Lady Candice Leah wed a pauper gypsy-nomad is no secret to those familiar with this rebel, rascal, rogue rapscallion; Candy drew up their imaginations on graph paper and “carpenter”-Carl nailed them fast, each making “changes” to the “plan” as the project evolved. (I once moved a wall five (5) times in one afternoon!

The overall collaborative effort gained rave results; we lived in some mighty fine abodes over the years. Of course, that “gypsy”-man promptly sold each “estate” sooner, if not, later.

Well!---Practice makes perfect!? Oh! Well!...anyway? (Sorry! My “mind” just runs---Wild!)

Fortunately, Beth fell in love with “Fury” of the T.V. show and wanted a horse. Somewhere around her age of four, we found a little Welsh Pony name of Lady. Quickly, the herd grew!

A realtor called one day to say that he had listed a ten acre tract on the bluff just outside New Hanover, a little wide spot “Green Acres”-type Hooterville. (Oh! Home sweet home! To this hill-billy country boy!---It proved to be only the start of his absurdities…all Grand!? In the scheme of things. Okay! So? That is a “personal” conclusion! Secretly, I think they’d all agree.)

The view took in a valley sporting a creek flowing between two bluffs coming together opening a vista to the Mississippi River and on into Missouri. We bought the property and I built our house to take advantage of the scenery adding a pond and a horse barn/stable. Such an “estate” demanded a swimming pool, but, it just wasn’t in the budget (which I never respected nor observed). So, I found a guy who installed in-ground pools as a business, made a deal with him to buy a “kit”, all the hardware absent any labor, and constructed the “swimming hole” myself. Nothing to it: dig a hole, pour some concrete, put the pieces together, hook up the electricity and, as they say, just add water (and “fun” with kids, adults, bar-b-ques!)

Silver Mare Arabesque (Ara, for short) foaled our Spirit-of-’76 in the year of his name. The colt shied from adults but “nosed” right up to Becky, aged 3, and just Spirit’s size.

I gated the back pasture fence opening it onto a ridge which led down the bluff to a county road joining the expanse of levee systems protecting Monroe County from the “Big-bad” River floods; these avenues offered the perfect “trail” riding venue for a community of horse lovers.

Each month’s full moon found the “would-be” cowboys entertaining the “westerners” with a bon-fire and a levee-trail ride; one fine night, we had sixty-three horses trekking the bottom-land.

Beth, about eight or nine, proudly rode her own Lady-Belle steed with absolute authority; kid-sister Becky was only two years old and I cradled her in my arms as we rode for a couple of hours; she fell fast asleep as the alabaster pale full moon orb rose to light our way.

Ah! The “simple” things! Sweet memories! Indeed!