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rarely experience the liberty and lessons nature provides or perceive its dangers. My parents weren't worriers. We were rarelysupervised. No one said, “Don’t…” I rode Midnight alonedown country roads, around the local sawmill, and down therailroad tracks. The three of us kids swam like fish. We werefree to swim off the dock anytime. My younger brother, who may have been about ten at thetime, decided to swim across the river. A barge or big boatwould never see or expect a tiny head in the middle of the river.When my mother saw Randy's buddy return to the house alone,she was nervous. \river,” the boy calmly answered. Randy’s clothes were on thedock. Mom hurried to the nearby subdivision to find someonewith a boat to help pull her son out of the river. My dramas were horse related. One evening, I was leadingour recently arrived two-year-old filly, Debbie, when she rearedbecause she didn't want to leave Midnight. As a teenager, I didn't realize how herd-bound a horse could be. Her hoof caused abig gash not far from my eye. After sheepishly coming into thekitchen with a bloody head, I was carted off to the hospital forstitches. For some time, I remained shy of horses that might rear. Horses belong in stalls, pens, pastures, or the open range, notroaming freely around a house where unforeseen dangers lurk.Naively, we allowed our horses to wander at will around thehome. There was a low-water creek comprised of low-water andpluff mud stemming from the river beside the house. Midnightwas probably reaching for Spanish moss, which horses love,hanging from an overhanging oak tree when she fell into the soft,thick mud. Her lower body was immediately submerged. Themare struggled but couldn’t climb on to firmer ground. My panicked mother called her friend, Ellen, a practical farm woman,who arrived with a truck, crane and her farm hand, Ned. Theymanaged to get a rope around Midnight’s body and crank herout of the mud, but not without unforeseen catastrophe. Midnight was pregnant. The ordeal ultimately damaged or killedthe fetus, which caused Midnight’s death. Another time, Debbie was on the hill in front of the home partaking of the Spanish moss. At the precise moment my motherwas driving around the hill toward the garage, Debbie bolteddown the hill and into the pointed molding above the Chrysler’sheadlight, resulting in a large wound in the mare’s chest. I ranfrom the house with towels to staunch the bleeding. We calledour small animal vet who came out and stitched up the wound(there were no mobile vets at that time).My early riding days were woefully short of basics, like howto saddle a horse. One afternoon, I naively put a rope aroundMidnight’s neck and tied her to a tree while I went to retrievethe new saddle. Suddenly Midnight sat back, pulling, struggling, and almost strangling herself. I screamed, which of courseis the last thing one should do in a time of trouble. The mare hadmore sense than I did. She survived. Looking back, I think it’s a wonder children and horses survive the mishaps due to ignorance as well as they do. The angelslook after us. oShelley's recent books, A Riding Life – Memories, Dreams, Art and Love, also A Wordsmith – Intimate Glimpses into the Lifeand Work of Elleston Trevor, may be found on Amazon. Her book,The Heart of the Horse – How to Know Them, How to Ride Them,How to Love Them is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and at Greenway Saddlery. Just released and available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble is Magical Riding - Connecting with the Extraordinary Nature of Horses. 30 Arizona Horse Connection February, 2026