Hawk Mountain #3

Sitting in the saddle I felt Tucker shift slightly beneath me… I thought back to all the horse books I had read at the age of ten, and tried to sit up straight keeping my heels pointed outward. Golden sunlight caressed us softly as we all trailed after our guide, crossing the road and nudging our horses forward to meet the first hill. My first concern became the simple task of keeping Tucker on the move. The second my attentions wandered, Tucker’s head would reach down to snatch a mouthful of tasty grass. The trick is to pull their heads back up before they get that first taste, because once they’ve had it on their tongues it is much harder to pull them back up and persuade them to continue. This meant I was constantly jerking the reigns upwards. My second concern was to avoid groundhog holes pointed out to us by our guide; although sparse, they presented a viable hazard to both horse and rider.
Despite Tucker’s determination to eat, I glimpsed a Hawk (significant on Hawk Mountain) and wondered at a mother deer with her two fawns as they stared fixedly in our direction. As we closed in, the family bolted, one fawn with its mother, and one in the opposite direction. We were very close – within ten feet or so of the lone fawn which was obviously frantic to return to its mother. Our guide brought us to a complete stop, allowing the fawn to dart directly in front of her horse and into the brush to rejoin its sibling and parent. Leaning back slightly we finished going down the first hill, and began to climb the next one which was covered in queens lace. “When we get to the rock at the top, we’ll take a break” our guide informed us. At the crest of the hill and the aforementioned rock, I knew this was what we had come for. The curving contours of the land touched and melted into the darkening sky; a quiet hush of peace was blowing on the breeze that gently shook the trees and whispered through each waving stalk of grain and grass. Promptly I reached for my camera, even though I felt it would be impossible to capture the real beauty of the place.


A few snapshots later we began our decent down the hill towards the Harry Potter woods. When I talked to my cousins after the ride I found out why it was called the Harry Potter woods: aside from the fact that the forest has many tall old trees in it, the farm had 2 visitors come from NY one year. The lady was clothed in the latest fashion with long painted fingernails and lots of makeup; she was accompanied by her boyfriend, who resembled her in the fact that his dress did not indicate he was going to visit a farm to ride a horse. Halfway through the forest, the lady stopped her horse dead, and refusing to move any further she claimed: “That tree just reached out to touch me.” The guide hastened to assure her that this was impossible, but she was immediately backed up by her boyfriend: “No, if she says she saw a tree reach out to touch her, then it really did happen.” How they actually did reach the end of the trail I don’t know, but ever since the forest became the Harry Potter woods.
The trail was extremely narrow and steep, and the light was dim. I leaned backwards as far as I could to make the decent easier on Tucker. Once or twice Tucker broke into a trot, which I thoroughly enjoyed. All to soon the trees thinned and we broke out onto a meadow. The path was lined with bushes that the horses thought were absolutely delicious. In passing they would chomp down on a stem of the bush and pull on it till it broke, allowing them to enjoy it without interference. All to soon the farm came into sight and we were crossing the road and dismounting our steeds. Back at the B&B we munched oreos dipped in milk and discussed our adventures with the others.


It was growing dark outside, but I was desperate to fit another play practice in. Clearing the stage and calling the cousins I assumed my chair at the foot of the stage to direct and criticize. Well, the run through was complete but not particularly satisfactory. The scene changes took ages, and lines were a problem still for some of the children. The other two major issues were volume and never turning your back to the audience. For the last half of the play we used our only flashlight to dimly illuminate the stage.
When practice was over, I joined in the night games; mission impossible was a universal favorite. I never got caught, but I never won either. The person who was “it” counted to 10 while we all rushed to touch some of the bases and hide. At the end of 10 the counter opened their eyes and named people they saw and their hiding place, which meant they were out and had to wait until the next round to play again. When the person who was “it” had named everyone they could see, the counting would begin again and we would all race to touch some more of the specified bases. Often I was sprawled on the ground because I would either slip on the dewy grass or throw myself down to avoid detection. As soon as you had touched all the bases you had to touch the person who was it to win (all of this without being detected). All to soon Mom came out and told us to come inside… it was apparently “getting late”…
As it is now... I'm headed to a goodbye party for myself...
Love you all, PLEASE WRITE TO ME!!!
Margaret