| Michael Fralich |
Sunset Ride with Mica – Part I
Our twenty-something niece, Mica, arrived a little after 5:30. I had just finished my chores. Cyra and I were listening to jazz. I was sitting on my barn stool in the corner of Cyra’s stall. She was standing right over me, keeping me company. Having a thousand-pound horse looming over one makes for an interesting perspective on one’s own body. Cyra likes having me hanging out with her when neither of us has an agenda other than the enjoyment of each other’s company.
Outside, the rich smells of Cyra’s manure mixed with the scent of blooming lilacs. When the wind shifted, the smell of freshly cut grass from my neighbor’s lawn got my attention. From time to time I would reach up and give Cyra’s lips and chin a scratch. Her feathery whiskers tickled my hand. Mica and I chatted about the greenness of the spring and caught up on family news. The bell at the church striking six times roused us. We went inside to all share a meal.
We came back out to begin our sunset adventure as the sun was low in the trees in the west. The birds were still singing, but the sun had the feeling of impending departure. A light breeze kept the occasional mosquito at bay. We are still just barely in the grace period of few bugs but warm weather. Mica groomed Cyra and brushed out her mane. Tack consisted simply of a rope riding halter with no bit. Also, no saddle would be on Cyra’s broad draft cross back. Mica had grown up riding as a child. She had left it behind for most of her high school and college years. Two years ago, we embarked on having her approach riding in a different way than in her youth. I taught Mica to ride Cyra as I do, with minimal equipment between Cyra and me.
We turned left onto Gloucester Hill Road, passing the Block House and then turning left into my friend Field Rider’s barn driveway. We wandered into the lush grass behind Field’s barn. Mica let Cyra’s head go down to graze. Cyra has no grass in her paddock so these outings are special to her on many levels.
The field was scattered with red and orange hawk-weed, purple clover, buttercups, wild iris and to my delight, ripe wild strawberries. I bent down and found three plump but tiny strawberries, gave one to Mica, one to Cyra and ate one myself. A little explosion of sweetness was my reward.
As we once again made our way through this spring meadow, I was reminded of how blessed we are to live where we do in a world of so much tragedy, sadness and uncertainty about our future. Birds were calling to each other and to us. The last rays of the setting sun were setting the woods aflame in the west. The air was warm. This was therapy for all of us, Cyra included. How could we all not be filled with a sense of wonder and joy?
At the edge of the field, we melted into the relative darkness of the forest to make our way to the banks of Steven’s Brook. We could hear the water moving over its rocky bed far below us in the ravine to our right. We dropped down to the brook on the trail, picking up the Interurban for the last stretch. Mica pulled Cyra to a stop. We all paused, took some deep breaths and in silence enjoyed the murmur of the water passing by below us. Cyra became impatient with our meditation and we all turned to go back the way we came. On the way up the hill towards the cemetery, Mica asked Cyra for a canter but got a vigorous trot instead. We hugged the cemetery’s stone wall until we came to the opening that once led to the old mill below. Mica put Cyra on the dirt road that winds through the burying grounds. I am always filled with a sense of peace when I spend time in the cemetery. I have dubbed it the “City of Souls.” Every time I go, I try to learn what I can from the stones that mark the resting places of the town’s ancestors.
Making our way back onto Gloucester Hill Road, we turned towards the village. After the Block House, we ducked into the yard of my neighbor (permission graciously granted), skirted his back yard and emerged onto the Interurban once more. Left was our choice now to head to the crossroads with the Chandler Road away down the track. At the crossroads, we took note of the new info sign (blank for now) and a new bench, both built jointly by Royal River Conservation Trust and the eighth graders from Fiddlehead Charter School. To be continued….
Continue reading “Sunset Ride with Mica,” Part II at this link.
