Beth and I like to take a walk every day, especially on the days when we aren’t going to our gym at the Villa Roma, the last remaining hotel from the glory days of the Catskills.
If we turn left out of our driveway, we go uphill and if we turn right, we go up an even bigger hill three times as long. (New York State, unlike Manhattan, is full of hills.)
At the top of C. Spielman Road is a street worth the climb. Up there, no matter which way we turn, there are grand homes built on large tracts of what used to be farmland.
There’s an elegance to space, when the land and the sky aren’t filled with man made structures. And when we are in places like that, Beth and I breathe easier.
On this day, we saw our neighbor, Sue, on a path in the woods carrying two buckets.
“Hey,” Sue called out to us. “How was your summer? Were you traveling?”
“Yes. We were in Greece.”
“Good to have you back,” Sue said.
“Are you going up to feed your horses?” I asked.
“Yup.”
“Can we come?” I asked, hopefully.
“Sure,” said Sue.
So, into the woods we went swapping summer stories on the path up to where the horses spent their days.
As we were cresting the hill (there’s a lot of ‘em here), a beautiful sight came into view – a silhouette of a horse watching our every step.
“That’s Toby. ‘Hi Tobe!” said Sue. “He’s the leader of the bunch,” she informed us.
What I thought was at the end of the path was much different than what we saw. Instead of a stable, it was acres and acres of open land for the horses to romp around in and, well, just be horses.
Sue began whistling repeatedly for the rest of her brood to gather for dinner.
“This is Poky and that one over there is Buddy.”
In between whistles, Sue told us more facts about their breeds and such, but I was more focused on the three large animals five feet away from us looking like they were thinking, “Who the heck let these strangers into our special place?”
Soon, a donkey appeared over the ridge lumbering toward us.
“Eeyore!” yelled Sue. “Where’s Lucy?”
Sue told us how she had acquired her lone donkey, Eeyore, from another local family. Apparently, Eeyore’s stablemate and human family all passed away during the pandemic.
“I was happy to get him. He’s such a sweetie,” Sue told us. “And he protects the horses from coyotes.”
Lucy, who is partially lame, was the last to arrive.
“She’s my special girl. Lucy gets to eat where she wants and requires her own mash of food. She’s part thoroughbred and only Eeyore can be near her when she’s eating.”
“Okay,” Sue said while unhooking the gate, “let’s go inside so they can meet you.”
Over the next half hour or so, we moved closer to the horses and the lone donkey and, to my joy, they moved closer to us. By the end of our time, I had stroked Eeyore’s long, soft ears (“He loves that,” Sue told us) and simultaneously pet Buddy and Poky. Such power and gentleness was something I hadn’t anticipated.
Unlike this suburban boy, Beth knows all about horses because her father kept some at a farm near their home in Pennsylvania. During their youth, Beth and her siblings joined their dad on the farm to ride and take care of their horses. They also showed them at local competitions.
“Toby is just like Tornado,” Beth told me as we were getting ready to leave.
“How about I take a picture so you can send it to your sisters?” I said.
Truth is I’ve long wanted to see my lovely wife around horses, again. Beth’s memories of her father aren’t always such great ones, but their shared time with horses seem to be one of the best memories she has. And there’s just something special about girls and horses that I wanted to see her have in her life, again.
“Please let us know if we can ever help you, Sue.” I said.
I enjoy the thought of getting to know our neighbor and these fascinating animals.
As we left, we humans exchanged phone numbers. I hope we’ll all be seeing one another at the top of the hill, again.
