New Year’s Day 1999

Enjoy this humorous tale by one of our readers from a memorable New Year’s Day ride. Take it away Barbara!

Canva/CC

By Barbara Efremenko

I gripped the flaps of my Stubben, my gloved hands slipping on the reins as the heavy white snow melted on the black Thoroughbred’s neck.  It was a total white out. My friends had long since vanished as I dealt with the fire breathing dragon leaping around underneath me. His black coat was slick with moisture, a mixture of sweat and precipitation. I decided to let him go. I had always fantasized about letting him run full out, and now, I decided, was the time. I turned him toward Sally’s huge open field, leaned into his neck, and softened the reins. Just an inch was all he needed. He shot off.

It was quiet and surreal. I buried my hands and face in his mane. It felt AMAZING! I was on Walter Farley’s Black Stallion, in a desert of snow. The only sound was his deep breathing as we charged on through the blizzard. But I quickly came to attention. Up ahead, somewhere, were two ponds. In order to get to the trail home, we had to ride the narrow strip of ground between the two ponds. I looked for the bench that marked where I needed to go. There it was. It was coming up fast, but the black Thoroughbred was responsive to my cues. I guided him up the rise and just to the right of the bench.

Then there was darkness. I couldn’t breath. I felt so heavy. I was still gripping the reins. But now some force was pulling me up. I came out into the daylight. I lost the reins. Some horrid dark sea creature rose up before me, almost smashing me back down as it sprayed mud and muck and water and ice on its way to escape. Then it was gone. I found my footing and looked around. As I came to my senses, I realized what happened.

SOMEONE. HAD.MOVED.THE.BENCH.

I pulled myself out of the pond on my hands and knees. I am sure I must have weighed 300 pounds in my muck and waterlogged thick winter clothing. The only thing that saved me from freezing to death I am sure was the fact that it took enormous amounts of energy to lug all that weight back to the barn in the deep snow. I trudged on, for an hour, maybe more. Upon my return, the black Thoroughbred with the muddy brown blaze and muddy brown socks was snug in his stall, cooler on, happily munching hay. My friends were thrilled to see me. I could tell — by the way they hysterically laughed at my condition while they sipped their hot chocolate…

Barb Efremenko has been riding 42 years. She’s competed in myriad of disciplines, but eventing is her passion. She is blessed to have a small farm and her husband to share it with. 

Photo courtesy of Barbara Efremenko