The Midnight Moonlight Horseback Ride
This excerpt is from the chapter, “Israel on the Missouri,” in which I write about the
200-acre farm where I grew up, the farm animals we raised and cared for, the crops my father
toiled to grow and harvest with our help between trips, and the sheer mystical beauty of our
hilltop farm. A skilled horseman from a young age, my father’s desire was to teach us all how to
ride. To that end, he bred and raised six horses, each given a Spanish name by my Argentine
mother. My horse was named Sombra (shadow), and this excerpt describes one of my most
memorable horseback rides with Joe and my sister, Colleen.
Probably my most memorable horseride of all, though, was when I was around twelve or
thirteen. It was early evening on a warm summer’s Saturday night. My sister and I were upstairs
in our bedroom, listening to the “Top Ten” countdown on the radio, as we always did in those
days. Abruptly, Joe’s voice broke into Petula Clark’s crooning voice singing “Downtown.”
“Pell, Neen, turn that damn radio off. Let’s go for a ride,” my father yelled up the stairs.
“That’s an order!” Grumbling and exchanging skeptical glances, we knew it was useless to
argue. Outside in the pasture, we saddled up our horses beneath the light of a huge full moon. It
was July, and the earth bloomed dark emerald. As Joe led us through the woods and away from
the house, the footsteps of the horses fell softly on the thick forest carpet. The trees stood
illuminated in the bright glow of the moon, like tall ship’s masts at full sail across the ocean of
sky. Thickets of fireflies lit up the air around us, combining with the star-bright sky overhead to
surround us in an enchanted net of twinkling lights. The croaking frogs, chirping cicadas, and
hoot owls were animal concert to our human silence.
Emerging from the stand of oaks and maples, my father led us down a hill toward a pond.
Without saying a word, my father made straight for the water. I was directly behind Joe, and
when I saw where he was headed, I pulled back on my reins. This was something new, and I
didn’t know what to expect. Would Sombra even know how to swim with me on his back?
Would he balk, and toss me over his head? And what about the poisonous water moccasins that
lurked in the local ponds?
“Come on, Pell! Let’s go, Neen!” yelled Joe, as he plunged into the pond’s silver moonreflecting waters with an exultant whoop. Glancing backward at my sister, I raised my eyebrows,
then, giving my horse a kick, I turned and followed my father. Whatever apprehension I’d felt
was not shared by my horse. Stepping easily into the water, Sombra kicked off the shore.
Buoyant and light beneath me, his thick neck strained forward and his strong legs pumped
through the water.
For several brief moments, my world tilted. Swimming on the back of a horse wasn’t
anything I’d ever experienced, and haven’t since. I became merely a slip of a human being in a
powerful animal universe. Sombra, whom I’d trained to obedience, was now the master
graciously bearing me on his back. Reins were useless now; I had to wholly trust my horse to
carry me through these waters. Intensely in the moment, all my senses engaged, and gripping my
knees tight so as not to fall off, I felt flush with the thrill of it all.
All too soon, it was over. Arriving on the other side of the pond, the horses scrambled
awkwardly up the embankment, the three of us slipping and sliding in our wet saddles. The tall
grasses and bullrushes brushed our soaking wet legs with mud and burs. As Sombra and Chiquita
violently shook the water off their hides, nearly unseating us, my sister and I laughed in giddy
relief. For days afterward, the two of us basked in the high of our “midnight moonlight ride,” as
we later called it. Such moments of grace with Joe were rare. They were to be hoarded against
that time when the curtain of darkness would descend once again.