Ashley Ford

A Passion For Kindness

When I was in fifth grade, I thought I was on top of the world. I was always in charge; I was the big boss man, well… boss girl. I was one of those kids who would make documentaries with her friends in hopes of one day hitting the jackpot- it never happened. I was one of those kids who organized a Spice Girls group so one day I could show my singing talent to the world- although all of my aspirations would have been crushed by Simon. But most importantly, I was one of those kids who, on a regular basis, would get into trouble with my mom for being too obnoxious and outspoken when I went to work with her. Not a good idea.

For as long as I could remember, it had become sort of a “tradition” for our family to spend time on the farm every Friday night. While my mom taught horseback riding lessons from six to eight, my sister Chandler and I had to amuse ourselves with anything possible. Normally we would each invite two friends to come with us out to the farm and then have a sleepover at our house afterwards. As my mom taught lessons, we’d run off and find things to keep us busy for a few hours. This included playing in the recently made tree fort where no one could see us, rummaging through fields to mess with horses, and taking baths in manure carts. I know, the latter sounds gross, but don’t worry, we bleached them first.

If it was rainy and mom was teaching lessons in the barn rather than outside, we would race from tree to tree, roof to roof, trailer to trailer in the pouring rain. All the while, Chandler, our friends, and I in only T-shirts, soaking up God’s gift from above. Those were the times I understood the true meaning of what it meant to ‘dance in the rain.’ I learned how to let my worries run free, taken away by each tiny droplet that hit my face. Looking back on those late Friday nights on the farm, I can picture my mom standing in the center of the arena with a huge smile stretched miles wide. I can hear the comforting tone of her voice while asking a rider to do something that transcends anything they’ve ever done. She stood there instructing them to do the simplest of all tasks. Asking them to go beyond everyone’s preconceived expectations and create something extraordinary that will one day baffle the world. Even something as small as speaking a single word, stretching to a point where there’s no going back, or holding their heads high all by themselves.

Sometimes, I’d find time to sneak away from my friends while Chandler entertained them for a short time, never noticing my absence. Ducking in between the two lowest railings of the arena fencing, I’d slowly find my way to the center of the arena where my mom was standing using every hand gesture imaginable, as if conducting an orchestra. Though I stood there motionless, I think my mom enjoyed my company. Each time I was in the ring for no more than fifteen minutes. But somehow, my mom knew that doing his only helped me to understand more and more certain that one day, I would be doing exactly what my mom has done for a third of her life. I would be a Therapeutic Riding Teacher, helping those with disabilities to reach the success their families only dreamed was possible.

Six years later, there I was: officially a volunteer for two years, a part of both the barn and office staff, and yes, soon to be an instructor. This summer, since my mom was short on instructors, I did a little bit of begging with an ounce of “I Love You’s” until I enticed her enough to let me teach. After all, if I had to fill out a job application-which I didn’t-under the question ‘Why should we hire you?’ I would have simply stated, “Well mom, I was technically born into this program so I know almost everything there is to know about the job. So therefore, I have had about sixteen years of experience into the field…”

With my luck, she would have replied, “Actually, I forgot to tell you but you were adopted when you were five years old. So that only makes it eleven years of experience, which isn’t acceptable.” Luckily that wasn’t the case.

Although you had to be eighteen years old to be a certified therapeutic riding instructor, I was allowed to teach as long as a certified instructor was on the farm while I taught. Thankfully, I had my lovely mother.

Tonight marked the first Friday night lessons of the summer. Funny how normally my mom would be standing in the center of the arena and I’d be sneaking into catch a preview of the life. But now, it’d be almost the exact opposite- except I doubt my mother would be crawling through any fences to come see me during the middle of the lesson.

I had been working in the office up until three o’clock or so. Working on correspondence letters and inventories was completely frowned upon during a day like this. It was around sixty seven degrees today, a luke-warm temperature, topped off by random gusts of wind from the ocean five miles out. The sun shone brightly through every crack in the trees and warmed the world with its soul. I had decided to stop working early so I could go horseback riding for about an hour to loosen up before the eager volunteers began crowding the barn. For my ‘sweet sixteen’ last month I had gotten a seventeen hand, black Thoroughbred named Peter Pan- the only horse I’ve ever known to eat peanut butter. She was only four years old when I got her and had just been taught how to jump small fences. She needed to be ridden a couple of times a week to stay in shape, so I did my best to hop on when time allowed.

After riding Peetie, I changed back into my barn clothes and spritzed myself with a few drops of my amber scented perfume to dull the killer ‘barn smell.’ As I entered the barn, the smell of fine leather was so strong it couldn’t be mistaken. I was almost certain that Linda, our barn manager, had spent hours cleaning every saddle and bridle on the face of the hundred acre property. A few cobwebs were dangling from a burnt out light bulb in the first stall. All the while, one of the black haired barn cats had decided to go on a wild rat chase, creeping along the wood timbers above the stalls that held the lights.

A small number of volunteers had already arrived and brought in the horses we would be using for the lessons. I was relieved when I recognized a few familiar faces of those volunteers I’ve known since I was a toddler, but most of the volunteers were completely new. The new lacked experience, which was something I could be in desperately could be in supply of my first night of teaching. My mom hadn’t been able to order me “Instructor’ badge in time, so, I was stuck with my plain green and blue one that had ‘Volunteer’ plastered on the front in bold black lettering. No one, except for a select few, would be able to tell that I was the Instructor. But hey, it’s fun to keep people guessing every once in a while!

Eventually the whole barn was overflowing with volunteers pacing back and forth with saddles, brushes, everything, in their hold. One elder gentleman even crossed my path three times because he had forgotten what he had initially set out to get. It was twenty till six and some of the volunteers were beginning to tack the horses while others were just finishing the brushing process. Small chatter could be heard as soon as you stepped inside, but the volume of the barn was generally low, a jumble of voices behind stall doors.

I walked around to observe the progress in each different stall, to see if anyone needed my help. Passing a couple of the stalls, it seemed everything was going smoothly; the volunteers obviously had some knowledge of the tasks at hand, and horses were behaving themselves. Things seemed mostly under control, and for that I was particularly thankful.

I neared the third stall down the left stall of the aisle. It was the stall of our newest addition to our family, King Kong. King Kong was a little dappled grey Shetland pony, not exceeding much higher than the height of my chest. He was a handsome little guy, but like any other typical pony, he had his moments. I stood peeking through an opening while trying to remain invisible- it wasn’t working very well. King Kong had his legs perfectly squared and his neck was held high. He was intimidating- well, as intimidating as a pony half your size could be- and it was easy to see his anger by the way his nose was crinched and his ears were pinned back.

I began to think something was wrong, because of the expression he wore, but decided to stay back and see what happened. As the two volunteers getting him ready realized he wasn’t too happy for some odd reason, they began to try different ways to restore his happiness. After a few short moments, King Kong was back to his perky self and I moved on again to check the rest of the barn. False alarm.

The six o’clock lesson had passed swiftly, everything went as was planned.

I was now seven o’clock and the riders had finally arrived. Normally, a class would have four to five riders, but with my lack of thorough experience, I had asked my mom to start me small.

Sidetra, my first rider, was about seven years old and had been diagnosed with Autism when she was born. Ever since her father had died two years ago, she hasn’t spoken much. She does have a beautiful smile though and isn’t afraid to show the world her gift. Today she wore a pair of loose jeans with a pink and white polka dotted top. Her riding helmet and boots made the outfit simply exquisite. I mounted her onto her horse, Webster, and with two volunteers by her sides and one leading her horse, she walked away, displaying her award-winning smile.

Next was Lucas. Lucas rode with my mom last year when he was seven, and returned this year, a big eight year old. Unlike Sidetra, Lucas was a talker: every second of every minute, and every minute of every day. I was told he had been deaf since birth, that hadn’t stopped him from succeeding in school, as well as daily life. Lucas does sign language very well- I am still learning- and so we can talk through gestures. He had decided to wear his Charlie Brown shirt today, which was appropriate since he climbed aboard Snoopy, one of our oldest mares. Lucas slowly followed Sidetra, talking up a storm, as his smile filled the ring.

Then there was Noelle, modest Noelle. No longer did she have a mother to hold onto when thing were rough; no longer did she have a father to one day lead her down the aisle. Both of her parents were killed in a car crash only a year ago, leaving her with a nanny and one younger brother who didn’t understand what was going on. The headlines in many papers read, “Young girl of seven years, only one to survive fatal crash.” Noelle now suffered Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and as a result of the depression, had been losing weight rapidly since the crash. You could see the hurt, the anguish, the loneliness that filled her soul each time those deep blue eyes stared directly into yours; you could feel it too. The pain she felt was the same pain I felt not long ago; the same pain we all feel once in our lives, the pain that overtakes our very being.

She wore he mocha colored hair loosely braided with a few strands sweeping the sides of her face. The shirt and pants, both oversized, hinted of her past. Noelle’s nanny said she hadn’t smiled since the crash. I don’t blame her, how could she?

The goal was to get an inkling of a smile before she left us in eight weeks. Out here, nothing is impossible. Horses are miracles at their best.

We had saved the pony with the most personality for Noelle. King Kong. Little did Noelle know that King Kong was a retired circus pony. He could do unimaginable of all kinds, like juggling a ball on the flat surface of his head and lying down on demand. I felt he would be the key to unlocking a radiant smile that has been hidden in the depths so long.

Time passed by quickly with Sidetra smiling for all to see and Lucas yapping the entirety of the lesson. But, still no smile from Noelle.

Each time King Kong did one of his infamous tricks, Noelle’s eyes widened and I could tell that little by little, drops of comfort and happiness were trickling back into her very essence. If I hadn’t learned but one thing while watching my mom years back, it was that miracles take time.

The lesson had ended, riders dismounted, and volunteers began taking the horses back to their desired haven. The arena cleared quickly and I found myself alone. I was picking up a few of the white ground poles in order to transport them to the other side.

That was when I felt it.

Someone had come from behind and gently grasped my hips, no warning. I could feel the little hands, so small in comparison to my own. The touch was warm, as if an angel’s. It startled me at first, but when I turned, I was completely in awe at the sight.

I pivoted to the side catching my balance. I felt Noelle resting herself against me, as she leaned into my embrace. She tilted her head back and those deep ocean blue eyes stared straight into mine once again.

“Thanks Miss Charleigh! Can I ride King Kong again next week for my lesson?! Would that be okay?!” I was completely stunned at the fact that there it was, a smile resembling Sidetra’s so closely, when Noelle began shooting questions as if taking a survey. I’m not quite sure how long I stood there before I realized that it would probably be ideal for me to give her the answer she so desperately hoped for.

“Um, yeah, of course, definitely!” I muttered my reply with as much animation as I could sum up.

“Ok, cool! I’ll see you next week Miss Charleigh!” Noelle darted off in the direction of the barn, towards her nanny, who I could see swiping a tear from the top of her cheek bone.

“Yeah, see you next week Noelle!” Returning to what I had set out to accomplish, I bent down to pick up the last of the poles.

Yes, miracles do take time. Although you never exactly know how much time.

I could feel the one stretching from ear to ear across my own face, resembling not only Sidetra, but Noelle. It was simply a smile rooting from a passion for kindness.