Five Years a Writer

Rock climbing fun for my brother (right) on a childhood holiday in Cornwall: no guard rails here!  When we lived in England in the early 1970s, I loved visiting my aunt Vivian, as she lived in a large house and kept horses. Kitty was the gentle one, so I was eager to test out my (very) rudimentary horse handling skills one day by bringing her over from the stables to the house on my own. What I knew about horses came mostly from reading my favourite Jilll-and-her-ponies books, rounded out with instructions and role modelling from Vivian who loved her animals and was fearless around them. At age 13 or so, I wanted to be the same.  Which is what led me to believe I could ride Kitty over from the stables with only a halter as tack — no saddle or bridle. I don’t remember how I got on her, but I surely remember falling off her. She was a clever horse, so when she detoured to the enormous tree just beyond the stable yard she must have known what she was doing with the rank amateur “riding” h