Behind Infinity

I never, ever thought that buying a horse would be this involved.

It all started in March, when things here in Farmland started to thaw out. Deprived of my beloved skating pond, I took to wandering around the neighborhood, discovering all manner of darling little thickets and ponds and spacious fields and wide skies. And all the time, I thought, “This would be twice as fun if I was doing it on horseback.”

Actually, that’s a lie. It all started on my 9th birthday, when my then-best-friend Karen gave me a book about a girl and her horse, titled creatively, “The Race”. It was part of a series. After I read all 10 books in the series, I was totally hooked on the whole pony thing, and for the next few years I borrowed every single book (literally. And some more than once.), fiction and nonfiction, that the Kentwood Branch library had to offer about horses, horse care, horse breeds, horse feeding & vetting, and horse showing. I drew countless pictures of horses. I collected plastic horses. I plastered every square inch of my bedroom walls with horse posters. I painted a horse mural on my closet doors. I was forever trying to convince my dad that really, the shed in the backyard was big enough to house a horse, and truly, neither the neighbors nor the city of Grand Rapids wouldn’t care if we violated zoning laws and kept one back there. He didn’t buy it. So, at about age 15, I gave up.

Until March. In March we moved out to Farmland where there are horses everywhere, even next door, where I can see them from practically any window in the house, and wouldn’t it be lovely to have my own horse for cantering across the fields and down the dirt roads…not to mention the fact that several of my friends are or have been involved in equine activities, and frequently talk about them fondly. The pressure was too much. I snapped. “I’m getting one, if it’s the last thing I do,” I resolved.

So yeah, that was back in March. Do I own a horse yet?
Nope.

After digging up my beloved collection of horse books, and doing some preliminary research and review, and scoping out the classified ads on the internet, I realized that there are a lot of horses out there, and finding the right one takes a little more effort, skill, and know-how than choosing tropical fish at the pet store. So I called several stables in the greater GR area, visited a couple, and signed up for lessons at the one with the nicest people.

That was three months ago. Now I can ride a little bit. However, I’ve had to make some changes to my lifestyle as well. In the interest of supporting my new habit, I have foregone buying any new clothing. (Stop rolling your eyes. Just because you hate shopping doesn’t mean I do!) I haven’t shopped in a department store since February, and I haven’t even been to a consignment shop since Exam Week (when I went almost every day, in an effort to relieve stress by pretending that I didn’t have a paper to write, I was perfectly justified in leisurely strolling up and down the aisles, scrutinizing the merchandise!). An even more dramatic development is that I, “she who swore she would never ever ever run again”, have taken up running, in an effort to build up and maintain buff legs for riding and endurance during prolonged cardiovascular activity. According to the hatch marks on my wall, I’ve been out a total of 18 times in the past month, putting a mind-boggling 36 miles on my running shoes, and accomplishing impressive speeds of up to 7.5 minutes per mile. Be proud of me. What’s more is that all of this running as had a profound impact on my diet. At the beginning, I would come in after a run and wonder out loud, “Why in the world did I have such a crappy run today?” Then I’d surmise that it was probably because I hadn’t been home for dinner, and so my food consumtion for that day had consisted entirely of Lucky Charms, Yoplait, Cheese Puffs, and M&M’s. Apparently Lucky Charms, even despite being fortified with eleventy-seven essential vitamins and minerals, are not a good source of running energy. So I have learned to eat better, too.

All because I decided to get a horse.

After all that, you may be wondering how the search is going. So far I’ve looked at hundreds of online classifieds, e-mailed eleventy-eight owners about photos of their proffered animal, and test-rode 3 animals–two of which are offered for sale at Byron, the other one elsewhere. I wasn’t terribly impressed with the ones at Byron–one was ok, the other was really lazy. And then there’s the elsewhere one…that was definitely an experience. He was good-looking and advertised as being an old, quiet, dead-broke, well-mannered gentleman of a horse with “loads of personality”. (Since then I’ve learned that “loads of personality” can often be code for “this horse is a genuine pain in the rear”.) Well, he was kind of quiet, but he sure wasn’t dead broke. He started out by tossing his owner, so she longed him for about a half an hour to work his kinks out before she let me get on him. It didn’t really matter. He tossed me too…twice.

Furthermore, in the midst of all of this, my conception of my “ideal” horse has morphed drastically, too. First it was, “just a quiet grade horse to hack around Farmland with”, then it became, “hm, maybe some random shows once in a while would be fun” and now it’s looking like, “I want a purebred that will be good for equitation and english pleasure and probably some dressage, too. And preferably a mare, so she can throw nice babies if I have to take some time off from riding.”

Yeah. So I’m still looking. Aaron has a mare down in Arkansas that might do well. I think she’s gorgeous, but she’s kind of green and I’m by no means a trainer…yet And getting her here could be interesting. So we’ll see.

I’ve decided that the next best thing to being a kid again is to spend time with kids. To that end, I spent my Saturday with my sisters at a horse show, where their friend Micah and her mom Rachel were competing in various classes throughout the day with their Arabian mare, Tsetina. (Micah and Rachel are our next-door neighbors.)

7-year-old Micah and Tsetina, before their first class. Simply. Adorable. Micah’s my favorite. She is one of the cutest and most sweet-natured little kid I’ve ever met.

Micah & Tsetina compete at a trot in the 11-under Walk-Trot Equitation class, where they took 3rd.

Rachel & Tsetina warming up

Rachel & Tsetina at the extended trot, competing in the Huntseat Pleasure class.

After the show, Micah came home with us in the Beetle and we stopped at the Dorr Dairy Ranch to cool off, being that it was our first day of 80+ degree weather in Michigan. I love the Dairy Ranch. It’s one of those darling small-town shacks that puts 7″ (literally) of soft-serv on top of a sugar cone, calls it a small, and charges you a mere 1.00. It makes me happy that there are places like that still in the world.

Wild West Minigolf at the dairy ranch. Hilarious. Who wants to come over and play a few holes with me?

After that, we headed home and got out the Slip N Slide for some more summer fun. (Look at our beautiful lush green lawn!)

So today was definitely the best day of Summer Break that I’ve had so far. And I’m pretty sure everyone already knows this, but it bears repeating: Micah TerHaar is the best ever. (You can bookmark that, Micah.) Earlier this week Micah decided he and I needed some bonding time, so he called dibs on my Saturday night. First he came over to see the new house. We spent some quality time talking with my parents and their friends, who were here for our inaugural bonfire. Then we went to see Over the Hedge because Ben Folds did the soundtrack. While it wasn’t the best movie ever, it was entertaining. After that, we went to the beach in the dark. Now, going to the beach in the dark with a boy is something that my parents have told me I should never ever do. But I did it anyway. I knew it would be okay because pfft, this is Micah. I’m pretty sure he can’t do anything wrong in my Dad’s eyes, not even take me to the beach all alone in the dark.

It was pretty much amazing. First we had to walk through the woods and it was pitch black because the sky was absolutely cloudy tonight. I was a little scared, but it was a good kind of scared because I knew Micah was there to protect me. Then we ran down the dune and into the waves. At first we were futzing around in the ankle-deep water, but the waves were huge and we kept getting farther in until we were eventually up to our waists. The water was freezing–I’m pretty sure my feet went numb. The sound of the waves, the almost-pitch-darkness, and the sight of the black water fading into the almost-as-black sky was surreal and peaceful. All in all, it was just fantastic. I laughed a lot, just because, well, that’s what I do when I’m happy. I’m pretty sure that if I didn’t already have a huge crush on someone else, I would have fallen head over heels in love with Micah tonight as we frolicked in the waves. He’s handsome, witty, intelligent, and spontaneous. What more could you want, I ask? But it’s better that I didn’t fall in love with him, because that would just be awkward and who needs that? Besides that, he’s way out of my league.

By the time we stumbled back up to his car, it was midnight. oops, i pretty much broke another rule. We kind of got lost (but not really) on the way back through Zeeland, and I got home an hour and a half later than I normally do. On the way Micah showed me the building where he works, and the building where he will work when they move, and Adam’s house.

I love talking to my friends in the dark in the car. Some of the best conversations I can remember having happened under such circumstances. When I got home, I took a tally on my “Summer List” that hangs on my wall. “Go to the Beach”, “Spend Meaningful time with Friends”, “Do Something Exciting” and “Admire Creation” all got hatch marks.
Good job, Micah.

Dear Grandpa,

One year already since your life here ended and you took up your new one in Heaven. One year which you’ve spent healed and whole, singing and rejoicing. The thought of that makes me so happy. One year in which I’ve grown and loved and lived and missed you here…missed you so much in everything.

My 20th birthday was the first one without you. You would be (are? Aaron maintains that the present indicative might still be apposite, and while we can’t be sure of the theological veracity of such a belief, it certainly is a comforting thought to me) exceedingly proud of me, I know that much. You would have said all kinds of drawl about how beautiful I am and how smart and diligent and accomplished and mature. And I’d blush and stuff…and gosh, I miss you.

Thank you for always always always making sure I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt how much you loved me no matter what and how very proud of me you were. That knowledge and assurance is a comfort and support to me as I continue my academic career and teach my students and make my music and pursue what it means to live as a Godly young woman. It makes the success even sweeter…bittersweet, because I wish you could still share it with me, though I know that’s a selfish wish because your joy is so much greater now than anything I could ever bring you…and it makes pain and failure easier to bear, because I know you loved me in spite of it and would have done anything to take the pain away and rectify the failure, and you were proud of me even then.

There were so many times throughout this academic year when I wished I could have had you here to see me grow and blossom under my excellent Classics professors and alongside my amazing friends. There are so many amazing things I’ve learned about history and language that I wish I could share with you, because I know that you would be delighted by them. We could have read books together and discussed Latin words and meanings. I won an academic award this year for “Accomplishment in Classical Languages”. I know that you would have come to the awards ceremony (even though it was exceedingly long) and been so proud. And I would have introduced you to my professors…and you would have embarrassed me by telling them how smart I was and talking about how you used to buy me Scotch tape at Thrifty Acres when I was in kindergarden and you would pick me up from school and I would run out to your car.

We’ve moved, now. Our house was barely a hole in the ground last year when you died. But now it’s a real house, full of family, out in the country. You would have loved this here. Sometimes I can’t think about it too much because all of nature–the red-winged blackbirds and the frogs, the snakes and the dragonflies and the flowers, the bunnies…all of the creatures–it all connects me to you. In a way, I love that, but it hurts a lot, too. I can’t so much as smile at a robin without you coming to mind. The kids are so happy out here. The neighborhood is full of nice little kids for them to be friends with, and frequently we’ll have a whole passel of ‘em hanging around our house. Sleepovers are common. Just like I used to do.

I very much wish you could meet some of my new friends, especially Aaron. He’s definitely a man after your own heart, with passion for language and history and good music and conversation and humor and people. He loves people, just like you did. And he’s the oldest in his family, as you were–although he only has 2 younger sisters, not 11. But he loves them and protects them just like you did your family. And he has a beautiful love for the Lord. You would have gotten along so well. You were always so nice to my friends when you met them, and they always loved you.

I continue to play your Mother’s violin…I cherish it so much. Only recently, after many months of regular, constant playing, has it really, truly opened up and come to life, after all those years of lying dormant in the attic. It has developed a beautiful throaty ring in the lower registers and an unmatched sweetness in the highs, and it continues to improve. I’m so thankful you had the faith to get it refitted and have me play it again, when the rest of us probably would have dismissed it as a broken, worthless antique, fit only for hanging on the wall.

Gosh, it seems like I miss you now more than I ever did. Last year the grief was sharp and stunning…now it’s an ever-present ache. The pain seemed to go away for awhile…it seemed to be getting better. It wasn’t as distinct and in-my-face. I think that more than anything, its dormancy and my brief reprieve was because of the winter. I was so busy and the world was so cold that I really didn’t feel anything, happy or sad. Now that it’s gorgeous springtime, and I’m remembering all of the bittersweet nightmare that was last May, I’m constantly on the edge of tears. Quite literally. I live with the constant prick of homesickness, reminded by your absence that I don’t belong here, either. I fall in the shadow of the Most High, drawing on his strength, because I have none of my own. Though this is painful, and I hate it sometimes, it’s really not a bad way to be. When you were here with me, you gave me such perspective. Yet even in your absence, you still have a profound effect on my perspective. Right now I am truly experiencing the blessedness of Matthew 5:4.

Knowing of the glories you enjoy right now, I wouldn’t wish you back here for anything. But I still ache in your absence. There are so many things that I want to tell you…yet, I know there was nothing left unsaid. We always had an understanding. I didn’t have to speak, yet you knew.

I miss that, and I would give anything to give you a hug and feel your gnarled fingers in my hair once more.
I love you and I will see you again. We’re one year down, and just a few to go.
Your granddaughter,
Britt