Mrs.
Mead, the housekeeper Ream had hired, showed him the way to the front porch
and swing suspended from the log rafters. The cabin had been rented for
a few months so that Ream might unwind, decompress, reflect and adapt to
living without sight.
His new housekeeper
was widowed. Sarge had known her previously because her deceased husband
came home from the war, blinded, to the rehab unit. Mrs. Mead was matronly
and homespun. Cooking and sewing came naturally to this woman from an old
fashioned world. There was no pretense with Mrs. Mead. She reduced life
to simple, practical, hard to answer questions that sometimes were very
abrupt. Her light-brown gray hair was usually worn in a bun. She was a
large woman both in height and breadth being nearly six feet tall. She
walked a little off kilter because she had a hip replacement.
"There are only four
rooms and a bath here. I'll take you around several times until you learn
where everything is. I'll be staying nights at my home, which is only a
mile away. Sometimes I need to go there in the day, but I will leave your
phone within reach of your chair in the living room so you can call if
you need me. Incidentally, I've left this phone number with some friends
in case they need me."
Then Mrs. Mead took
Ream's hand and put it on her shoulder and began the tour of the house.
She taught his hands where to find door knobs, sinks, towels, and cups,
even cushions, as well as the path to his bed and bath. Ream practiced
again and again and by late afternoon was beginning to feel at home.
He found his way to
the swing on the front porch. It was now late March; yet the evening air
was still cool in Sedona.
The country air seemed
different to Ream in Sedona. Obviously it was cleaner than city air, but
there was something else which made it feel mellow. Ream sensed the
difference, as if the surrounding red rock sentinels were friendly spirits.
As Ream sat down, he could hear a gentle breeze rustling the leaves and
grass. The silent sounds of evening were beginning to deepen, and from
them he could tell the sun was setting.
In the distance there
was the clip-clop of a horse trotting down the road, and Mrs. Mead was
asking, "Do you want cinnamon coffee?"
"Not yet," Ream indicated.
Ream leaned back in
the swing as he took a deep breath and began to again wonder about the
events of the past few months. He noticed the trotting horse seemed to
be closer. He listened more carefully as the clip-clop came down the road
and neared the porch. He was following its cadence as it came to what he
guessed was within about 15 feet, stopped and retreated a few feet. There
was a slight pause before he heard a man speak. Ream leaned forward in
a useless attempt to see better.
"Howdy," said a casual
relaxed voice.
Ream leaned back and
echoed, "Howdy." And then inquired, "Out for an evening ride?"
"Something like that;
heard I had a new neighbor and thought I ought to stop and introduce myself.
My name is Gus Meeker, and this here is my horse Biff. Sometimes He goes
by Biffer, and he is the better looking of the two of us." Gus chuckled
slightly, at his own cowboy humor.
"Gus, maybe you heard
I don't see well; in fact, I don't see at all," said Ream.
"Yup, I heard," replied
Gus with kindness.
With curiosity Ream
asked, "I'd really like to know what you and your horse look like. Would
it be a trouble for you to describe yourself?"
"Can't say I look at
myself too much, but I remember my eyes are kind of smoky blue and my hair's
all gray now, and so's a patch of whiskers under my nose. That any help?"
"Sure, tell me
more about you?"
"I'm a retired
cowboy who has spent more time with cattle than people. When I was young,
it took four years of philosophy at the university to figure out I was
meant to sleep under the stars. I always took time to be free, and these
days I usually ride a little every day. I'm more at home out there in the
wide open. Being out there is like being in church to me."
When Ream heard the
horse shuffle, he asked, "What kind of horse do you have?"
"Biff here is a redwood
bay Arab with black socks, mane and tail. He's handsome and stately. I
won him in a card game from a hard boiled saddle-tramp name of Snake Buckman
whose drinking lost the game. It was eight years ago and Snake is still
trying to get Biff back either by hook or crook."
Ream reacted with a
grin, "I'm Ream Johnson and this is Mrs. Mead. I don't have a horse; but
then, horses don't cook as good as Mrs. Mead, which makes her better looking
than the both of us. She was about to bring me some cinnamon coffee. Would
you care for a cup?"
"Don't ever remember
saying no to a neighborly invitation for coffee. I hope I am not intruding,
Mr. Johnson?" Gus replied, as if he were requesting permission to dismount
his horse.
It seemed like old
fashioned cowboy courtesy to Ream and made him comfortable in saying, "Nope,
come on over, and please call me Ream."
Ream heard the saddle
creak. Gus dismounted and ground-tied Biff by letting the reins fall to
the ground. Biffer just stood there. Then Gus walked over and sat on the
edge of the porch where Mrs. Mead handed him a cup of cinnamon coffee the
way Gus liked it, without sugar.
"You said you rode
nearly every day?" inquired Ream.
"Yup, quite a bit,
whenever I get the chance," smiled Gus, glancing back at Biffer.
"What draws you to
riding, I mean do you ever get tired of it?" Ream asked inquisitively.
"Haven't yet, and its
been over 40 years. If I did, I'd quit. I do it because it clears out the
cobwebs. It's not the horse by himself, but being out there in it, on the
horse."
Ream noticed crickets
begin their evening roll call, and wondered if Gus meant some kind of closeness
with nature.
"Would you explain
out there in it a little more?" probed Ream.
"The horse makes it
a nature walk in a rocking chair. You sway in rhythm to the pace of life,
not the city. Soon without thinking about it, something deep inside falls
into place. You let go of your troubles, and at least for then, time doesn't
mean much while the silence soaks you up. And there you are, gathering
your peace," replied Gus.
"Sounds like something
I could use," lamented Ream. "What is it about horses?" He continued, "I
mean, what are they really about?"
"That's a big question,"
replied Gus.
"Please go on," responded
Ream, "give me your whole answer."
"OK," replied Gus.
"Horses ain't big dogs. People think you can coax them with a sweet voice
to come. Except you can't sweet talk a horse. They ain't sociable. And
they don't think rational. They live freedom."
Ream remembered a dog
he had ten years earlier. He had taken the dog to Obedience School and
learned commands of Sit, Down, Stay and Come.
"Well then, how do
you communicate with horses?" asked Ream, stopping to ask Mrs. Mead for
more coffee.
"Touching the horse
in certain ways with the reins and your legs are cues to a horse. A horse
ain't no car either. You don't just kick them to go and pull on em to stop.
You can't assume pulling on the reins is just like stepping on the brake.
It can be real dangerous."
Ream wanted to know
more so he asked, "How's that?"
"A horse knows as soon
as a dude hits his back if he can ride or not. All dudes are green, they
think they can ride but they can't. Even some gentle horses will get antsy
when they get the wrong dude on them. They will tense up and start acting
goofy. Someone who is afraid of horses gets nervous and by osmosis the
horse knows they are afraid, and it makes the horse jittery."
"Well, Gus, can a person
overcome his fear?"
"Yup. You just gotta
understand what is really going on with the horse. What you can understand
you won't fear."
"Go on," said Ream.
"The horse is being
cross-cued when someone who is afraid tries to ride. Actually, what will
happen is a nervous dude will clamp with his legs from his tenseness, and
then will pull back on the reins. He don't want the horse to go nowhere
so he thinks he has to hold it. It can be standing plum still and he still
wants to get a hold of it. Well, on a good horse, when you pull on it,
it is supposed to go backwards.
The dude will say,
What's wrong with this horse? All the while he is confusing the horse by
cross-cueing, squeezing with his legs which is telling it to go forward
and pulling on the reins to go backwards at the same time.
And then he will start
asking, Is he trying to buck, is he trying to run off? And his legs keep
getting tighter, pressing on the horse.
Meanwhile, he's signaling
his nervousness with his hands too heavy on the reins while he's trying
to pull it back. And his voice is excited. What's a horse to do, I mean
the poor horse don't know what is going on.
I've seen a dude pull
a horse back over himself. He is trying to get the horse to stand still,
but is really cueing the horse to go back, then he pulls harder to stop
the horse, and he literally pulls the horse over on himself."
The mellow evening
air was carrying the smell of Oak Creek and the greenery in woods. The
red rock monuments had begun their metamorphosis into giant ecru patriarchs
to hold their nightly vigil.
Ream was recalling
how his dog learned commands and had been so willing to please. He wondered
how friendly horses were, if they were approachable.
"Gus, how friendly
are horses? Can you walk up to them in a pasture?"
Gus replied, "Just
by how you approach can make a horse walk away. So you don't walk up to
challenge or confront them. You got to work on horse time, not your time.
He's got to accept
you and he won't be rushed about it. Walk slowly toward him till he starts
to notice you. Then stop and let him look you over. You got to wait there
till he gives you the OK. If you can read horses, you can tell when he
lets go of his tension. Sometimes he will show it by blowing it off, or
lowering his head."
"Are you really asking
his permission to approach?"
"Yes. You can't do
this with words, but you must do it with your body talking, showing deference
and respect for his presence. The horse can definitely sense if you don't
have regard for his rights as a fellow living creature. He, by nature,
has respect for yours."
Gus finished by saying,
"You would be surprised how much reading horses has to do with improving
your relationships with people. When you read people like you read a horse,
you have a lot more patience, and you don't crowd them. It's not like controlling
people. It's more like allowing them to be comfortable with you and then
give you their best. I believe everyone wants to, but we don't give em
the chance."
Ream sank his chin
into his hand.
"Gus," said Ream, "with
all this talk, I would really like to meet Biff. I'm in the process
of learning a whole new world by touch, sound and my other senses.
I'm developing a new inner ear."
Gus welcomed Ream's
interest. "I think Biffer was hopin' you might ask. He's been givin' you
the once over."
Ream tried to fathom
the free spirit of the horse, as he pondered his own crippled spirit.
"He must be something
really free, the way you treat him. Is there some way I can know about
that?"
"I suppose just by
doing it," answered Gus as he led Ream within a few feet of Biff, who was
now watching.
"Remember, the objective
here is to let Biff make the decision to get acquainted, so just stand
here and wait. If you decide to move your hands, do it very slowly. Horses
don't see good up close, and Biff is likely to think your hand is a boxing
glove.
Everyone has to create
his own relationship with Biffer. He doesn't bite and is quite affectionate
because I have always allowed him to lick and nuzzle. Many people will
tell you it's the salt on your skin and he is just rubbing himself on you,
but with Biff it is more. You will find this out for yourself."
"Will Biff be curious
about me as well?"
"So much so that he
likes to do the sniffin' and kissin' first in the beginning. If you try
to pet him first, or too quickly, he will just back up until he knows you
better.
It generally works
like a mirror. If the person is scared and moves his hands quick, Biff
is jittery and moves back quick. Getting acquainted with him is kind of
like a first dance," related Gus.
Biff and Ream stood
in the aftermath of a Sedona sunset. Just standing about a minute, then
Biffer stepped toward Ream. Ream stood still, sensing the horse moving
closer, and trusting Gus's words.
Then Biff stepped
forward again and nudged Ream in the stomach with his nose. Ream smiled
as he was pressed back a few inches. Slowly he held out his hand. Biff
looked at it and did not recoil, but sniffed it.
From there, getting
acquainted was like a dance filled with licks and nudges from the horse,
while Ream's slow moving hands did the touching. Their greeting must have
gone on for about ten minutes. Then Ream remarked, "Gus, a while back you
were talking about the horse always choosing freedom and there being a
special cowboy touch and feel to it. Could you show me?"
"You bet. It will take
a couple pieces of gear and a little while to show you. Mind if we do it
tomorrow?"
"OK," said Ream, as
he wondered what pieces of gear might be involved. Was there some hidden
secret involved in communicating with horses? Maybe even with people, from
the way Gus talked. Those questions seemed to eclipse his personal dilemma
for the moment. He looked forward to the next day.