CW-Memoir

So, I'm finally putting up my memoir piece which we did a few weeks ago. I was putting off doing the editing.
I'm annoyed because of my failed flashback. On my final drafts, she said I shouldn't have flashed back, but she didn't even mention it on the first draft, so I thought it was OK!
So, yeah. I messed with my story to make it go chronologically.
We also had to cite 2 sources for this, so if you find 2 very randomly stated facts, that's why.


Falling and Standing
Tony, my distant uncle, and his wife Pat live up near the northern Sierras, by Lake Almanor. As we drove up to their house, the first thing we noticed was Tony’s collection of antique cars dotted about the road to their ranch. We parked in front of their house, greeted by the four large dogs that made their home here.
Beside the house was a strange lot full of mysterious dilapidated structures. One of the shy cats was slinking amongst them. Past the hutch with a single spotted rabbit, and the dusty coop of hens, was the stables: home to Pat’s three horses.
Most people wouldn’t find this impressive, but I certainly did. Any place with animals that was surrounded by wilderness was a place I wanted to be, especially if it had horses. I hadn’t been horseback riding since my previous birthday. After years of western lessons, my awesome old cowboy of a teacher had retired and moved out to North Dakota several years ago. His ranch bore a striking resemblance to the worn parts of Tony and Pat’s house. Only his place was much dustier.
Our arrival was in the midst of a thunderstorm. I’d been looking forward to horseback riding at this beautiful new place, and a little rain wasn’t going to stop me from doing so. And Pat didn’t mind either. She was happy to have a riding companion for a change.
She asked if I minded riding bareback. I’d ridden bareback once before, but that had been with a blanket under me. I’d always wanted to go with nothing but my pants between me and the horse. That’s a privilege usually reserved only for those who own horses. I eagerly agreed.
So, out we rode into the thunderstorm, Pat on Summer and me riding Abbey. Two of the dogs tagged along behind us, swishing their tails and zigzagging back and forth to investigate interesting smells. The dirt road lead back into the forest, and was draped in a canopy of pines. The branches didn’t do much to keep the rain off.
It was great to be back on a horse, feeling the familiar swaying motion below me. Without a thick saddle under me, I felt more connected to my horse.
We hadn’t gone far before we arrived at a small lake. Dark green grasses and flowers clung to its banks. Abbey and Summer headed there eagerly and we let them bow their heads to graze on the fresh greenery. The dogs trotted about, exploring the familiar landscape. Rain darkened both fur and clothes. I could feel water running down my scalp. This was wonderful, to be able to sit at the edge of this beautiful lake, feeling the rain while the horses grazed.
A strange call reached out over the lake. A deep trilling “whu-puurrrrrrrrrr.”
I scanned the lake for the one responsible for the strange call and my eyes landed on a tall brown bird with a red forehead that was stalking towards us. It was a sandhill crane, the most common species of crane, though I’d never heard anything like the strange “Whu-puurrrrrrrrrr” that it was hollering.
Pat and I turned our horses home at last. We were completely drenched, but quite happy. Something about being soaked with rain has always made me feel refreshed.
The storm cleared later that evening, and Pat offered that we go out again. My answer was obvious.
This time, it was a trio of dogs that bounded along after Abbey and Summer. We took a different route, away from the lake and deeper into the forest. It wasn’t dark yet, but the sun was beginning its descent. That was when we heard the coyote yip. The dogs took off to chase their wild cousin. We continued to hear the yips as the coyotes taunted the tamed canines. Beneath me, Abbey was becoming a bit jittery, spooked by the laughing of the coyotes. She began to trot. Abbey is a very bouncy horse compared to others I’d ridden. Not only that, but I didn’t have the saddle that I always had to keep me in place, with its reliable stirrups and horn. In a saddle, I could have withstood anything. But Abbey’s bouncy trot threw me off balance and I found myself flat on my stomach on her back, my face beside Abbey’s white mane.
My body made the decision without the consent of my mind. It said that it was time to let go. Suddenly I slipped sideways, and one moment later, I was standing upright on my feet, on the ground. I was completely disoriented. A moment ago I’d been on a horse. Now I was standing on the ground.
“That was a beautiful dismount,” Pat said, impressed. And for good reason. Most people that perform an involuntary dismount don’t end up landing on their feet.
Abbey came to a halt not far away and I used a stump to get up onto her back again. The dogs came back and we rode the rest of the way home without incident.
I woke up the next morning to be greeted by Sophie. She climbed up onto my bed, holding something in her hands. Considering 3-year-old Sophie had been rather distant with me yesterday, it was a pleasant surprise to find her greeting me so cheerfully this morning.
Then I saw what she was holding. It was a huge black beetle. There was a momentary flash of alarm as I jumped to the conclusion that she was holding a stinkbug. What if it blew up in her face? But I realized that if it hadn’t yet released the smelly liquid from glands in its abdomen, it probably wasn’t a stinkbug.
I accompanied Sophie to breakfast with her new pet. Pat, Sophie’s grandmother, suggested that Sophie free her bug, but she refused, acting very possessive of her little friend. As we ate our pancakes, Sophie placed the beetle in her shoe on the table. The beetle did what beetles sometimes do, and it began to crawl out.
“Your beetle’s escaping,” I noted.
Her interest in the beetle had waned with the appearance of breakfast. “I don’t care. Syrup is better than beetles,” she replied.
Even though Dad and I had a long drive ahead of us, we went for one more ride that morning. This time I was riding Summer. Pat put a saddle on Abbey so that Sophie could ride with us. We were accompanied by the regular pack of dogs, and this time Dad came too. We wanted to show him the beautiful lake, and hopefully the cranes as well.
Pat walked beside Abbey, keeping a close watch on Sophie. She held Abbey’s reigns, leading the horse along. Summer and I walked along beside them with Dad between us. When Sophie got tired, she walked with Pat.
We went again to the lake, listening to the “Whu-puuurrrrr” of the cranes. The horses grazed in the grass and Dad enjoyed the beautiful view and the concert of birds.
On the way back, Sophie rode again. We all gave a cheer when Pat let go of the reigns, letting Sophie ride by herself for the very first time.
We were about half way back when it happened.
“A car’s coming,” Pat called. I could hear the rumbling from behind us.
I was in front of the others, and couldn’t really look behind me to see what was happening. I steered the resisting Summer off of the road and tried to bring her to a halt. She pranced in place, not quite stopping all the way. The roar grew louder. And it wasn’t slowing down. What idiot would drive by horses without slowing down, especially with a child involved?
Dad and Pat told me that the small off-road vehicle had started to slow down a little bit, though not to a safe velocity. The dogs got excited by the too-fast vehicle and ran at it. The driver hit the accelerator to get away from the playful dogs, and he continued to charge down the road.
That was when I saw Abbey gallop by with an empty saddle. Where was Sophie? I had no time to think about that. By that time, the car was upon us, and Summer panicked. She took off at a canter, despite me pulling desperately on her reigns. And again, I had no saddle to keep me in place. I watched helplessly from Summer’s back as she pounded off the road and nearly knocked me against the trunk of a tree. I was once again flat on my stomach across the horse’s neck. And once again, my body made the decision without the rest of me. I don’t quite know how it happened, but as that tree flew by, I slipped off of Summer’s back and did a perfect roll, winding up in a sitting position. Abbey and Summer were galloping towards home. And that car drove right on down the road without even looking back. I raised my fist and shouted after them as loud as I could, “YOU JERKS!”
I stood up, unscathed except for the smallest of bumps to the head. Thankfully, Sophie was fine. The moment Pat had heard the car, she’d grabbed the little girl out of the saddle. Relief spread through me. Sophie was OK. That could have ended disastrously for her. Even worse than I could imagine.
I was trembling with rage and adrenaline. Had I ever been this angry in my life? I didn’t really calm down, even when we reached the house again. Abbey and Summer were waiting for us, grazing outside of the fence. Pat got them back into their corral with no problems.
I’d never fallen off a horse before. You might think it would make me afraid of horses. But not at all. It wasn’t until my next birthday that I got a chance to ride again. That was what I chose to do the day I turned 20.
After all, they say that if you fall off a horse, the best thing to do is get back on.