Horsepower

One Chol Hamoed, after the “there’s nowhere to go” tantrums, one brave warrior suggests horseback riding. I say, “Neigh, neigh.” I’m not going on a horse. This is for the kids. I’ll come along for the ride, to take pictures.

“Mommy is scared,” nine-year-old Simchi announces. No one reacts. I’ll show them. I pull on a flared ankle-length skirt and an old sheitel.

It’s a shaky hour’s ride up north to the stables. I’m going to do this. Ride a horse. The car swallows the road faster than my mind can spew out reasons for or against. It finally stops outside an iron fence. The snow crunches under my feet as the last of my resolve melts. The trees, barren, sway in agreement. Who rides a horse for the first time in their fifth decade of life? I’m staying behind at the stable. Maybe I’ll pat a leathered flank.

I click the helmet strap shut on each kid’s head. How tough they look in black gear against the rustic shed. I snap a picture, look at it. Maybe I should ride?