C is for Cinnamon

Apparently, today is the National Day of the Horse. 

That makes it a perfect day to revisit my occasional, alphabetical series about the horses in my life. Today's letter is C. I have ridden so many horses whose name started with C: Chalk Dust, Chalkduster, Cisco, another Cisco, CC, CB, Cherokee, another Cherokee, Chico, Chino, Cocoa, Cowboy, another Cowboy, CC, Charity, Cyrano, Cody, Coconut, Clyde, Casper, another Casper, Coupe, Cindy, Chief, another Chief, Captain C, Coco, Chipper, Cain, Chipmunk, Cinnarock, Chantilly... the list just goes on and on.

A few of those horses were really important to me, but none more so than Cinnamon.

When I was ten, I started taking weekly riding lessons at a nearby barn. Three years later, my instructor moved on to greener pastures, and the price for the other trainer jumped from fifteen to eighteen dollars an hour. My mom said that was too much, and just like that, my riding career was over.

I was bereft.

A few weeks later, a classmate and one-time friend invited me to come see her new, leased, camp pony, which she was keeping at that very same barn. The pony was about 13.3, chestnut and had a big white face that reminded me of my favorite school horse, Love N Stuff. I fell instantly, hopelessly and tragically in love and spent the next three months hoping for another invitation.

In December, my classmate approached me between classes and said, "If you're ever at the barn, you're welcome to ride Cinnamon."

"What if I'm there every day?" I asked eagerly.

Dawn rolled her eyes and sighed. "Whatever."

It wasn't quite every day, but for the next six months, Cinnamon was essentially mine.

I rode her multiple times each week and shared her with my best friend, Sarah.

Forty years later, I mostly remember her as a sweet, amenable pony, but a quick reading of my eighth grade journal indicates that I actually found her pretty challenging.

It's funny how time soften memories.

As the school year came to a close, so did my time with Cinnamon.

Our time together culminated in a schooling show.

I rode Cinnamon in all the classes.

All of them.

If this had been a book, we would have won something. In reality, all we managed was a handful of low ribbons. It wasn't much, but also, it was everything.

In June, Cinnamon went back to camp.

I went with her.

I spent the next four summers working on the horse staff at Tom Sawyer Day Camp.

That led to other riding opportunities...

which led to riding jobs...

which led to other opportunities...

and other jobs...

eventually culminating in another white faced, chestnut pony mare.

I'd like to think I was persistent, motivated and scrappy enough to have ended up here even without Cinnamon, but who knows? It's possible I could have been someone who took weekly lessons for three years when I was a kid and never rode consistently again.

Either way, I'm glad it happened the way it did. C is for Cinnamon, the pony who changed my life.