redroanchronicles

As some of you may know, I am a child-hating curmudgeon.

Okay, that's hyperbole. I admit it. I don't actually hate children. (They're just like people, only smaller.) It's just that I don't understand children. I'm the youngest child in my family, and I didn't have one of those childhoods with younger cousins running around or anything like that. I never dealt with people younger than me, so I basically am just perplexed by them. I have no idea how to deal with kids, and since the bulk of my experience with kids is neighbor children shouting "HI!" at me and then following it up with a stream of undecipherable gibberish, I find the idea of being around children kind of intimidating.

Which is why it's a little odd that I harbor a secret dream to start up a horsemanship program for kids. It all stems from that same basic instinct that adults have to live vicariously through their children, except that I don't want to have children (sure, they can visit, but I want to be able to send them home again), so I want to live vicariously through other people's children. I'd love to see kids have the opportunities that I didn't. (So, logically speaking, I should be starting a mounted languages-music-and-baseball program.) And possibly, I've watched too many episodes of The Saddle Club.

Yes, I know I'm nearly 30. No, I don't intend to stop watching The Saddle Club. EVER.

I like to keep an eye on craigslist and Dreamhorse to see what sort of horses are selling and what prices people are asking. Lately there have been a lot of lovely little ponies selling for a song, and I can't help but think how nice it would be to gather them up in one place and teach children to ride on them. (I also have a secret plan to train BLM burros to be riding mounts for children. If I were rich enough to actually implement any of my plans, my life would become a constant series of hilarious follies suitable for reality television.) Normally, the urge to do insane things like teaching kids to ride horses -- which presumably I would do this a good ten or twenty years down the road, when I've actually turned myself into a good rider -- isn't very overpowering. But then I see something like this.



I shot photos at an equine playday recently at my local fairgrounds, and this young lady was riding this cute little pony. And when it came to the gaming section, the pony made it clear that he was familiar with running barrels, and that he was having none of it. He started to... misbehave. He tried to reinforce every stereotype about ponies ever.





His young rider just took it slow around the barrels, kept her cool, kept her seat, and smiled. Instead of losing her temper, she just held her ground and grinned. I'm not sure if she's a member of our local Pony Club, but I wouldn't be surprised. I would love to one day help create riders like this one, the way that my own riding instructor -- who coaches the local Pony Club -- does now.

And this girl wasn't the only whippersnapper out there riding up a storm, either.


I believe it was mentioned that this rider is only five. Her horse appears to be saint-like. They tackled the flat classes and barrels like they'd been doing it all their lives, which for the rider just isn't a very long time. I do wish her helmet was properly fitted and adjusted, though. See? I have maternal instincts after all.


This poor rider did not have a good day -- her pony bolted with her aboard and there was a collision with a fence involved -- but they were still a pretty adorable pair.


So I'm prepared to admit it.


I like kids.


I am prepared to admit to also liking teens, pre-teens, tweens, and other things that end in "eens." (Maureens?)


And yes, I DO believe the children are our future! I BELIEVE IT!


And I think it's safe to say that the future is pretty photogenic.


And also colorful.



Anyway, I guess all that's left at this point is to "teach them well and let them lead the way," which is where I hope to one day come into the equation. Because obviously, they need me. It's not like they're doing perfectly well without my intervention. If I wasn't there to help them, what would they do with themselves? I mean, besides win ribbons and have a good time and stuff.

Going to shows and playdays and whatnot, I've seen a lot of kids who get into the ring and get that fierce and scary look on their faces that means they aren't entirely having a good time. (That was totally me as a child. I feel their intensely-concentrating pain.) I've also seen a lot of kids who are in the ring because their parents put them there, not because they're particularly excited for -- or ready for -- climbing onto the back of an animal. But I figure if you put them in the ring, and things don't go exactly as they (or you) planned, and they still come out of it looking like this rider? Then maybe the kids are alright, after all.

It's possible that I might have a little, teeny, tiny thing -- a fascination, you might say -- for the medieval period. You might assume that it began with Heath Ledger in A Knight's Tale, or even with Kevin Costner (shut up) in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, which I must have watched about ten thousand times as an impressionable youth.

I suppose I didn't really realize at the time what an English accent was, much less why Robin Hood really ought to have one.

I mentioned being young and impressionable, I hope.

But honestly, my childhood love for all things medieval goes back almost as far as my childhood love for all things dinosaur. I was merely interested, until I found my library's collection of Arthurian legend and picked up a beautifully illustrated copy of Gawain and the Green Knight, and then I was a goner. It's a fascination I indulge to this day, though the more fantastical elements of dragons and wizards that form the basis of so much fantasy and legend really aren't of much interest to me. I prefer the grit and dirt and head lice of the real thing. I probably should've been a history major.

At any rate, while I've occasionally indulged this fascination with all things ye olde with visits now and again to local Highland Games festivals or Renaissance Fairs, I can't say it's ever really been my scene. It's seemed more within the purview of, well, drama geeks. And while, being a geek myself, I understand and appreciate their enthusiasm, it just didn't make my skirt fly up. I've enjoyed exploring my Scottish heritage at the Highland Games and lord knows I love a good caber toss (not to mention a good kilt), but I never felt terribly compelled to attend another Renaissance Fair as long as I lived.

Until I heard on the radio that Humboldt County has its own medieval fair, the Medieval Festival of Courage. And sure, maybe they aren't big on website design or maintenance, and maybe it's still not really my scene, but they were going to have jousting. With horses. And lo, I was compelled.

( Click here for horses and archers and dogs, oh my! )

The Festival of Courage happens in October, so anyone who has an interest in catching it should keep an eye on the usual sources around then for the 2010 dates. For more photos of the event, check out my photography website riiiight over here. You can even buy prints there, that's how awesome it is.

In other news, though stylistically I prefer not to cut-tag my photos, I realize I might be breaking some flists. So I've put them behind a cut tag. If any of you have a preference for cutting or not cutting photo posts, could you comment and let me know? I'm still finding my way a bit with this new blog, but I'd like for it to be a pleasant diversion for you and not a pain in your ass flist.

I know the holidays are supposed to be full of heartwarming moments, twinkling lights and joyous caroling and... whatever. But the truth is that between buying that first present and glazing the Christmas ham, we all go a little crazy. Some people get into brawls with grandmothers over the last available fad toy. Some people... put Santa hats on a bunch of miniature horses and take humiliating pictures.











To be fair (if only to myself), this wasn't really my idea. (It wasn't Flash, Rudy and Rosey's idea of how they were going to spend the afternoon, either.) That blame rests entirely with my friend Kira. Kira is the kind of person who, in the course of her daily life, occasionally thinks to herself, "You know, I should put some Santa hats on some miniature horses." I think that might make her a genius. An evil, evil genius.


This is Kira with one of her horses, Chara. Chara has no winter coat. At all. It's ridiculous. My horse looks shaggy enough to be a muppet, and Chara looks like she's planning on a vacation in the Bahamas.


Rosey doesn't seem to mind this part very much. As I took these photos, Rosey started licking Kira's wrist. Like, a lot. Sure, she looks cute, but apparently she loves the taste of human flesh. This is worrying. I guess miniature horses go a little crazy at Christmas, too.

Everyone, this is Steve.



Steve, everyone.

My friend Kira acquired Steve on the Bay's north jetty. Apparently he'd been dumped there over a week before and was relying upon the kindness of strangers. (By which I mean, of course, that the locals were helpless to resist his big golden eyes and slobbery jowls.) Unfortunately Kira couldn't keep him, so he ended up at the animal shelter, which in this area already has a pretty serious pitbull population.

So if you find yourself in need of a dog, check out the shelter in McKinleyville. I'm told Steve plays fetch in a terribly hilarious way. I can tell you four important things about Steve: that cameras make him a little uneasy, that full-body massages make him not at all uneasy, that he has a truly enormous head, and that he has the best name of any dog ever.

Steve. Seriously.