TRUSTING AND BEING TRUSTED

I love camp so much. I’m so glad I’m here again! Are the same horses here this year? Is Amanda back? What cabin am I staying in? Who’s my counselor?” The excited questions poured from Susan’s lips in an unstoppable waterfall of syllables. This was my first year working at summer camp, and I could already tell that our week of camp for
people who are blind would be like nothing I had experienced.
“The horses are here,” I jumped in at her next pause to come up for air, “and most of them are the same ones that were here last year. Amanda got married this summer, so
she’s not working here anymore. And as soon as we get over to the registration table, we’ll find out where you’re staying and who your counselor will be. I’m glad you’re back too.” I tried to think back through the menagerie of questions to see if I’d forgotten any.
“Goody!” Susan clapped her hands and reached for my elbow. “Let’s go!” As we walked, I marveled at the energy and sheer joy emanating from Susan’s face.


“GET THE CARROTS”
Down at the barn the next morning, I finished tacking up our smallest horse, Ranger. “You be good this week,” I whispered in his fuzzy butterscotch ear. “No more kicking. I mean it.” Ranger turned to eye me, then the saddle, and then resumed munching his breakfast. Shawndra, barn director and worrier extraordinaire, flew past me and into the office. “They’re coming,” she called out. “Get the carrots.” I headed out of the barn and into the corral to greet the campers. Some were chatting nervously about that one time, when
that one horse did that one thing, and now they don’t like any horses. At all. Others were nearly bouncing, telling the aides that they wanted to ride the same one as last year. Was it Abraham? Or Isaac? No, it must have been Jacob. Who is the brown one again? One of
the assistant counselors quieted the group as I neared them.
“Hey, everyone, welcome to the barn,” I said. “Is everybody ready to meet some horses?” The little group burst into a new cacophony of “all rights,” “yeahs,” and “no ways.” Okay, who wants to get on up first?” Shawndra smiled nervously, and I wondered
how she had avoided a heart attack in the four years she had been running the barn. “Me! Me, oh, me!” I knew Susan’s voice before I could find her in the group. I helped her to Lida Rose, one of our veteran camp horses, and prepared to watch the magic that
was sure to ensue between her and old Rosie. With Shawndra’s help, we lifted Susan’s leg up to the stirrup of Rosie’s saddle. “Okay, now lean forward and take a big jump up. But remember to be gentle when you sit down.” I took Susan’s hand and began to
help her mount. Instead of leaning forward, however, she leaned back from the horse and jerked her arm around. Rosie started at the sudden motion and skittered a few inches the other direction.


“I WANT TO GET DOWN!”
“No! I want to get down. I want to get down!”Susan’s foot was out of the stirrup in a fragment of the time it had taken to get it up there. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Shawndra
flitted to Susan’s side like a mother hummingbird. Susan lunged backward until she hit the barn wall, then crumpled into a heap on the ground. “I don’t want to ride. I want to go back to
my cabin.” Tears fl owed. I sat in the dirt beside Susan and motioned for Shawndra to keep going with the other campers. “I thought you liked horses,” I said after a minute. “No. They’re mean to me. They scare me.” “Rosie didn’t mean to scare you. She just got a little scared too. Horses don’t like sudden movements.” “Neither do I,” Susan muttered. She was calming down considerably, and I thought we might be able to give it another shot. “Let’s just go talk to Rosie.”
“No, I don’t like her.” “Really? I thought you liked all the horses . . .” “I do. But not her. I don’t trust her.” “Why not? She was scared, just like you. You know, horses can tell what people feel. Maybe she could tell that you don’t trust her. Maybe that convinced her not to trust you.” Susan looked in the direction of the big horse, who was snoozing on her loose lead rope, lower lip hanging loosely in relaxation. “I want her to trust me. Can I just pet her?” “Of course.” Susan slowly stood, and we approached Rosie’s neck. The horse reveled in the pats and coos that followed. A few minutes later,
Susan was ready to try again. At first, Susan and Rosie walked slowly
around the corral. Both horse and rider were calm. “Look! She trusts me,” Susan called out. “Yep. Do you trust her?” “Yeah! See?” Susan dropped the reins, leaned down, and wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck. “Uhmm, maybe you shouldn’t trust her that
much.” I grinned and grabbed the dragging reins as we headed out of the corral and onto the trail.


Lifeglow September - October 2010, Vol. 27, No. 5