Horse Adventures

    I received a car ride down Back Hollow road to Rt. 72 where I met Christopher and John with the team of horses and wagon.  The wagon was actually called a surrey, an all black Amish vehicle that seated four or so people and had a roof overhead edged with tassels.  The big wheels surrounded the surrey's sides, pulled along by the wooden tongue hitched up to the horses harnesses. Buckshot and Beamer where brothers, Buck being the elder of the two. They were North American thoroughbred, both black and white, and quite large pulling horses compared to your average riding horse. 
    I jumped out of the car and greeted my friends, and as the cars pulled away it was the three of us aboard the surrey, and the two horses slowly working to pull us along the winding back road.  We came past the house I am currently living at in Red Creek, hung a left up at the steep intersection and began ascending Back Hollow Road. 
    About half way up this road, at a particularly inclined section, Beamer slipped.  His metal shoes with little cleats were not enough traction to make it.  He lay down a moment, panting from the arduous exercise.  John, perplexed by the situation but knowing full well it was up to the horses to finish the climb out of the hollow, waited until Beamer stood back up, the surrey lurching back and forth, and once again began stepping up the way. 
    As we reached the crest of the hill dusk came upon us.  We camped at the bottom of the Preston's lower field, perched in the beautiful Canaan Valley.  It had been a long day for my friends and the beasts.  They had climbed up from the river valleys' below and reached higher ground around dark.  They were unhitched and allowed to graze a little, John keeping them near by a little white string made out to be a fence.  They understood well enough that was their boundary, and rarely tried to cross it.
    In the early morning we got up, still shrouded in cool darkness.  As John was hitching Buck, he was yanked around by the impatient horse.  But he never let go of the halter, and eventually won in getting the horse to stand in place so he could harness him.  I remember John getting frustrated at Christopher and me for asking if we could help.  It is apparent what could or should not be done, but us being young tended to ask than observe or act.  But all in all, we were on our way very soon across the stretch of back road that led to the main road, route 32.
    As we crested the final hill to the intersection of Back Hollow and 32, we saw morning light.  Though it was quite early, we were in for some excitement.  We trotted out onto the main road and began our way North towards Davis.  But as a car passed and spooked one of the boys, we were suddenly off the right side of the road, over the small ditch, and precariously rolling along at a tilt not comfortable to go along with.  I remember very clearly hearing the words "high side!" as the horses somehow trampled over the craggy bank.  But sooner than we could have hoped the horses corrected their course and were back over the ditch and we bounced laughing upon the shoulder of the road.