Growing up a Horse Girl
Sylvie Harpur (she/her) // Contributor
Lily Jones (she/her) // Illustrator
He was always there, peering over the gate, asking for more hay, that’s all he was; a hay burner. Nobody rode him. He just sat there, bored with his life, waiting for someone to give him a new purpose. That someone was me.
After my great grandfather grew too old to carry on his wrangler legacy, his sturdy ranch horse, Drifter, was left behind to roam endlessly on the rolling hillsides of Harpur Ranch. Forever loyal, Drifter was ready for the old man to saddle him up again, prepared to doctor calves, ready to work. What he didn’t expect was a little blonde girl, trembling beneath her bright blue helmet, climbing onto his back with tears brimming her eyes. This is where my addiction began.
Drifter stood still that day, knowing his new rider was unsure and scared. As if he knew his waiting was over, as if he knew another chapter of his life had begun. Drifter became my first teacher as a Horse Girl.
Drifter was no pony, he was a sorrel quarter horse standing 17 hands high, a retired ranch horse that had seen it all. He’d spent long days wading through deep streams, clambering through thick brush and pushing cows through rocky terrain underneath my famed great grandfather. Beneath Drifter’s rugged exterior with nicks and scars across his long white blaze—proof of his hard work—laid a gentle giant. Drifter was a legendary first horse.
My grandmother, a retired Horse Girl herself, was determined to put him to use; she knew of his magical power, and that I would absolutely fall in love. This love did not happen instantly; it took several rides of me shaking like a leaf while up on his back, scared of how far the earth had strayed from my feet. My grandmother would lead him in a straight line down one of our hay fields while I clung onto his mane, ripping strands of red hair out with my tight grasp. Over time, my hands loosened, my body learned to relax and his back finally became a place of comfort: a place where nothing else mattered except Drifter.
Drifter became my passion. Riding him increased my confidence and helped me grow, but simply being near him nurtured my youth. Although this horse of mine spoke no words, he provided eternal guidance. That was his magic, contributing to the development of a girl’s childhood. As Drifter began to accept his old age, just as my great grandfather had his own, two new teachers entered my life: kind Cody and silly Roach. These horses could not have been more different. Cody taught me the essence of true connection, whereas Roach continuously tested my patience. Then, when their coats eventually turned grey, and old Drifter had passed, reuniting with my great grandfather, I knew it was my time to return their teachings.
Two-year-old Stella trotted into my life, trembling with nerves and wonder, just as I had. Together, we faced numerous ups and downs, each uncovering new lessons for the both of us. Throughout it all, our bond became invincible. From unbroken to broken, we matured together; winning competitions, wading through streams, riding in thick brush and chasing cattle over rocky, rough terrain. Stella has settled into her role as a gentle, ranch horse.
Now, being separated from Stella due to my studies at Capilano University, I spend my days anticipating my next visit home and, of course, my next ride. Stella shifts into the hands of my family and friends who thoroughly enjoy her magic. She has traveled to cattle penning, ranch horse and trail events, becoming a reliable mount for unknown passengers and growing her confidence even while I am away. Although Stella and I continue to play a part in each other’s lives, I know that in the near future as the distance between us stretches, some little girl on the Harpur Ranch will be chomping at the bit to climb upon her back, starting her own journey as a Horse Girl.