“Saved by Love,” June 27, 2017

(NOTE: I’m taking off this week to spend time with my family. The following column is from Nov., 2002.)
It all came down to this: Did I want to clean a cabin or climb on a horse? Not all of life’s choices are that easy. But years from now, I will smile at the memory and shake my head to think I almost passed it by.

On the last day of a long vacation in the Blue Ridge Mountains, where I grew up, I was ready to head home to California. I had loved spending that fall in the South visiting family and watching leaves turn. Fall is my favorite time of year. But winter was on its way and another renter was waiting to move into the cabin.

Glancing down a long list of chores to do in two short days before leaving, I noticed a phone number I’d jotted down weeks ago. It was for a horse stable that offered guided trail rides in the mountains for “riders of any ability,” presumably even me. The ad had noted “weather permitting,” and two weeks of rain had washed it from my mind. But this day was postcard perfect _ blue sky, brilliant leaves, autumn in all its glory. So I dialed the number.

“Yes, ma’am,” said the trail guide, Steve, a soft-spoken young man who reminded me of my younger son. “I’ll be glad to take you out on the trail. Usually we go in groups, but you’re the only one who’s called today. It’s pretty muddy, but we’ll take it slow and see how it goes.”

“Slow sounds good to me,” I said. And with that, I was back in the saddle. My last ride was years ago in Yellowstone. This time, I’d be riding a horse that was named “Whiskey,” for her color, I hoped, not her fire.

“Jake’s a little more spirited,” Steve said, patting his horse, “but Whiskey is a baby doll.” Then he added, “But when we come to a creek, don’t let her get away from you. Sometimes she gets it in her head to jump.”

I pictured Whiskey jumping a creek. With me on her back.

“How exactly do I convince her not to do that?” I said.

He laughed. “Just nose her up to the creek bank and hold on.”

Nose her up and hold on, I thought. The story of my life.

We were supposed to ride an hour, but stretched it to nearly two. The trail was slick with mud, the air was cold and damp, but the ride was lovely _ almost as good as the company, Jake and Whiskey, Steve and me.

Steve talked about how he had struggled growing up, how he had seen some slippery times before finding his footing and getting grounded, so to speak, in himself and in his faith.
He was lucky, he said, to have had his grandparents and his love for horses and music. That was probably what saved him, he said, loving and being loved.

“Of course, it was,” I said. “That’s what saves us all.”

We might have ridden farther, but the trail was getting steeper, and Jake and Whiskey were starting to balk. If a horse thinks a slope is too slippery to climb, far be it from me to argue.

Besides, I had packing to do, goodbyes to be said, promises to keep. Back at the stables, Steve held Whiskey’s reins to let me to dismount with a bit of grace.

“If you like,” he said, “before you leave, I could play one of my songs for you.”

“I would like that a lot,” I said.

So he tied up the horses, found me a chair, took out his guitar and began to play a song he called, “A Love Like That.” He wrote it for his aunt and uncle, who were married 60 years before she died, he said.

I wish you could’ve heard it.

When he finished, he smiled. “That’s what I want,” he said, “an old love like theirs.”

I nodded. Old love is a gift. I hope and pray it will find him.

As for me, I will treasure the memory of that day _ sitting in a barn with rain on the roof, autumn on the mountain, tears on my face, a horse named Whiskey nuzzling my neck, and being serenaded by a boy who knew he had been saved by love.

To think, I almost passed it by.


  1. Teresa Peck says

    Dear Sharon, I am concerned about your painful ankle and hope it heals in the near future. At age nineteen I was hospitalized with an inflammation of the nerve endings of my legs and feet and after three months in the hospital with nothing they were doing was working they told me I probably wouldn’t walk again. I just couldn’t let myself believe this. At that time I was in such pain that I couldn’t bear to have a sheet touch my feet and then a miracle came along as a young doctor from Mexico came to work at that hospital and he looked at my chart and prescribed Quinine be given to me and I immediately started healing. It did take a few months for me to learn to walk again but I did..so never give up the hope you will improve also. I still look forward to reading any of your columns. Keep up the good work

  2. Karen Johnson says

    My sister-in-law shares your columns with me. I really enjoy them. Thank you.

  3. Fred Hernandez says

    It appears that you and I share the exact aptitude for riding. On my ride at Mammoth Mountain, the leader told us to notice the nearby bear, and not to let our steeds get jumpy. Say what?

  4. Sally Merrill says

    Your words always touch me! I have tears in my eyes after reading this today. Thank you for your gift!

  5. Kate Sciacca says

    Fifteen years old but new to me… I’m certain I read it in the local rag fifteen years ago, but the sieve that is my brain made this one a real treat ? Thank you, enjoy your vacation with the ones you love.

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