After I graduated from the University of Missouri, my first job was in Houston, TX, then Dallas. I traveled and rented an apartment shared with a roommate. There was no way I could have a horse. Later I lived overseas as a missionary behind the “Iron Curtain,” crammed into a house with 20 Poles in southern Poland, close to Czechoslovakia and traveling close to Russia. No chance for a horse there. Once back in the U.S., I worked in cities in Illinois, CA, MI, IA, OK, and OH, with no room for horses. During those horse-less days, I rode other people’s horses whenever I could, begging for rides, going on trail rides with horses that followed in a straight line.
When my husband and I finally settled in Ohio, and I began to write full time, the ache to once again own my own horse grew stronger and stronger. We live in the woods, but we don’t own pastureland, so how could we have a horse? I fully believe that God knew the answer all along. Our neighbors are Amish, of the most conservative order in America. Through circumstances we couldn’t have controlled, and tragedies we shared, we became good friends. When I asked them if we could keep a horse in their smallest pasture, which fed into a single stall in the barn, they said they’d need to talk to their bishop for permission, since mingling with the “English” isn’t encouraged. But the answer was yes! Now, all we had to do was find the right horse for the right (very low) price. (To be continued . . .)
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