As Sweet as Honey

I love moments of déjà vu. They are mystical and magical, yet confusing and thought-provoking. Sometimes it is just a fleeting moment of time, while others, it seems to go on for awhile, tugging at your brain and your memory, teasing and taunting. Sometimes I remember what the connection is, and sometimes I just give it up to fate, even though I know there has to be an answer.
Today I had a wonderful déjà vu moment. At first it just tickled my brain – and a warm feeling overcame me. I was slowly driving by a local, small farm, and was relishing at the sight of the sun trickling through the trees. It made the shadows as dappled as some of the horses that grazed in the meadow. Beyond the barn was a huge tree – and just within sight, a red corral. I’d been there before. But yet, I hadn’t. I’d never been to this farm before in my life.
I suppose instead of déjà vu, maybe it was just my memory serving up a dish of days gone by. Maybe it was my brain wanting me to seize the moment, just as I did 40 years ago.
I was in 6th grade. I lived in a little suburb in Southern California, back when orange groves and strawberries far outnumbered homes and businesses; when Disneyland was still a wonderland – the original Magic Kingdom that had amazingly wonderful rides that required E coupons. Amidst the unusual pairing of palm trees and eucalyptus trees, on the path of my daily journey to school – was a tiny farm. I imagine back in the day, it wasn’t so tiny. To me, it was absolutely perfect. Daily I’d walk by and smell the mixture of eucalyptus tree, hay and horse. Daily I would gaze past the trees and the sun dappled shadows into the red corral. And there she stood – tall, proud and mighty.
Every school day, and on the weekends too, I’d walk past this lovely setting. And every day, I got the courage to go a little closer. Finally we were friends, this lovely Palomino and I. I’d stop by on my way home and pet her soft, silky nose. I’d savor the pungent smell of manure and leather. And I’d dream of being on her back, feeling her strong legs and powerful neck.
One day I got enough courage to approach the owner. That was the turning point of my love affair with horses. I finally met Honey, face to face. I got to pet her flanks and tickle her soft nose.
“Do you want to ride her?” The owner asked.
“I have to ask my mom and dad”, I said, as I took off mid-sentence. I ran as fast as I could - as if I was riding the horse herself – flying and gliding as my feet barely touched the ground. I would soon be on Honey – the most beautiful horse in the entire world.
My school days could not end quickly enough. I raced to the farm as soon as class was dismissed. I would spend hours with her – talking to her and brushing her. I’d clean her hooves and braid her soft, blonde mane. I’d whisper my secrets to her. I’d walk her around on a lead, and she reacted as if she was an 800 pound dog, following me anywhere I’d take her. Boys were (almost) forgotten. Riding lessons became my priority. As I gained confidence, I’d not only ride her with her saddle on, but I rode her bareback, feeling our friendship and connection grow.
I will never forget my days riding Honey – in the red corral beneath the dappled shadows. But I became a teenager, and went on to Jr. High. I no longer walked past the tiny, suburban farm. I discovered boys, dances and choir. To this day I am not only grateful to my parents for the hours and hours of riding lessons, but also to a beautiful horse and her kind owner – who opened up a whole new world to me.
Déjà vu or good memories, it really doesn’t matter. I appreciated the fleeting moment very much, and am hoping to draw upon my 12-year-old self and gain the courage to make friends with the habitats of this little farm – horses and owners alike. It’s been way too long since I’ve savored the smell of hay and leather. Thanks Honey, for those sweet memories.