Driving Through Tumbling River Ranch | A Horse Story

By: Nicole Wiitala

If you close your eyes and concentrate, maybe you can envision it in your mind as easily as I can.  Wherever you are right now, whether it’s sitting on your couch in front of the TV or on your bed under a reading lamp, whether you’re nestled comfortably between to branches high in a tree or sitting on a lounge chair next to the ocean.. forget that place for just a moment. 

I guess the first thing you should imagine is the air; crisp and cool, the kind of air that’s so clear and fresh and cool that it stings when you take a huge breath.  Now, add in the blue sky; a blue so deep that it deserves a more colorful name, something like azure.  Let the rest of the details fall into place; the rugged, green-covered mountains rising jaggedly before you, the lush fields of green grass and golden dandelions with babbling streams snaking through the land, complete with miniature waterfalls and waving aspens as far as the eye can see.  It is in a land like this, a world even more wonderful than anyone can possibly describe, that there is a place called Tumbling River Ranch.
      

I remember it vividly, as if it had happened yesterday.  It was June 4th, 2000, and it was the first day of two weeks I would spend at, in my opinion, the best place on Earth.  I can remember walking down the sloping dirt driveway to the corral with my friend Gigi, chatting animatedly about a mare that had arrived at the ranch in August the year before; a pretty bay thoroughbred-looking mare that my friend had named Scarlet, a horse that had immediately captured my fascination by the wild look in her eyes and the way she never stopped skittishly prancing.  We reached the big pool pasture, and I looked out at the familiar rolling hills I had spent hours in, and was shocked into silence.. there was a tall bay mare walking quickly across the pasture, two spindly foals trotting awkwardly behind her.
      

“Th.. thats Scarlet!  She had TWINS?” I exclaimed to Gigi, pointing at the mare.  I leaned against the fence, my eyes glued to the foals.  One was a big appaloosa colt, the other a small bay filly.  Right away I decided I liked the filly.
       Sunday through Tuesday were spent trying unsuccessfully to get close to Scarlet and her twins.  Of course, I hadn’t given up — I never do — but Wednesday was a special day for me.  Gigi and I were trailering over with a few of the wranglers and their horses to try out a new all-day ride, and I was very excited. 

The ride was just as fun as I had hoped, filled with one wrangler trying [and succeeding] to annoy me by dramatically leading his horse for the day, Valentino, in front of me and talking about how much he loved Val and what a cool horse he was.  I had wanted to ride Val that day.  There was also another wrangler trailing behind muttering in his Australian accent about stolen butt-pads and one more blustering wrangler trying to pretend he knew where he was going, when we must have gotten lost half a dozen times.
      

It was a great day, but when we got back to the ranch, something awaited me that was not expected.  I was walking to the lodge with my Mom’s laptop in hand to check my email when Gigi came running up to me breathlessly.
      

“Nicole, did you hear?” She said.  “Scarlet died!” She continued at my blank stare.
      

I don’t think I said anything.. just thrust the laptop into her hands, spun on my heel, and ran as fast as the pebble-filled driveway would allow to the pasture.  Sure enough, the pasture was empty except for two anxiously pacing foals, contentedly ignoring a few of the staff, who were crouching on the ground holding two bottles filled with milk.  I walked into the pasture and sat down next to one of them, staring at the nervous, confused foals. 

I didn’t know Scarlet for anything except a pretty mare who bolted forward if you made a kissing sound and was constantly moving energetically forward, untrusting of new people.. but I can remember sitting with Gigi on the porch of her cabin, which overlooked the pool pasture, staring at those two orphan foals, and feeling horrible.
      

My Mom had lots of experience with mares and foals and I had been around for a couple of foals our broodmare had had, so it wasn’t long before I was bundling up in my jacket and tromping out to a makeshift corral we had made to help feed the foals once every two hours.  The first two nights were pretty rough.. the appaloosa colt was happily sucking away at the bottles of milk, but the little bay filly refused to drink anything, instead collapsing into the straw and falling asleep. 

It seemed that every time I went down to feed them those first two nights, she had gotten skinnier and had less energy.  My Mom wouldn’t say it, but she didn’t have much hope for the filly.. when I would ask her if she thought she would live, her answer was always something vague like “Oh, well, she has to start eating.”
      
To make a very long story short, after about two days the filly finally started to drink, and it wasn’t long before she was devouring two pans filled with warm milk and then butting me eagerly with her whiskery white-covered muzzle, swishing her short black tail and sassily letting out small — but painful — bucks at anyone who made the mistake of walking too close behind her when she was feeling playful.  Those two weeks that summer were two of the best of my life, and the year that followed before going back to the ranch to see the two twins was not the easiest year I’ve ever straggled through.
      

I’m pretty sure I forced my Mom to call the ranch once a week for the remainder of the summer to find out how the foals were, and I think I made her email them once a month even after the ranch closed down for the winter.
      

A lot of things have changed since then.  Gigi, who used to love the ranch as much as me, found herself not returning the next summer because her parents wanted to try different ranch. 

Conversations that used to revolve around TRR and how much she missed it slowly faded to conversations about school and how her horse was doing and her upcoming horseshow.  Whenever I mentioned TRR or the appaloosa colt, who she seemed to love as much as I loved the bay filly, were followed by a disinterested “cool”.  Other friends from TRR changed through the years.. from baggy jeans and teeshirts to high heels and tank tops, and even my little bay filly turned from a leggy, thoroughbred-looking filly to a short, stocky red roan quarter-horsey mare.
 

      It’s been two years, and although seeing the two foals — now named Annie and Ollie after Little Orphan Annie and Oliver Twist — are looked forward to, they now stay in a pasture thats about a five minute drive from TRR, and it’s sometimes hard for me to find time to stop by. 

This year, I stopped by on the way back from an all-day ride.

       The filly that once fell asleep in my lap now watches me with wide eyes and shies haughtily away when I go to pet her, eventually wandering up behind me when she decided she wanted attention.  I still go back every year and I still wish I could stay longer.. I’m your typical stereotyped teenager with problems that I think are major that in reality are just minor, except while most 14 year old girls would tell you that their favorite place is a beach in Hawaii, I’d tell you that my favorite place is on horseback about an hour from the top of Hanks, where the breeze is crisp and clear and the sky is the bluest you can possibly imagine, and golden dandelions are scattered the grass between clusters of colorful wildflowers.