I do hope you enjoyed your last adventure. I guess I should have warned you about the Burger. The less you put on it, the better. That thing is packed with three diferent kinds of cheeses- what else does a man need? But anyhow, it's time for a new destination. The only money you'll be spending is gas money- of course, that's where most of your money goes these days. We can't really afford expensive Auvey adventures, what with all the fish we've been buying. This adventure is going to take you back many years in my life. Here's the address:
3075 Jackson Rd
Mooreseviille, NC 28115
It kills me to be in the city. I miss the grass, the trees, fresh air. And horses. That address is for a plae called North Creek Farm. (Or North Creek Equestrian, just to make sure I don't feed you any "misleading titles.") They exclusively train hunters and jumpers there, & they've won a lot of competitions. This isn't the place where I rode my first horse, but it's the place I fell in love with my first horse.
You know now it is when you spend a lot of time around one particular animal. Horses especially. You learn their rhythms, quirks, and tastes. You recognize the feel of their fur, the uniqueness of their behavior. This is the place where I made that connection for the first time in my life.
Her name was Belle, a beautiful bay horse with a white blaze on her face. She was an incredibly sweet horse.You didn't even have to put a halter on her; she was the kind of horse that would just follow you if she felt the lead rope on her neck. She never spooked on me. She liked to snuggle. Hell, she would even pick her feet right up for you- you know how rare it is for a horse to do that without a good bit of asking. I loved that horse to death. Since then, I've fallen in love with many more. But Belle was the first.
I wasn't really an amazing jumper. I wasn't really the kind of rider they wanted there. I much prefer the atmosphere at Sherry's farm. If you want, pull Raspy right into their parking lot and get out. They head instructor's name is Molly. She's a nice woman, from what I remember. I suppose you could ask to take a look around the place- I tramped all over these grounds. Don't bother asking about me, because they won't remember. But do ask about Belle. I'd like to know how she's doing, or if she's alive still. I have no idea. Perhaps if you're lucky, someone can point Belle out if she's still around If that's the case, I want you to spend a minute with her and love on her. Oh, and give her a hug that will make up for all the years I haven't been able to. If she is isn't around, stand inside the red barn and send her my love anyway, wherever she is.
And remember - I love you.
-Auverin
-=[+]=-
While crossing the Rowan county line
one of the lamest jokes I've ever told myself popped into my head.
“Rowan County? More like Rohan
County!” :D
There were horse farms as far as the
eye could see in every direction, an equine ocean split down the
middle by a two lane country road that snaked through green hills and
fields of dry corn. I was driving Raspy through another picturesque
landscape, off on my latest Auvey Adventure.
Something else noticeable of the county
of the horse people is of a different kind of horsepower. Racetracks.
I passed two dirt tracks and drag racing strip and numerous auto
parts shops including a dymo tuning station as I drove. It was a
reminder that it was here, in the heart of the American south on
dusty roads where auto racing was born; from bootleggers outrunning
the coppers on moonlit dirt roads with trunk fulls of illegal hooch
to the modern spectacle of NASCAR. It was an improv history lesson if
you knew where to look.
Once again, as redundant as it sounds,
if I wasn't looking for where I was going I would have driven right
past it. There was no sign (of course), but the jumping arena, the
black iron gates, and perfectly manicured pasture gave it away. It
was smaller than I expected, a narrow strip of horse ranch in between
two large fields. There was a small gravel turn around that went
around the gate (which you could tell had been rusted open for some
time) that I had to utilize or else I would have bypassed the
driveway completely as I struggled to decelerate.
I took the short driveway past a small
stable and a grazing field on either side -which were occupied by
lazy horses grazing in the post-summer heat- and up to a beautiful
white barn. The place is well-maintained, cleaner, and more upscale
than any other ranch I have been to. The fences were a freshly
painted white and you could catch the wafting stink of money from the
two story house in the back of the lot like a orc can smell man-flesh
through a mountain pass. It looked more like a country club than a
horse ranch.
Despite the apperance that knowledge
that I just don't mix well with the well-to-dos the place looked warm
and I was ready to start my adventure. In fact, other than my
potential discomfort with trying to associate with people I can't
relate to through my wallet, there was just one thing I saw out of
place with the whole thing: other than the horses there was not a
soul around.
The place was empty as a pocket with
nothing to lose. Only one car and two horse trailers were in the
parking lot and the car hadn't been moved in some time judging by the
layer of dust that covered it like an old blanket.
Still, being the stubborn/adventurous
type I got out and approached the barn. It was a big, open building
with an attached office that had the aura of business about it rather
than the comforting horse people charm I am accustomed to.
The office was dark and empty as
expected from a room with no one it. On the walls outside were
several award ribbons from Duke University, a folder of liability
forms, some pictures of young girls and their horses and a drawing in
elementary school crayon with the words: “To Molly From Sandra”
scrawled along the top in child's writing.
Then I realized I was not as alone as I
thought. Horses in the stalls poked their heads through the metal
bars as I passed by and I stopped and rubbed their noses and walked
up to the big greed house in the back of the property.
No cars. No dogs. No one. I knocked on
the door and got no answer. I looked in the window and saw no lights.
I walked back to the barn. Well, just because there was no one there
didn't mean I was going to let it stop my good time. I had been sent
on a quest, dammit. So I explored the property and pet all the horses
I could as a man on a mission is want to do.
It was strange, though. Even though I
was completely alone and had never seen Auverin here, I could see
her. There she was brushing Bell. There she was riding up the road
with her helmet on. There she was smiling with her horse. There she
was, there she was.
Auverin and I had met through horses,
she is definitely a horse girl, and they seem to be a part of the
invisible string that binds us together. A girl with such a powerful
animal in her blood commands respect and produces wonder. One of the
many reasons why I love her. I'm only trying to keep up and make sure
she knows.
Once I had thoroughly satisfied my
horse petting abilities I returned to my truck and took one last look
around before climbing in and heading out. The horses watched me go
with a look that only a horse can give and I drove off into the
sunset.
I'm writing this at the train station
in Salisbury while waiting for Auverin to arrive. To kiss her. There
is a group of hookers yelling at me from across the street where I
sit with my back to a tomb next to the historic station. “Nellie
Curd McCurdy 1882-1967.” I wonder what she was like.
There may never be a monument like that
left in my honor, but I know one place I will leave my testament and
that is on Auverin's heart. As her's is on mine.
I wish I could have met Molly, had the
chance to speak to her about Bell, to hug that horses neck and
whisper to her that there is a girl on a train headed South that
still loves her very much. But like with many things I have found in
this relationship, sometimes you just have to improvise.
So I sit and smile and think of the
girl who's hair I'll be helping dye in a few hours, the girl who
melts when I speak in an Irish accent, the one who loves the Cookie
Monster pants and pillow that I bought her on a whim, and the girl
who sends me on adventures into her life even though she has made my
own life entire into the greatest adventure of all. I'll be seeing
her soon.
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