A few months back my very first riding instructor passed away. Her name was Tuke. She was as old as the very first rocks of the planet – at least to my 9 year old mind. Her husband was a general in the Army and he passed away just about a year or two ago. They were both well into their ninties. I’ve wanted to pay homage to Tuke ever since I heard of her passing. And the best way I know to do it is this….
When I was nine I looked into the deep, soulful eyes of a little black pony named Smokey Joe. And I felt a connection immediately. There was just something about that little guy that spoke to me and I wanted to ride him. I wanted to know him. To say I was disappointed that I did not get to ride Smokey Joe at my first lesson would be a major understatement. But eventually ride him I did, and it didn’t take long for my ambition to catch up with my skill.
I learned early on that cut off pieces of hose make excellent riding whips when pulled from the back pocket of a pair of jeans that have been around for 50 years. I learned that rubber riding boots worked fine if you didn’t know that they weren’t the best type of boot to learn to ride in. I learned that when a pony lays down in a pond and rolls over it’s a lot easier to tip water out of a rubber boot than a leather one. I learned to laugh. And that laughter brought admiration from Tuke whereas crying brought disappointment.
I learned that if I wanted to ride I had to be able to not only put a halter on, but to catch the pony. And if I wanted to catch it I had to find it. Most days we all set out together after Tuke had pointed us in the right direction to “track” our mounts. When we found them we quickly learned that treats were necessary, and being both short and not very flexible I figured out that tree trunks and high ground were very helpful in mounting. If we fell off and landed in ant piles we all laughed until we cried while the pony took off home. Whoever was the victim dusted herself off and trudged back to the barn. Nobody got offended and no parents cared.
I learned that as long as the toilet flushes most of the time it doesn’t matter how dirty the bathroom is when you are in the middle of nowhere with only a falling down old house and a tin barn to provide relief when you have to go. I learned how to bridle and saddle and how to groom and how to not be horrified by picking off ticks and squashing them under my boot. I never did get so far as to squash them between my fingers like Tuke did. Bugs are a way of life in central Texas and between the cactus and the fire ant hills you will only find a lot of rocks. So if you fall off it will hurt. A lot. I learned about an old Indian burial ground which is something I am sure that Tuke made up to entertain us, or scare us. I’m not sure which.
I learned respect when I watched a fellow student get thrown up against the old tin barn wall for being disrespectful. I learned compassion when an old horse died and I learned about the practicality of burying a horse when I saw the huge hole in the ground with smoke coming off it. I learned that snakes won’t bother you when you are swimming in a pond if you are on the back of the horse and that swimming on horseback is something everyone should experience at least once if not as often as possible.
I didn’t want to get kicked, or hurt, and so I learned to read the unspoken communication of a horse. I learned that if you lean back when a horse bucks not only can you stay on but you can stop it as well. I learned not to be afraid. That I was capable. I was nine and 50 pounds but I learned this. I was 10 and 11 and I learned it more. I learned that good friends are always found at the barn and very rarely anywhere else. I learned that no matter how many times you said “Tuke!” as loudly as a little kid can, that unless she really wants to acknowledge you – she won’t. And she definitely won’t if she’s busy with something else. So that was patience. Patience also came in the form of jumping higher fences. That if you fall off over a crossrail situated between two bushes in a sand pit and made out of two long tree branches that you had better wait to attempt anything bigger until you have mastered the crossrail. And that was perseverance.
I learned empathy when I went to my first horseshow and got a first place and a reserve champion and my good friend didn’t win any ribbons at all. I learned not to gloat but to enjoy success silently and with care. I learned life isn’t always fair and while I may have earned those ribbons that sometimes it was just a crap shoot and you had to go with the flow whatever you were handed.
And I learned that legends can, and do, die. Thirty five years after they have taught you everything you need to know about horsemanship. I learned you can grieve for someone you haven’t seen in twenty years or more. That love comes in many forms and that TUBO stood for Tuke and Bob – something that occurred to me long after I had left there.
You don’t choose horses. Horses choose you. And if you are lucky enough, you have a first instructor that shows you that. I did. I will never have more respect for someone than I did for her. Thank you, Tuke. Thank you.
