And they call the wind, Mariah...

In March of 2016, Craig got a call from the people who had purchased the guest ranch where we had met. They were closing and selling their horses. We had a lovely young woman with us as a guest that week, so we asked if she would like to join us. She literally jumped at the chance. Our thinking was we could get an honest guest perspective on horses. 

It was surreal for Craig and I to return to the ranch where we met. He'd spent ten years there, only leaving after they'd treated our friend and me SO horribly. It seemed smaller, dingier, unwelcoming. The couple "running" it were on the completely crazy end of the spectrum. They had 30 horses in the paddock. Babies. Yearlings. Very aggressive horses terrorising those less confident. It made us really wish for a gazillion dollars so we could take them all.

Anyway, we pulled a few out we were interested in - a tall, lanky bay Thoroughbred gelding, a black and white Tobiano paint large pony, a stunning flea-bitten grey Tobiano paint mare. I was fixated on a dun paint mare who was clearly terrified of most of the others. The guy, seeing my interest in her, said they called her "Drifter". Well that alone was enough to strengthen my determination to take her with me. 

We put our guest on her first, then I switched to see what she could do. The bit they had on my girl was harsh and horrid, and she was clearly, noticeably afraid of it. Certainly made me use seat and leg as we took laps around the arena. Bless her, she just didn't know and she was afraid. When I took her back to the gate to turn her out, she held back, dancing in fear of of the horses standing in the way. Shooshing them back, I got her through the gate, finally. 

We decided to take her, the two paints, and the Thoroughbred. Then, they threw in a stocky clear bay gelding who, as we were told, was a Mustang with a more-than-likely fabricated history. 

 

 

Naming horses was my job, though Craig made the occasional contribution. He named the Thoroughbred gelding "Doc". We had a Wyatt, already, so of course we needed a "Doc". Truth be told, they were nearly identical. The grey paint mare became "Echo". The Sackett family was the naming convention for grey horses at Hideout Ranch. We had Tell, Orrin, and Tyrel who were the three most famous brothers. And we had Logan, who was a cousin. "Echo" was the only female character author Louis L'Amour had narrate a story. And so this lovely mare became Echo. The "Mustang" we called "Belden" for a yet another character in the story of those three Sackett boys. 

My first inclination was to name the black and white paint gelding "Quanah" and my dun paint mare "Naduah". Those familiar with the true story of a nine-year old girl child, Cynthia Parker, kidnapped in Texas by the Comanche. She grew up in captivity, but was eventually adopted into the tribe. "Naduah" means "Someone Found". She married Peta Nocona, and they had three children together. Quanah was their son who played a major role in treaty negotiations and reservation life. 

Craig said he could never remember those names, let alone pronounce them. "Well", I said, "What about Little Joe for the little black and white paint? After all, on Bonanza, Little Joe Cartwright rode a black and white paint called Cochise. It makes sense."

He liked the sound of that, and we went with it. My mare, hmmmmm. Still a conundrum.

We took guests from England over to White Tail, and I rode our beautiful Lozen. Walking through the grassland, washed with bright blue Arizona sunshine, my mind drifting along on the warm breeze, a song began softly. I was thinking about my sweet paint mare when I realised it was Harve Presnell's booming baritone pouring the refrain of a song from Paint Your Wagon into my awareness.

"A way out here they got a name for rain and wind and fire. The rain is Tess, the fire's Joe, and they call the wind Mariah..." 

And there it was. Her name. Sure as I heard his voice, it was her name. Excitedly, I told Craig and the guests about the experience, and everyone agreed. 

When we got back to the ranch and put everyone away, I went to the pasture to tell my pony about her name. She seemed happy, given it was SO much better than "Drifter". 

Mariah and I went with guests to Rucker in October, and this was how I described the experience we shared that day:

Yesterday, heading back to the trailer after a great (and wet!) ride down in Lower Rucker with special guests and friends, as I strolled along on my Mariah, I witnessed a genuinely heart-squeezing sight. I watched eight riders, at varying levels of experience and comfort, spread out along a quiet mountain road or off in tall, waving grass. Each appeared to be lost in thought, but all appeared to be relaxed and truly enjoying themselves. I watched people on horses who haven't gone out as "guest" horses before - Cap, our first Mustang, out with a young girl from Germany who was a vision of grace and beauty - poetry, really - on this majestic, powerful, once-wild creature. Mac, who was once subjected to the horrific world of drug cartel work and has every plausible reason and justification to be a monster, out as a perfect gentleman with a guest who'd not ridden in quite a spell. Washoe, our paint imp, out giving a young man the time of his life. Hawk, a truly gentle giant, with a guest who sat him as if he had never been out of the saddle.

As I watched the horses and the people enjoying the day, the tears welled up and trailed down my face. With all the losses we have endured this year, it was a moment of exquisite pride for me. These people genuinely appreciated our horses, and that appreciation showed on their faces, in their eyes. The horses behaved exactly as I expected them to because they are such good ponies. Craig and I put so much of our hearts and souls into our horses that seeing them out in our incredible landscape, behaving so well and tending to their riders rather validates what we do here and why we do it.

Mariah strolling though the tall grasses at Lower Rucker...

Cap with his young German rider, one of so many guests having a remarkably memorable ride...

Still crying, I laid the reins I once held while riding Logan against Mariah's neck, turning her toward the trailer, and thought how having his bridle now has given her even greater reassurance and confidence.

The recent loss of Sambora, Wyatt, and Logan, while still raw, lessened the tiniest bit to hear the exclamations of "the horse did it all – made me look good". My soul surely brightened to hear such compliments on our boys, proving horses are good for the soul...

*****

Mariah's mane looked like the spice rack had fallen off the wall, the spices spilling out through the sparkling broken glass. My camera unerringly gravitated to it, particularly in the sun. It was amazing...

There is more to Mariah's story, but we'll save that...