Vermont vacation - day seven

We spent the morning working. Tom was in his makeshift office, and I was on the porch. The weather is beautiful. I'm going to hate returning to the heat. 

I was knee-deep in some good novel writing when Tom appeared.

Him: "I booked us for a ride through the mountains."

Maybe the euphoria of cruising along on this novel is why my brain went to a motorized vehicle.

Me: "Awesome. When?"

Him: "I registered us for 3:00 p.m. You might want to change your clothes."

Me: "Are you nuts? It's going to be in the 80's. I'm not wearing long pants."

Him: "Yeah, but you might want to while on a horse."

That stopped me cold. Literally, icy fingers strolled down my spine. I froze in the patio chair. My eyes watered as I stared at the man I'd been married to for almost thirty years.

Me: "Have you lost your *&^%$ mind? Do you know me? Do you not read my blog? Listen to anything I say?"

Tom: "What do you mean?"

I had no words. Instead, I shot off a text in our family group, telling my kids their dad had booked us for a horseback riding tour. Immediately, Oleg responded.

Oleg: WWWHHHHAAATTTT? Cara, you HATE horses!"

Darcy: "Oh, Dad."

Maddy sent an emoji of a smack to the head.

So, years ago, when Tom told me he heard the ocean when I spoke, he wasn't kidding.

I've written about my hate of horses HERE and HERE and HERE

Believe me, all of those stories have been told numerous times. NUMEROUS TIMES.

Me: "You'll have to call them back and tell them there will only be one rider. I will not, no matter how much money is offered or how much you beg, go on a horse. I promised myself after the last excursion that I wouldn't, and I'm sticking to that. Ask your kids. I'll go with you to the facility like I did when Maddy and Darcy rode horses in North Carolina, but I will not get on a horse. Hell, I'd rather zipline than get on a horse, and you know my fear of heights."

I stared at him.

Me: "Or do you?"

That he remembered. 

On the way to the facility, I read to him the blog entry about my last horseback riding excursion. He laughed through the whole article. Glad he thought it was funny. 

At the barn, the person signing Tom in asked if I'd changed my mind. I politely told her no, but when a second person came out and asked me, I wasn't as nice.

Me: "I WILL NOT go on a horse. EVER. Thank you, but no thank you."

Tom said I was vicious. I told him I didn't give a damn.

He did take the offer of a helmet, which made me snicker. I think my blog story resonated. 

He hadn't been on a horse since he was a kid. No one else had signed up, so it was Tom and the guide. They walked over the property, seeing some wildlife and talking. He enjoyed it. I did not enjoy my time as I had done in NC, where I sat in a rocking chair chatting with the owner.

I started out at the picnic table, thinking I'd continue writing. But they had terrible country music playing loudly from a speaker, and the flies were in full force, landing on me twenty/four seven. I moved to an Adirondack chair off to the side, thinking the flies wouldn't follow. Instead, one of the women appeared to tell me they'd painted that chair earlier and hoped I hadn't gotten paint on me. (I hadn't, it was long dry)

But it was a long hour. 

Still, Tom had a great time, and I listened to his trip as we wound through the mountains and found a pizza place for dinner. 

We have enjoyed our time on the East Coast and hate to head home tomorrow. But all good things end at some point.

Tom: "But we'll be back."

Just not on horses!