- Down the mountain on the other side of the little waterway
Gwen the Beautiful and I call Cloud Creek, lives Paradise's legendary Horse
Lady.
-
- She lives alone except for three or four dogs of indeterminate
breed. The number varies based on how much traffic has been going way too
fast along the road.
-
- Oh, and the horses. For the past several years their
number's been holding steady at about a dozen. One's a graying stallion.
The others are mares. And, for much of the year, there are three or four
foals. On a clear day when the herd's in the near pasture, we can see them
all from our highest window.
-
- For the past few weeks, Huck the Spotless Appaloosa's
been as restless as a teenage boy whose parents won't let him drive the
car. He's been sniffing the wind and whinnying a desire an aging Elaine
the Not So Wild Mustang no longer is able to fulfill. So Gwen and I thought
we'd visit the Horse Lady and see if she had a young mare who could join
Huck's family.
-
- We've talked to the Horse Lady several times in town,
but we'd never been on her property until yesterday, and weren't prepared
for what we found.
-
- Does the term "Tobacco Road" mean anything
anymore? It was the title of a 1930s novel by Erskine Caldwell about Georgia
sharecroppers living under conditions that would be substandard in even
the most Third World of countries. Conditions like those under which the
Horse Lady lives.
-
- The house is a shack. Dark. Packed with old furniture
and deep memories. It's wired for electricity, but "they turned the
power off sometime in the late '90s, I think it was," the Horse Lady
said as she made room for us on a sagging couch, "On account of I'd
over-over-extended my bill."
-
- There's no running water either. "Had that. What
a joy. But no electric means no power for the pump, so when I need water,
I go out to the old well. Granddaddy dug it a hundred years ago, and built
the outhouse too. Both work just fine."
-
- Doing without the modern conveniences that most of us
think of as necessities is something the Horse Lady's used to.
-
- "Living's hard, daughter," she said to Gwen
when Gwen expressed concern. "Nobody ever promised me an easy time.
My life's been filled with bright flowers, don't you worry about that.
-
- "But for every single one of the good things - my
late husband, our son, the beauty of the horses stretching and running
and grazing and birthing out there in those fields - there's been a dozen
thorns.
-
- "Lord. We've had fires and floods and ice storms.
Internal Revenue problems - of course - and walking 10 miles into town
because the car's transmission dropped out. And, yep, every once in awhile
it seems like I'm getting ahead and then I lose everything and end up
further behind."
-
- The Horse Lady stopped. Her eyes misted. "I buried
my husband and son within three weeks of each other, you know. Back during
the Vietnam War. That was more than a thorn. It was a spear in my heart."
-
- "What if you sold this place?" Gwen said. "Used
the money to go someplace comfortable, where you could be taken care of?"
She reached out to take the Horse Lady's hand.
-
- The Horse Lady pulled it away. "You don't understand
what I'm saying, do you, daughter? You're offering me peace. But peace
is what you get when you die. It's the easy way. Trouble's what happens
between your first breath and your last. Don't you dare begrudge me my
troubles. They're how I know I'm still alive.
-
- "I've got nothing," the Horse Lady said. "Not
even a horse to sell you 'cause the last baby and her mother died in the
spring, and the rest of the mares are dried-up old ladies like me. But
say one word about helping me, and I'll throw you off this land so fast
you'll be wondering what happened all the way into next week."
-
- The Horse Lady's voice was firm. Her eyes were clear
again. She saw the look on Gwen's face. Softened.
-
- "Although you know, if you're ever baking, and
want to bring me a pie "
-
- Today, one of life's best scents is wafting in from the
kitchen.
-
- Home-made apple pie.
-
- We're hoping it'll be a bright flower. To take its place
amid the thorns.
-
-
- Copyright C 2007 by Larry Brody. All rights reserved.
-
-
- Author Larry Brody's weekly column, LIVE! FROM PARADISE!
appears on his website, www.larrybrody.com. He has written thousands of
hours of network television, and is the author of "Television Writing
from the Inside Out" and "Turning Points in Television."
Brody is Creative Director of The Cloud Creek Institute for the Arts, the
world's first in-residence media colony. More about his activities can
be seen on www.tvwriter.com and www.cloudcreek.org. He welcomes your comments
and feedback at <mailto:LarryBrody@cloudcreek.org>LarryBrody@cloudcreek.org.
Brody, his wife and their dogs, cats, horses and chickens live in Marion
County, Arkansas. The other residents of the mythical town of Paradise
reside in his imagination.
|
