Phaenx

We boarded the horse at our ranch, so I didn't technically steal it. I wrote this essay for English 111, it's a first draft though that needs peer review, but you can read it too =).



"Dave and Flash: The Great Corn Bandits."

In Johnstown, Ohio there is a piece of land that holds very special meaning to me. In this place you could stand from the mouth of an old gravel road, look out over a sea of waving grass, listen to the wind rushing through distant woods, and sense the ever-present aroma of Earth. Past the gravel road you would come to a path that would have been hidden by vegetation some years ago, but if you follow this path you will pass old rusted machinery, a tree or two with words carved into it's side, and eventually come to an end near a crane which towered over a pond it had dug many years ago. This was the farm on which I grew up, my father had dug that pond, and he was the one who cut a path through the woods. I myself had helped him plant the tree in the front yard and lay the gravel on an old dirt road. Near the end of this gravel road stood our home to one side, and the big brown barn on the other. Both have their stories, but I'm reminded of one in particular when I think of this place.

As a boy I was a dervish of activity. Messy platinum blonde hair, muddy overalls and cherry kool-aid perpetually stained around my mouth and down my chin. Smelling of cookies and dirt and being as loud and active as I was, my Mother often called me a "normal red-blooded American boy." Although in hindsight she was probably just being nice. At the time I was five years old, my Father's business ventures were still running strong, and my Mother tended to children and horses alike. I would play with my sister Jennifer, or see what my brother Todd was doing to his old green Gremlin, which thanks to the rust, no longer had a floor on the drivers side. Adventure was to be had everywhere on the farm, and that usually meant trouble.

On one particular day I remember a young woman bringing an old horse to keep on our farm. Our farm was really more of a ranch. We had no cows or crops, we raised, bred, boarded and trained horses and just referred to it as a farm. As I later came to find out, this particular horse's name was Flash. He was a tall brown stallion of a breed I was not sure of, but Flash was gentle as a kitten, so my mother chose him as my riding horse. With reins in hand I would trot and gallop up and down the fields after my Mother, she would lead us through the woods and then stop to let the horses drink as we rode by the pond. Riding every other day became a favorite pass time of mine, and my confidence on a horse grew faster than my ability.

Boundless energy often resulted in me waking up a full two or three hours earlier than my parents and siblings. I would grow tired of watching cartoons and head out to play with any of the several hundred things a child could play with on a farm. With an old grey dog in tow, who was ironically named "Puppy," I headed to the stables in the barn on one particular Summer morning. I fed Flash some carrots someone had chopped up the day before and left on a bucket, he slowly waddled over to the gate and snatched them up with his hairy horse lips. As he munched noisely, I noticed my saddle, blanket and reins were nearby. Trouble ensued as I put the reins on Flash, tied him to the post and saddled him up. It's amazing what I was able to learn by just observing others, soon after I had begun I was out of the barn and riding by myself for the first time.

The problems began almost immediately. As it turns out, horses are hungry in the morning, and generally don't listen to children when there is food to be had. Instead of galloping happily into the field across the gravel driveway as I had planned, Flash trotted fattly to the neighbors corn field across the road. "Stop that!" I remember yelling at the horse beneath me, who at this point had walked across the ditch and was now gorging on corn right off the stalk. I tried some too after realizing horses don't speak English, but it wasn't that good raw. The horse liked it well enough though, he continued eating in the field until full, and then we were off again. I couldn't tell you where he wanted to go since I didn't have any control, but after taking the long route we wound up in another corn field adjacent to our own farm, where Flash decided to wander around a bit to explore. This cycle of eating and exploring went on for about an hour until I grew bored and wanted to go home. Failing to get Puppy to do anything other than sit on her haunches itching her flea infested hide, I turned my attention to pulling up corn stalks by the root and lancing unsuspecting trees, or other corn stalks. This went on for some time.

Not long after deciding I wanted some Cherios, I heard someone yelling at us from down the road. Luckily enough it was my Mother, who was surprisingly calm. "Hi mom, come and get me!" I exclaimed. She came, grabbed hold of Flash's reins and led us back to the barn with a gruff "That's enough of that." That's the way she was though, I knew I wasn't in trouble because she had no visible greasy spatula in hand, the favored weapon of her children's discontent. We talked a bit on the way home and my Mother was actually very proud that I had learned to saddle a horse, even if I couldn't control one by myself. She fixed me a bowl of Cherios when we got Flash put away and I told her the full story. I would hear this story about the time I stole a horse from family members and friends for the rest of my life, and although the only thing I learned was to avoid eating raw corn, the experience itself has been invaluable to me.

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"I went shopping last night at like 1am. The place was empty and this old woman just making polite conversation said to me, 'where is everyone??' I replied, 'In bed, same place you and I should be!' Took me ten minutes to figure out why she gave me a dirty look." --Some guy