One of my favorite things about my mountains is how there is always more than what you see at first sight.

Several of our Church people have talked about how they went to see the wild horses. I never paid much attention to what it actually was. Not until they asked our family to go with them one evening. 

Willy was home from Faith Mission for the weekend. Bert and Willy are best friends. So as Bert wanted to be with Willy and his family wanted to be with Willy, his mom suggested we just all do something together, and suggested we go see the wild horses. We said sure.

We drove winding roads for about an hour before turning onto a steep gravel lane that wound up, up the mountain.

It was lovely. We reached the plateau at the top and parked our cars. The horses came running. Turns out the horses aren’t wild at all. They were overwhelmingly friendly. I’m slightly scared of horses. I like to pet them over the fence. Being surrounded by a herd of horses who are all sniffing and nudging at me is slightly overwhelming. I petted them gingerly. 

The story seems to be that the horses are abandoned. There are approximately 150 horses there on several hundred acres. There is a run down trailer in a corner of the field that looks lived in but we didn’t see anybody. I doubt if anyone really takes care of them. They roam at will, and forage for their food. 

Loren found this “heart shaped” rock among the hundreds on the hill. I suggested he keeps it for about 30 years and then gives it to his girlfriend. He just looked at me kinda funny and said “but I gave it to you”. 

Oh. 

Now I have a “heart shaped” rock.

Bert says that when my children in times to come say “What mean these stones? ” I can tell them the story of this evening. I guess that would work.

We ate supper there. Up on the mountain. The sun went down slowly as we munched sandwiches and chips, drank cups of tea and ate pieces of chocolate cake. Bert and Willy thought this would be a good time to change the tail light in his truck. I don’t know why.

We girls rode down the mountain on the back of the truck. We bounced along, singing at the top of our lungs ‘ Poor Folks’ ‘Single Life’ and ‘Will the Roses bloom in Heaven’

At the bottom of the hill we jumped off the back and piled into the truck. We forgot to close the tailgate. That was the last we saw of our 5 gallon water jug. Hopefully someone finds it and uses it. It was a good jug.

We ended our evening at Dairy Queen. Eating ice cream and talking about horses and life and anything else that entered our minds. 

These are magic moments, and therefore magic days, and therefore magic years.

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