When I mentioned to my Grama that I’d like to do some horse riding whilst visiting her this summer, I had no idea she’d go and book a trip for us all to stay on a ranch.
For two days we had our fill of ranch life, complete with horses, wranglers and a hint of NRA support. (This corner of California is definitely a far reach from the slick silicon valley, beach bikini babes, or 70s throwback hippies lining the coast. And when you think of the size of the state, the variety is no surprise.)
We were saddled up and rambling through deserted mountain tracks before you could say ‘yee haw cowboy’ (no points for guessing my cowboy knowledge is entirely based on Toy Story).
Given my Mum’s childhood of riding horses, I can’t believe I’ve never ridden with her before. I loved hearing her stories of wild horses, bareback riding and parading her horse through town. She looked so comfortable with these beautiful animals, I felt a pang of the classic eight year old’s yearning to have a horse of my own (as a child I had to settle for a hamster!)
When we weren’t riding we were living a deliciously all-american cliche: ghost stories by the fire, complete with s’mores and popcorn, feasting and laughing with the other guests, and even panning for gold. Given what I found I don’t think I’ll be a millionaire any time soon…