West Coast Friendship: Part Three

The next time I saw Magnolia, it was for my first lesson with Maura.

It's strange, how much context has to do with perception. Not surprising, really, but certainly disconcerting. As I drove once again onto the small farm, things were very different. I was coming now as a student, and I was visiting not during the empty, silent evening, but during the afternoon rush hour. "Rush hour" at a small, private barn meant that about five clients were there (and that would be including myself). At Magnolia, this truly is busy--they have three stalls for cross-ties.

Reyna was there, as was Becky, another girl I had gone to school with. I didn't know the other two--a high school girl, and a nine-year-old. I was still skeptical about Magnolia at this point. My experiences at Carousel Farms had taught me that a good barn was hard to come by, and I had, for years, been turned off my the Magnolia girls' snobby attitude, as if their barn were better than all the others. But I tried to turn off all my prejudgment and focus on forming an opinion of Magnolia based on my experiences there, rather than the stories I'd heard.

That day was the first time I met Maura. I can still remember it perfectly; I was thrilled to meet the woman who would possibly become my new trainer, and I was extra attentive as I walked out to the ring to watch her finish up a lesson she was giving.

More than anything else, her breeches were what made a first impression. They were a shade of teal that I have yet to find a name for--something in between wave and dark cyan. She stood, thin and tan, in the center of the ring, her posture lax and her voice even. She had long, dusty brown hair that was pulled into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was guiding Reyna and her horse through some lateral work, and she appeared to me to be teaching in a calm, confident manner. I only had a limited take on her lesson, though, because her back was to me for most of the time, and it partially obscured her voice. But I knew we would have plenty of time to get acquainted in the ring; I would have to work with her for an hour all by myself in my private lesson that afternoon.

A private lesson at a new barn with a new trainer on a new horse had me just a little bit nervous, and when I get on edge, I think my short-term memory malfunctions. I have only the vaguest memory of a boarder leading me on a tour of the barn (which couldn't have lasted more than two minutes) and explaining to me the inner workings of the tack room. I think she even introduced me to Blaze (remember him?), the horse Maura wanted me to ride. It was all very laid back, something I was not yet accustomed to in a barn.

And then it came time for me to finally meet my maybe-new-trainer. She met halfway to the ring, as I concluded my official tour of Magnolia, and the sight of her took my surprise. I remember thinking that she was older than my other instructors, which makes me laugh now, because she was only then in her late twenties. But it was true. I had, for the past several years, trained with college kids who boarded their horses at Carousel Farms and gave lessons to pay off their board. Someone who was not a sorority girl earning her green jumper's keep was a new experience for me.

And Maura was certainly no college kid. She was originally from California, and had that certain California quality that's very hard to describe but easy to place. Not a Hollywood quality, mind you, but a California one. Anyone I've ever met who was truly from California has it--that certain genuine something that's difficult to name.

We spoke briefly before heading back toward the barn. "Are you ready to start your lesson?" she asked. And I nodded, but I think there was something in my face that gave away my nerves.

She laughed easily, and began to explain what her lessons were normally like, in order, I think, to get my mind off the butterflies in my stomach. If it was an attempt to ease my nerves, it worked. It was hard, in this charming, open place, to be nervous or scared. I clearly remember the feeling that washed over me as I led a horse for the first time down the spacious arena: it was serenity to the point of bliss.

I felt at home here at Magnolia, and I was being welcome more than I had ever expected. I could only pray, as I mentally prepared myself for the upcoming hour, that my lesson would go well. Because if I didn't like Magnolia, I was all out of options.