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June 24, 2006
It's Late...and I Shouldn't Be Up...
But, hey. I am.
And here's one of the best pieces I've ever read, straight from my "Uncle" Mike, who was my Mom's best friend in high school. (She's the "Elaine" at the end, for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of her acquaintance.) I think you'll enjoy the beauty of this sentiment as much as we all have over years of reading and rereading it:
November 3, 2001
Michael Quadland
Today I was invited to ride with the Fairfield Hunt, which moved from Westport, CT a number of years ago, to Bridgewater CT, as they had run out of open land down along the CT coast. Bridgewater is very beautiful, with rolling hills that remind me of Williamstown in the 1950’s.
I was excited, but a bit nervous, never having actually hunted before. Bill, the guy who invited me, just said to hold back, that guests ride at the rear of the hunt and generally stay out of the way. Fine with me!
Saturday dawned rainy, but the hunt was undaunted. We gathered in a field by the kennel for the hounds. I was struck by how beautiful it was…the mist rising from the wet grass, the riders in their red jackets, called “pinks” for those who have earned their colors, and black for us who have not. I felt as if I were riding in a tuxedo…riding jacket, yellow waistcoat, white shirt and tie, black boots, tan britches. I loved the hounds barking and creating a big fuss, the huntsman with his horn, the hush of the riders.
As warned, I held back. When we got to the field where the hunt was to begin, the Master of the Hunt invited my friend Bill to ride up front with him, as Bill was hosting the breakfast after the hunt. (Protocol everywhere!) So Bill trotted up to the lead, leaving me alone at the rear. A few minutes later, I hear “Michael” from the Master of the Hunt, and I look around, wondering who he’s yelling for. It’s me, of course, invited to ride up at the head, as Bill’s guest.
So there I was, never having hunted before, riding at the head of the Fairfield Hunt. I couldn’t help recalling that scene from Auntie Mame when she rushes ahead of the pack, trapped in her saddle.
The amazing thing about hunting is that you stand around a lot, waiting for the hounds to pick up a fox, but once they do, Tallyho! You’re off, galloping through woods, mud, water, through open fields, watching for holes, and of course, over fences of every sort. The horses are in incredible shape (I was riding one of Bill’s horse, not Scarlatti) and just go and go. It’s amazing. Three hours in the saddle, non stop racing. I loved every second, of course. Couldn’t wipe the smile off my mud-spattered face.
Toward the end, as we rested for a time in a field, the Master of the Hunt took me aside and said, “You know, whenever you hire someone, you take a risk, and the risk is that that person will be better than you, and someday he’ll have your job. I think I made that mistake this morning,” he said. “When I invited you to ride up here with me.” And he shook my hand. “Someday you’re going to have my job.”
It was a moment. One that made me think back over almost fifty years to the days in Williamstown when Elaine and I used to head out in snow or sun into woods or fields, fearless and joyful.
Posted by Bree at June 24, 2006 02:54 AM