Carol Perkins: Stick Horses

Riding a stick horse in her childhood was very much different from the city stick horses kids ride today, Carol Perkins remembers, in this wonderful story of growing up when playtime was, of necessity, a very creative endeavor-CM

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To read her next previous story click on "Playing in the Band"

By Carol Perkins

STICK HORSES

A stick horse was a vital part of my life when I was a child. How could I ride the range (the field behind my house) without my horse? He could trot and gallop, and his gait was worthy of a trophy at the county fair. I usually kept my horse in my great uncle's barn (when my mother wouldn't let me bring one more tobacco stick home), but sometimes I tied him to a tree behind the house.


Choosing the right stick horse was complicated to a kid

Choosing the right stick horse was as complicated to a kid as choosing the best thoroughbred at a sale at the Horse Park is to a horseman. I didn't want one too bent because it would not ride straight when I trotted down the gravel road. It might try to pass me up. I also didn't want one too straight because it had no personality. One with a slight sag in the middle (saddle) was perfect.

When I rode it, I had to be able to stir up dust. I had no need for a lazy horse. When the "tail" of the horse swished against the gravel enough to raise a cloud, I knew I had a fine horse.

Quite often I would tire of my horse and need a new one (a younger one). Once again, I would try out several before settling on my favorite. I never abandoned the previous horse; I simply took him back to the barn to be with his relatives.

The Wild West was located in my backyard

The Wild West was located in my backyard, so my horse had to be nearby in cause an attack occurred. Sometimes the Wild West consisted of a couple of tepees (made out of quilts), some boards stretched across sticks of wood, and a hitching post made of rope tied from tree to tree. Leaning on the rope were more stick horses. (Usually left behind by kids who had come to play).

I admit that I played cowboy and Indians. Should I whisper that since this is so absolutely political incorrect today? We would start with cousin and me as the cowboys while my brother and her brother were the Indians and later in the day switch roles.

We chased each other all over the yard. The boys had make-believe bow and arrows and "real" head dresses; we had toy guns, holsters, and cowboy hats. Today someone might call social services for letting us play this barbaric game. Frankly, none of us and anyone I know grew up to shoot anyone.

When they didn't want to play any longer, my cousin and I would set up a country store. We were playing "Little House on the Prairie" long before the show was a thought. Sometimes our brothers would try to trash our store, but we were older and bigger so that didn't last long. We'd jump on our horses and chase them to the front yard. Most of the time they ran into the house.

Guy rode his horse over in Summer Shade

While I was riding my horse on the outskirts of Edmonton, Guy (now my husband) was over in Summer Shade riding his. He was more concerned about the welfare of his horse than I was. He gathered sticks from his yard and the woods behind the house and constructed a log fence-style corral so his horse couldn't get out. Every afternoon when he came home from school, he took his horse a pan of water. While I was riding mine without a bridle, he put a nail through the head of his horse and threaded a grass string through the hole. That seemed like cruelty to animals to me.

My horse liked to play in the creek that ran through my great uncle's farm behind our house. On hot afternoons I would often ride down to the creek and skip across the slick rocks, wiggling my horse's tail in the cool water. The creek was shallow, so very little of me or the horse got wet. I bent his head over to give him a drink before we headed back to the barn.

Usually my brother tagged along with his horse, but while I was skipping from rock to rock, he was in the other direction pounding the water with the tail of the horse, trying to cover as much of himself as he could. His horse would eventually buck him off into the water. I thought he was so childish

There are two kinds of very different stick horses

Many years after I put my stick horses out to pasture, I was still teaching at the high school and the subject of stick horses came up. What I meant by a stick horse and what those kids meant were two different things. They had city stick horses. The kinds with cute heads, long manes, eyes, noses, and mouths with leather bridles attached. "That's not a stick horse, " I insisted. Most of them had never ridden a tobacco stick horse, so I had to do something about that.

I went to my uncle's barn and picked out ten good tobacco sticks. The next day at school we had stick horse riding lessons. Here were these grown high school boys and girls riding around the room on stick horses. What did that have to do with English? Absolutely nothing, but we had a good time. This was a real world lesson.

If I have my way, my grandchildren will ride stick horses. When they are old enough to maneuver the horse without hurting themselves or me, I will take them to my uncle's farm and hope there are some sticks left over from their tobacco raising days. I will teach them how to pick out the right horse, how to make its tail swish against the dirt, and how to run through the fields with the wind behind them. Who knows, I might just saddle up and ride too. "Happy Trails to You, Until We Meet Again."

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About the author: Carol (Sullivan) Perkins is a lifelong resident of Edmonton, KY, in Metcalfe County where she taught high school English at Metcalfe County High School until her recent retirement. She is a now a freelance writer. is married to Guy Perkins and they have two children: Carla Green (Mark) of Brentwood, TN and Jon Perkins (Beth) of Austin, TX and six grandchildren. Her latest book, Let's Talk About, is a collection of over 70 of her works, and she is presently working on the second book in this series. Carol's ties to Adair County go back to Breeding where her grandfather, Rufus Reece, and her grandmother Bettie Strange, began their married life and later moved to Metcalfe County. You may contact Carol at cperkins@scrtc.com or write at P.O. Box 134 Edmonton. If you would like a copy of her book, you can order through email. Watch for her next story on Sunday, April 26, 2009.

This story was posted on 2009-04-19 10:53:26

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