The Mother Land: A Mini-Memoir - Blog Prompt #1

This is the place that bred me, that more than any other locale influenced my being. It's the Lexington Family YMCA in Lexington, SC, a far cry from the depths of the snowy city where I am now. Over 280 acres of the great outdoors, the YMCA was a sanctuary that sheltered me, nurtured me, and developed me.

My mother tells me the story of trying to find an afterschool program for me when we moved from the trailer park into our first suburban house when I was 5 or 6. My grandfather, her father, had been a well-known player in the political atmosphere of Columbia, SC, and when he died of cancer (my first look at a dead human body was at his funeral), he left a sum of money which went towards the down payment on our home. I would be placed in one of the best school districts in the state, and my parents wanted to find a place for me to grow-- not to stagnate in oppressive, blocky gyms watching movies and eating unhealthy snacks every afternoon. After searching around the area, she found the YMCA, an affordable outdoors space which would keep me active outside, giving me room to run and play, imagine and learn.

I cannot pretend to know what my life would be without this space. The pine trees and ponds, the frogs and birds and insects, the sandy terrain and changing seasons, boating and swimming and hiking and camping, would not be so ingrained in my being if I had not experienced what the YMCA had to offer year after year. Nor would I be the professional equestrian which I am today.

I remember when my mother found this place. They had horses, and I don't think I had ever seen one in real life before. My favorite animal until then was the cheetah. My birthday rolled around, and my parents wanted to give me a fantastic party. They decided to book a horseback riding adventure for me and my friends. I don't think they realized that I was actually disgusted by the choice. I remember not wanting to ride horses, but I don't know if it was out of fear or lack of interest. I remember riding a horse named Patches, a tricolored paint pony I fell in love with. From that moment, I was hooked, and I was enrolled in the facility's horseback riding lessons.

That was a life-changer. I stayed active in riding lessons and loved taking care of the animals, being outdoors with creatures who became my best friends. I especially loved trail rides, during which we would meander through the woods, our faces and arms tickled by the leaves of trees we rode through. My first love, which they say you never forget, was not with a boy but with a horse named Twiggy. His death brought me into adulthood-- it was the first time I ever experienced grief and depression, the understanding that with life comes loss. And, after his death, my incessant begging for a horse of my own finally paid off. I became the proud owner of Twiggy's Ghost of Gold, or Ghost for short, at the ripe young age of twelve. And guess where he lived (and still lives today)? That's right-- the YMCA.

And, based on my experiences with and connection to this place, the very horses I grew up with became my charges when I obtained my first job as an equestrian counselor, horseback riding instructor, public trail ride leader, and caretaker of (at most) 27 horses. This job thrust me deeper into my homeland. The trails became my getaways; I know them better than I know the ridges of my hands. I became frog rescuer, putting them outside of the barn when they were trapped in the bathrooms. I relocated mice to the shavings piles that lined the lake. I watched the sunset over the hill of the pasture, the way it changed its intensities as the seasons went by. I remember the lone red fox which would trot through the paddock at the same time every day for months, the Canadian geese that would migrate to our horse pond each fall and stay through the winter. I witnessed the coming and going and growing and dying of horses and children alike, all of whom I left some mark on, all of whom left some mark on me.

Another of my beloved animals came from the YMCA, too. I was on the playground after elementary school one day (this was shortly after I began going to the YMCA, so I was probably nearly 6 years old) when I noticed a group of kids forming around one of the rarely-used shuffleboard courts (they were more places to sit our of the fire ants, chiggers, and prickly pine straw than anything else). I walked over and saw the kids were playing with a tabby kitten which seemed scared of the way the loud, anxious children closed in around him. Before a counselor realized there was a fuss in the area, I made my way through the crowd and sat down, pulling the kitten into my lap. He sat quite happily in my protective Indian-style embrace until a counselor confiscated him from me.

The staff of the barn decided to take him in as a barn cat, of which they already had enough, but they weren't ones to toss an animal to the side. It turns out that he didn't work well as a barn cat-- he would never catch mice and the other cats hated him and kept him from their rations of cat food, so he stayed inside the little house at the front of the YMCA property with the barn director more often than not. They decided to adopt him out, for free, to the first family to offer their home. And I begged and begged my parents for him. My mother was easy to pressure and gave in, but my father didn't want anything to do with a cat (he had had many growing up in Tennessee). Finally, though, it was decided that the barn cat Spur would be mine, and we brought him home the very next afternoon. Spur became Ticky Tac (a nickname I despised when my mother came up with it but which became the only name he knows). Now he is nearly 20 years old. He is my familiar; we communicate on a spiritual level which no one else could ever comprehend or interfere with. He is the essence of my being, and when I lose him, as I know I will one day, I will lose a tremendously important connection, part of myself.

The YMCA gave me love of animals, some of my best childhood friends, and the ease and hominess I feel in nature. It is part of the reason why this city of Pittsburgh, even the cemetery in the snow, are so foreign to me. But it is also the reason why I can experiment with place and nature-- I know where I have come from, that its safety awaits my return, and in the meantime, I can experience something new, expand my understanding of what the world really is.