Category: Creative Nonfiction

Creative Nonfiction, Creative Writing, horses

Creative Nonfiction: The First Fall

Kyle Freelander

The first fall is an inevitable milestone for any serious rider. It’s something you try not to think about but you always know it is going to happen. It has to happen.

My first fall was off of a flea bitten gray horse named Cotton. Well, technically he was a pony since he fell just under 14.2 hands, but he was taller than me which made him a horse in my book. Now cute “little” Cotton had a secret habit: He would hold in all the air he could when people put his saddle on so it wouldn’t be as tight on his stomach.

Clever not-quite-a-horse-horse.

I didn’t notice Cotton’s scheme until it was too late to do anything about it.

We had made it through the pleasant group trail ride and had managed to make it back to the outdoor ring where we were supposed to cool down before calling it a day. Cotton and I were happily trotting to the far end of the ring to claim our space on the track without a care in the world.

But we never made it.

Read the rest on my horse blog, Beyond the Saddle and share the story of your first fall below!
Creative Nonfiction, horses

Creative Nonfiction: Close the barn door!

kylefreelander

There was a lot I was willing to overlook when it came to Maddie, the new ex-racehorse at the barn that I would be helping to train. She was a chestnut Quarter horse/ Thoroughbred mix who needed someone to help her adapt to her new life as a lesson horse, and I was thrilled to get back into the realm of training that I had been somewhat sidetracked from when we switched lesson barns.

I was so excited for this change of pace, that I was willing to overlook the fact that she had bit my instructor in the stall one time (and the fact that my instructor felt that it was okay to hide that information from me), I forgave Maddie for the times her flight instincts kicked in on a trail ride for no apparent reason as she took off at a gallop up a hill while I did everything I could to stay in the saddle (luckily I did not fall), and I pretended to be okay after she took off again on that same trail ride, racing straight for the trees. I was more than willing to overlook all of it. After all, it was part of her training process and I was always up for a challenge. However, there are just some things your mother will not let you overlook.

Close the Barn Door!

My mom didn’t always go to our lessons. Usually our dad took us as he would go to work earlier in the morning (and, therefore get off work earlier) and he didn’t mind being around horses the way my mother did (to this day she remains “not a horse person” …or dog person for that matter, but that’s a story for a different time). So already with my mother tucked into the corner of the ring (in reflection, I don’t know why my instructor thought that this was a good spot for a chair or for my mother), this day was already set up to be special.

That day there were five of us in the ring on horses, plus my instructor who stood in the middle of the ring and my mother seated in the corner with her back against the fence (whyyyy?). In the center of the ring, a small jump had been set up on the diagonal. The five of us formed a line in the corner next to my mother’s corner and took turns heading to the jump, sailing over it, and returning to the line to wait our next task. I was at the end of the line per my instructor’s request. While I had jumped Maddie before, she was still somewhat green when it came to jumping since, you know, racehorses don’t do much jumping.

When it was our turn, we headed towards the jump. I was calm and collected knowing we had done a similar jump before and we hadn’t really had problems in the ring. Sure, she had problems out on the trail and with my instructor in the stall, but in the ring we had been pretty solid. Maddie was always one to keep you on your toes though, and that day was not any different.

Read the rest on my other blog Beyond the Saddle!

horse barn

Creative Nonfiction, horses

Creative Nonfiction: First Impressions

kylefreelander

“You have got to be kidding me,” I said to myself, staring at the huge horse in the stall in front of me. Why would I get paired with this horse? This horse was made for giants. Sure, I was tall for a girl but I definitely wasn’t tall enough for this horse. I stared at the big, gray horse against the far wall of the stall. I could hear the clap of his teeth as he crushed the grains in his mouth –an easy task. No way, no how. And Bandit? What kind of name is Bandit anyway? Does he steal things? I shook my head at him from the safety of the barn aisle.

The sound of other stall doors opening and closing died down as the rest of the campers entered their stalls and got to the task of meeting and grooming their horses. I remained where I was, grooming box in hand. It was just fifteen minutes ago that I was learning what all of these brushes were called, how to use them, and, even more importantly, how to interact around a horse. I knew not to go under a horse, but Bandit was tall enough that this looked like a viable option. That idea scared me. I shouldn’t be able to fit under a horse’s belly without playing a challenging game of limbo. I had also learned that if you had to pass behind a horse, you should pass as close to the horse’s back legs as possible so, if they were to kick, you would not get hurt as badly in the process. Something about that just wasn’t encouraging.

horseback riding

Bandit continued to stand there big and gray, eating his breakfast. I stood in the aisle blonde, small, and terrified wondering why my parents let my older sister, Lauren, talk them into this. I remained there, scared of all of the possibilities, until one of the counselors approached me. “What’s wrong?” She asked, peeking her head into Bandit’s stall.

I was never one to say I was afraid. I was the girl who would put on a brave face and just do it, but this was something different. “He’s just so big,” I said, continuing to stare at him.

“Yeah, he is,” the counselor nodded in agreement as she pulled her dark hair into a ponytail. “But he’s a gentle giant. Trust me. He’s literally the sweetest horse in here.”

I looked at her and back to Bandit. How was that possible?

Read the rest on my horsey blog, Beyond the Saddle! (Psssttt! Share your horse story with me here to have a chance at being featured on Beyond the Saddle)

Creative Nonfiction, Creative Writing

Little Moments: Is Ignorance Bliss?

kylefreelander

Ignorance is bliss when you are a child and the world is still your ice cream sundae. Ignorance is bliss when you are told that your crush does not feel the same way about you. Ignorance is bliss when you discover that your best friend has stabbed you in the back. Ignorance is bliss when your significant other has found someone to replace you. Most importantly, though, ignorance is bliss for those who want to be shielded. But, to be shielded is to be weak. You cannot live, learn, grow, and build up a thick layer of skin if you are constantly trying to look the other way because you might be upset about what you find if you were to stop and take a good long look at what was actually going on around you. The truth might hurt but so do lies and so does playing dumb.

To have knowledge is to be hurt, but to have knowledge is also to have the means to protect yourself in the future. Knowledge is power, ignorance is a vulnerability, and humans are vulnerable enough as it is. Stand up and accept the knowledge. It may not always be pretty, but we aren’t pretty people and we don’t live in a pretty world. Sometimes we get sad, other times we are depressed, but there are even greater moments of genuine happiness and gratitude. You need to remember those moments. You need to focus on what makes you happy. What brings a smile to your face? What makes you forget your sorrows, even just for a moment? Those are the things you need to focus on. Don’t desire to be ignorant, desire to be happy. True happiness is better than ignorance.

Creative Nonfiction, Creative Writing

What’s in a name?

kylefreelander

[Or why I am named Kyle]

A lot of people ask me about why I am named Kyle, and my initial instinct is to say that my name is Kyle because my parents named me that. Then I usually turn the question back around on them so they know just how hard of a question it is to answer.

Of course, I do end up telling them why my parents decided to name their baby girl “Kyle,” although I don’t think it’s the exciting tale they were hoping for.

Most people guess that my name is Kyle because my parents thought they were having a boy and then just decided to go ahead with the name even though I was a girl. That is not the case. If I had been a boy, I actually would have been named Adam.

The real story is that my parents decided to name me Kyle because they heard about a woman named Kyle who loved her name. My parents thought it about it for a while, talked to some friends and coworkers, and found more and more females with the name Kyle who also loved their name. As a result, I was named Kyle.

Like I said, not so exciting.

To this day, I have only met two other females by that name so I do not put a whole lot of faith into this story that my parents told me, but when I looked up the meaning of my name online I did discover that there were a lot of baby girls named Kyle from 1978 to 1990.

However, there was no record as to when all these women went into hiding.

Of course, being a female named Kyle has led to a lot of confusion over the years. I have had people call me Kylie, Kyla, Keile, and various other names that they thought were more suitable for a girl than Kyle. Then there are the people who just pair my first and middle name together as if my first name was Kyle-Marie, or, on a more drastic note, people who just start calling me Marie and expect me to answer.

That does not work, by the way.

I get a lot of mail addressed to a “Mr. Kyle Freelander” and official phone calls asking to speak to the same non-existent man. Then there are the people who see my name on paper and expect a male in person, so I get a lot of comments on that as well.

Most of the time I find the errors people make when it comes to my name to be amusing but other times I wish people would stop acting like it was the end of the world for a girl to have what is typically considered to be a “boy name” (although I do not refer to it as such, for obvious reasons).

As far as meaning to my name, online sources tell me that Kyle is a Scottish name that means a strait of water, that Marie means bitter, and that my last name is evidently so uncommon that I cannot find any source that wanted to even touch on meaning for me. So, as far as Freelander goes, it likely has something to do with free land.

Yes, I am bitter strait of water that flows across free land.

Well, maybe.

The actual “meaning” to my name has never meant a whole lot to me because my parents didn’t look into meaning when they picked my name. They just thought Kyle would be a strong, unique name for a girl, and I agree.

When pronounced correctly, I love my name. When people mess it up or try to change it, I inadvertently cringe, correct them, and then I am usually required to go into some lengthy tale about how I got that name.

One of these days, I am just going to start making up crazy stories as to why my name is Kyle but for now people will have to be satisfied with the truth.

I am a female named Kyle.

Get over it.

Creative Nonfiction, Creative Writing

Little Moments: Silence

kylefreelander

It was quiet enough to be mistaken for silence when I walked from one store to the next in the strip mall that night. I could catch a glimpse of my breath every now and then against the dark sky before it disappeared again. There were people who moved across the parking lot and silhouettes that moved in store windows, but I barely noticed them. They were strangers and strangers are easily lost in the crowd.

But him…he was missing. It couldn’t be completely silent without him there. Sure, it was quiet, but it was not silence. With silence comes peace and there was no peace without his company.  It was merely a quiet moment with a phone that wouldn’t chime and voices I couldn’t distinguish on a night that was as cold as it was lonely. It was quiet, but it wasn’t silent and I really could have used some silence right then.

Creative Nonfiction, Creative Writing

Little Moments: Dressing for Happiness

kylefreelander

The other day I was at a department store and I witnessed a mother trying to reason with her young daughter over something they would probably end up disputing in many different forms for the rest of their lives. The girl had a pile of nice clothes that she had picked up, two of them being dresses that the mother didn’t think she would have a chance to wear anywhere before outgrowing them. By the time next year’s dance rolled around, she’d be too tall. Willing to compromise, the mother said the girl could buy one with her allowance. With a smile and a snatch, the girl chose the dressier of the two choices because it was “prettier.” Her mother told her that it’d be more likely that she would have something to wear the other one too and it was slightly bigger so it would fit her for longer, but that didn’t matter to the little girl. She had made her choice, choosing the pretty and the impractical. Whether or not it would fit her next year, keep forever, or outgrow by next week didn’t matter. What mattered was the present, the now, and right now wanted pretty. It didn’t want logical and big picture planning; it wanted instant gratification –that buzz that comes with getting what makes you happy, no matter the cost, even if that happiness can’t last forever. Maybe that’s the trick to life –finding those little moments of happiness that will fit for now, whether it is a man, a job, a friend, a hobby, or even just a dress.