“I’m an old cowgirl, she told us.  “From Virginia.”  She smiled beneath the brim of her hat, waiting behind the crowds that blocked her view of the Percherons she’d come to see.  Her ailing legs confined her to a motorized scooter, but it wasn’t enough to dim her enthusiasm as she waited and hoped for that chance to get close enough to see– maybe even to touch– a Percheron.  Cash was led from his stall, parting the crowd until he stood waiting, waiting for the women to be brought to his sweet, trusting face.  Hushed, we watched with the crowd.  The Cowgirl from Virginia removed her hat and pulled herself up, rejuvenated by the calm majesty of the enormous horse who stood before her.  And for a few moments they embraced, heart and soul, and Cash knew as all good horses know, that he had once again brought love and restoration to another fragile, human heart.  At that moment, the poignancy of Patty Barnhart’s poem was revivified. 

Virginia Cowgirl Virginia Cowgirl Virginia Cowgirl Virginia Cowgirl

WHEN I AM AN OLD HORSEWOMAN

When I Am An Old Horsewoman

I shall wear turquoise and diamonds,

And a straw hat that doesn’t suit me

And I shall spend my social security on

white wine and carrots,

And sit in my alleyway of my barn

And listen to my horses breathe.

I will sneak out in the middle of a summer night

And ride the old bay gelding,

Across the moonstruck meadow

If my old bones will allow

And when people come to call, I will smile and nod

As I walk past the gardens to the barn

and show instead the flowers growing

inside stalls fresh-lined with straw.

I will shovel and sweat and wear hay in my hair

as if it were a jewel

And I will be an embarrassment to ALL

Who will not yet have found the peace in being free

to have a horse as a best friend

A friend who waits at midnight hour

With muzzle and nicker and patient eyes

For the kind of woman I will be

When I am old.