So today I caught up with some friends back in England, Wales to be exact, where I lived from the age of 12 to 16 and have many happy memories.
I recall the little end house that became our home that had no heating upstairs but a big friendly kitchen in which the Rayburn threw out almost constant heat.
Mostly I remember my days down the farm, my first ride of Queen, bringing in the horses - Queen, Elsa (who was 32 at the time and had a sunken back and an attitude), Tombo (also ancient and rescued from a garden) and then the little Welsh pony stallion Idris,who nipped.
Happy days of riding up the mountain, bringing cows down, cleaning tack, mucking out stables, jumping styles and walking miles. Lying on my back on the mountain with my best friend and looking at a very high up plane going over and leaving a trail and telling her that I would move to New York one day.
Pony club games and shows, Shadow my beautiful pony, the Buch field and swimming in the river. How I took it all for granted.
But time rolls on doesnt it, while I grew up and made my own way that place remained, those people remained and its still a wonderful spot to visit but Elsa passed away as did Tombo, years ago, Shadow was sold when I was 15 and had outgrown him and now today I heard that Queen had passed on at 32 years of age this summer and so had Idris just this Fall. And my heart breaks for that kind mare, for our precious rides up the farm road and for that feisty little chestnut stallion.