Wild Again, Beguiled Again, a Child Again

A wild carpet of moss glided beneath the colt’s flying feet. Squirrels, terrified by the thunder coming down on them, scurried to trees and climbed speedily for self-protection. A rabbit flattened himself out in a hollow. Black Sand raced through open areas, too, masses of wild flowers, dandelions and buttercups, a thousand colored heads, all dancing in the spring breeze.  

The path grew narrow with trees and brush closing in on them. Pam slowed Black Sand to a canter, careful that there were no obstacles in his path. Long, willowy branches slapped against her body.  

Suddenly, the colt reared, uttered an insane neighing shriek and, in a single leap, charged off the path. She managed to keep her seat, realizing what had happened. The tree branches had lashed him, and he had taken them for a whip. - Walter Farley, The Black Stallion and the Girl

Whenever I pick up a book like this, I am once again ten years old, lost in thrilling dreams. Isn’t that a wonderful gift, to be able to relive youth?

The most wonderful memory I have of my paternal grandfather is watching him read, after I told him what the book was about, The Black Stallion’s Filly, by Walter Farley. My grandfather and I shared a passion for horses, and as he read the story, his little granddaughter watching his face intently, beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. A racing aficionado, attending the Kentucky Derby every year with his eldest son, my Uncle Jim, my grandfather could not have been more completely absorbed by this fictional Derby account written for young people.

Back to The Black Stallion and the Girl:

Pam’s blood caught fire. She released her hold on his mouth. Never had she known anything like it, a furious, magnificent soaring flight! She pressed her face hard against his neck, her body light, almost fluid like his. She was one with him, flying with him, and she had no wish but to soar forever, wherever he would take her.

Also connected with my childhood reading of Walter Farley books are memories of the bookmobile driver who came to our little grade school every Tuesday. His name was Jay, and he always remembered which of the two little horse-crazy girls, my friend Kathleen and I, had had the new Walter Farley book first, so if I had been first to borrow the last one, it was Kathleen’s turn to be first with the next. When Jay died, my world was shaken. He was not an old man. It was my first experience of someone dying who was not old and who was an important friend.

Copy on the back cover of the paperback book in my hands says that this story was inspired by Mr. Farley’s own “free-spirited and horse-loving” daughter. Following the last page of the novel, I was happy to find, is a short biography of the author.

Walter Farley’s love for horses began when he was a small boy in Syracuse, New York, and continued as he grew up in New York City, where his family moved. Unlike most city children, he was able to fulfill this love through an uncle who was a professional horseman. Young Walter spent much of his time with this uncle, learning about the different kinds of horse training and the people associated with them.  

Walter Farley began to write his first book, The Black Stallion, while he was a student at Brooklyn’s Erasmus Hall High School and Mercersburg Academy in Pennsylvania. He eventually finished it, and it was published in 1941 while he was still an undergraduate at Columbia University 

. . . . In his life he wrote a total of thirty-four books. . .  

Mr. Farley and his wife, Rosemary, had four children, whom they raised on a farm in Pennsylvania  and at a beach house in Florida. Horses, dogs and cats were always part of the household.  

In 1989 Mr. Farley was honored by his hometown library in Venice, Florida, which established the Walter Farley Literary Landmark in its children’s wing. Mr. Farley died in October 1989, shortly before the publication of The Young Black Stallion, the twenty-first book in the Black Stallion series. Mr. Farley co-authored The Young Black Stallion with his son, Steven.

The Black Stallion and the Girl was published by Yearling, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books. Thanks to Yearling and to whoever wrote the biographical note at the end of the book. The story was thrilling – all Walter Farley’s horse stories are thrilling! – and it made me happy to read about his family life, too.

Horse Stories

Thanks to everyone who's been reading and especially to those of you who have left comments. I appreciate the encouragement and dialogue and hope others will jump into the conversation.

There was no post yesterday because, after I closed the bookstore, Bonnie and I took advantage of a beautiful, warm, sunny day to go riding. I rode her husband's horse, Jet, a wonderful, sweet, gentle black-and-white paint, Bonnie rode Scout, and the world we moved through was Eden. The picture here is of Pawnee, Scout and PJ, taken early in the summer. Yesterday the camera was definitely upstaged by the direct experience.

"Horses make the landscape look more beautiful," wrote Alice Walker. Horses lift my heart and bring tears to my eyes. They are the embodiment of perfect grace. How can we be worthy of all they give?

I've had and loved dogs, most recently (and loved most deeply) our beloved Nikki, and I've loved dog stories and books since childhood. There's HARRY THE DIRTY DOG, which my son and I enjoyed in his childhood; GINGER PYE, read first when I was in grade school and again and again since (sharing it with grade schoolers at Northport School a few years back, I enjoyed it every bit as much as they did); the heart-breaking DOG OF FLANDERS, which I did not read until adulthood; books by Albert Payson Terhune; modern treasures like THE SECRET LIFE OF DOGS. I don't understand people who don't respond to dogs. Our species have co-evolved. Would we even be human without them? I could never love a horse more than I loved Nikki. And yet--.

Where do feelings for horses come from? I've decided lately that my own feelings must be genetic. Seeing them, being near them, touching them, smelling them--why should this make me so happy?

Neither of my parents ever had horses, and yet, out on the plains of South Dakota, before uttering my first word of English, I was shrieking with delight at the sight of a horse, quieting only when my parents threatened not to point out horses to me any more if I didn't stop screaming in the car. My father's father loved horse racing and always went to the Kentucky Derby. He dreamed of starting a pony farm in Florida when he retired from the Pennsylvania Railroad. (He and I got a lot of mileage out of that dream.) I never knew my mother's father, but he was Irish. My father took me to a riding stable on occasion when I was a little girl, leading me around the ring on "Linda," the oldest mount in residence.

Despite the dreams, my grandfather never got his pony farm, and I have yet to have a real horse of my own, but, thanks to books, in my imagination I have had the most magnificent of horses.

Marguerite Henry's unforgettable stories, so perfectly illustrated by Wesley Dennis, captivated me early and have never lost their charm. Say "Chincoteague," and my first response is "Misty!" I learned about famous race horses from Marguerite Henry. Of all her books, BLACK GOLD was far and away my favorite. "He finished the race! On three legs and a heart, he finished it!" I am quoting by heart and may not have the race announcer's words exact, but they give me shivers even now as I type the words.

My all-time favorite horse series author, though, was Walter Farley: THE BLACK STALLION; THE ISLAND STALLION; and every sequel about the Black and Flame. When the film version of "The Black Stallion" came out, I was afraid of disappointment but couldn't stay away. Alec should have been older--otherwise, no complaints. From the moment that horse reared onscreen, I was ten years old again, enthralled. THE BLACK STALLION ranks right up there with WIND IN THE WILLOWS in my personal list of childhood classics. I remember my grandfather borrowing and reading my library copy of THE BLACK STALLION'S FILLY, sweat popping out on his forehead as the filly took the lead in the Derby. And THE ISLAND STALLION! The unbelievably mysterious, romantic, magical setting, that hidden world! I'm very pleased that these books are available in modestly priced paperback reprints so I can stock them at Dog Ears Books for young horse-crazy readers.

The novel THE HORSE WHISPERER wasn't what I'd expected. I wanted to read about horses, not romance. (For romance, give me Jane Austen.) Better for horse thrills are the books of Monty Roberts, the real-life horse whisperer. His writing can be repetitious, but who cares? His stories are real. He changes lives, those of horses and people, for the better, and he's one of my heroes.

Three years ago a holiday picture book for children appeared called WINTER'S GIFT, by Jane Monroe Donovan, who also illustrated her story. On the cover, in a snowstorm, is a lone horse, heavy in the belly, wind at its back. My favorite new book that season was a shoo-in.