Thin Ice

Today I fell through the ice on the lake. Sounds worse than it was which is why I like saying it. I’ve been walking home along the shore of the narrows instead of down the road. We’ve recently had a cold snap and I walked along the shore of the narrows with my husband and a friend the other day but having been working my way further out onto the ice since, because the snow isn’t as deep so its easier walking.

I was within sight of the house and I did notice the dogs hugging the shoreline and had made it back to the weeds before my foot went through and I was suddenly gazing at the sky with a very cold leg. I had the wherewithal to throw myself onto my back and roll away from the hole before crawling towards shore. Yay Me. I did know the ice was thin around where I was walking as it had been open just before this cold snap. Boo Me.

All the same, a soaker up to the butt cheek does not for a life threatening event make. I didn’t know that in the moment I was expressing my surprise at finding myself on my back in open water with ice breaking around me. “Did you learn your lesson?”, my husband Charlie asked after listening to my adventure-wife report when I walked in the door. Gotta say, he did ask it in a very gentle tone, not righteous at all and he threw in, “I’d be real sorry to lose you”. I didn’t feel defensive or humiliated. Just drippy and humbled.
Somehow he became the authority on the lake ice and I’ve been rebelling ever since. He’s the safety guy who goes out and drills the holes and taps his stick, listening intently for how thick it sounds and bounces on his legs a safe distance away from any open water to test the flex. I’m the one who rolls my eyes at having to wait for him all the time and follows him home grumbling about safety nancies when he passes judgement on it being to thin. I’ve always been like this. As soon as I acknowledge an external authority, my standing good judgment is hip-checked aside by an ongoing rush of rebellion. Not always, and not entirely, but noticeably.
I didn’t walk the narrows by myself after the water was open there. I waited until I had people with me who weighed more than me before I tried it for the first time, but I did have to talk them into it. I’ll hug the shoreline from hereon and I may not cross where I have been. I probably won’t be able to anymore without feeling scared.
That’s what I wonder. Why, when I am quite intrepid and willing to take risks on a frozen lake have I come to feel such fear when it comes to horses? I love horses as much as I love water. I have had a few lessons from rocky shorelines in the past couple of years. I didn’t feel any at all until I was tits up. So its not like my fear is incredibly intuitive and comes up when I’m in danger. It seems experience plays a role. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever fallen through the ice and I’ve been out on it a lot. I wonder what it will be like tomorrow?

 
I have scared the bejeesus out of myself repeatedly with horses over my lifetime even though I usually escape relatively unscathed. What’s a little soft tissue damage but a few months of pain and a permanent weakness. So maybe its the balance. I know my comfort with risk decreased significantly when I became a mom. Charlie’s did too, when he became a dad. I have been and can continue to hug the shoreline in my horse life the way I have been for the last number of years. I still yearn for the days of yore but I can accept and love where I’m at as well as challenging myself from here.

 
I’m pretty convinced I won’t be backing horses who have never been ridden before and I still feel it might be okay for me to get on Savvy some day. Sienna has no problem carrying a rider but she’s pretty darn pissed about being told what to do. I can work with that. Even with Freya, my fear can come up. She’s dumped me a few times and given me some thrilling adrenal rushes over the years. The thing is, if I can’t hack being frightened for my well being every now and then, I might as well pack it in. It happens riding, it happens driving, it happens walking on the lake and I can hack it. I even like it a little. More the telling about it after, than the experience during, which does point to ego. So I’m attached to being a bit of a daredevil. It just looks very different when I’m a 50 year old farm/horse woman/mom/wife than it did when I was younger. The risks I take now aren’t recognizable as such to many, anymore. I wonder if I still care. I’ll still find my edge, but its a softer one with a butt deep drop, not the knife edge along the cliff top. Cold though. I don’t know if its playing it safe, acknowledging the limitations of aging, the wisdom that comes with experience or chickening out. I’ve seen some pretty fierce chickens in my day, though. I’d like to strike a balance between a tough old hen to reckon with and a soft place for me to fall.