Finger Lakes Outlook

   There are so many things I remember from growing up on our farm in Potter.  Every time I drive by that big old house with that big red barn it brings back some great memories.  There were so many things for a young boy to do.  We played hide and seek in the barn.  We fed the lambs and took care of about a hundred sheep. The lambs were the best and were fun to watch.  They would always be out in the barnyard playing king of the hill on a bale of hay, butting each other off, circling around in groups and trying to knock the King off his throne.  There was also some not so fun times.  Some days I would go to the barn and it would be so darn cold that my fingers would lock tight and hurt for hours.  I swear there is nothing colder than the handle of a wooden pitchfork.  There was good and bad.  Mostly good.  All us kids pitched in to get the work done and I would not trade that in for anything.  
    But one of the best stories ever is the story of my pony Sam. One day we were told that we were all going to get a surprise so when the livestock trailer arrived all us kids thought we were getting some more sheep.  But when the doors opened, we were greeted by four ponies.  I quickly picked one out that looked like Little Joe Cartwright’s horse.  He was black and white and just mighty fine looking.  I just imagined myself riding off into the sunset with Hoss and Adam after tossing some boys around at the saloon. 
   At first we had all we could do to keep them in the barnyard.  These ponies were fresh from the wild lands of New Mexico and had absolutely no intention of being trained.  They kicked, they bucked, and they chased us around and were not the least bit friendly.   Actually they were what my infamous Uncle Charlie would call “hay burning creatures from hell.”  If they were up at his place he would have them in solitary confinement.  All we could do with our new ponies was throw some hay down the chute and drop a bucket of water over the gate.  
   One day Sam took and grabbed the grain pail and brought it to me.  I was thinking that maybe if he wanted something that this was my chance.  I got the pail and brought him some mixed oats and wheat, which for a horse might as well be a Snickers bar and a bottle of Jolt cola.  But I used that grain to finally get him in close enough to pet him.  He didn’t like it one bit but I wanted to get him friendly enough so I could ride him some day.  My dad said not to but what’s the sense of having a pony without riding him.
   After a few weeks of getting him to come to me I jumped off the fence and right onto his back and it was me verses the wild one.  It was five seconds of wondering which bone I was about to break before finally landing flat on my back with the air knocked out of me.  So he won that round.  I never tried to ride him again.  He was my buddy though. 
    My next attempt at riding a horse was with a girl that lived up the road in the summer.  One day she came down before going back home to Long Island and wondered if I wanted to go for a horse ride.  Now how could I say no to a ride from one of the Kuskis girls?  All you Potter boys.  You know what I am talking about.  I would have bragging rights for quite a while for this one.  So I hopped on and…….I beat my five second ride on my pony Sam by maybe three seconds.  I got maybe an eight second ride before I was bounced off the back of the horse and right on my butt.   So I never did take that horse ride. 
   My third and final time on a horse was a thing straight out of bad western.  The Guarino family often came to our house on horses.  They made a Sunday visit out of it and we always had some great fun.  They brought five horses and they were all tied off out to the clothes pole while we were all playing.  Someone got the idea of taking a ride.  I should have known better.    All I remember is getting close lined (literally), setting a land speed record across our bottom field and hollering whoa!!!  The horse jumped up a bank and quickly flipped me off into the grass.  Still no broken bones, but what the hell.  I wanted to be like Little Joe Cartwright and I was just not having any luck at all.  It's nothing like TV.  Horses just don’t like me.  

Wilson Simmons
Potter, NY