The Roar of the Falls: My Journey with Kaya

Kaya lets go of the halter and steps back. The horse shakes his head a little, but keeps walking slowly and steadily. I expect to be scared with Kaya there, but I find I’m not anymore. I sit tall, carrying the reins easily between my fingers. I’m riding a horse alone!

Then, as we pass a cluster of stones, the horse jumps a little, throwing his head up at the same time. I start to slide to one side, and Kaya yells at me to sit up. I wiggle my way back to the middle. I murmur at him to calm him, and he settles back to a walk.

We parade around the clearing several more times, and with each step, I can feel my back stretching taller and my legs relaxing. When Toe-ta tells me and Kaya to switch places, I pull back on the reins, and to my delight, he stops. I swing my leg over his back and slide to the ground. Kaya hands me the lead rope and swings onto the horse’s back easily.

I lead the horse as Kaya did, clucking to him just like Kaya did. I feel his hot breath on my hand and his big hooves raise puffs of dust with each step. He seems even more powerful when I’m on the ground beside him. After all, he’s still a wild animal. He could knock me over with one small bump. But his long-lashed eyes are bright and curious. He wants to work with us, just like we want to work with him.

When Kaya dismounts, she says I did well working with the young colt. I tell her she’s a good teacher. Toe-ta says we’ve both done very well. We helped each other, and we helped the horses trust us.

Kaya offers for me to ride back to camp on the chestnut alone, while she rides with Toe-ta. I eagerly agree. As we head back, the horse begins trotting. I lift my face into the sweet breeze and let the wind blow back my braids. I’ve never felt so free. Horses don’t seem quite so scary now. I’ve learned to mount and ride a horse by myself. I’ve spent all day outside, tired and dirty. I feel almost as if I’m a different girl than the girl on the riverbank earlier.

Back at camp, Kaya and I take Toe-ta’s stallion and the chestnut horse to the pasture. We walk slowly together, the lead ropes drooping in our fingers. I feel an unusual ache in my arms and shoulders. We watch the horses join the rest of the herd and watch the summer sun setting in a fluffy bed of gold- and rose-colored clouds. The roar of the falls mingles with the peaceful evening sounds of the herd. It’s been a wonderful day, but I know I’m ready to go home.

I tell Kaya that I need to go home now. She nods and says she knew I’d want to go home soon. But she tells me that she’ll miss me. I tell her I’ll miss her, too. My voice catches a little. But we now have new memories of our time together. I hold out my hand, and she takes it. As she does, the sun sends long, golden rays of light around her head. She thanks me for teaching her how to be patient.

My throat swells, and I feel as if I can’t speak. I squeeze Kaya’s hands, and turn and walk slowly toward the river. When I turn to wave, I see Kaya silhouetted at the top of the rise, her braids and dress blowing in the evening wind.

In my head, I thank her for showing me how beautiful our country is, and for teaching me that I don’t need to be afraid of the outdoors or for asking for help. Or offering help, either. I’m eager to share Kaya’s wisdom with my garden group.