The Roar of the Falls: My Journey with Kaya

Kaya lets go of the halter and steps back, watching me carefully. The horse shakes his head a little, but keeps walking slowly and steadily beneath me. 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, feeling the leather warm against my skin. 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. My heart lurches, and I start to slide to one side, and Kaya yells at me to sit up. I wiggle my way back to the middle, gripping tighter with my knees. 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, the horse’s steady rhythm settling into my own bones. When Toe-ta tells me and Kaya to switch places, I pull back gently on the reins, and to my delight, he stops right away. I swing my leg over his back and slide to the ground, my legs a little wobbly beneath me. 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, feeling a little braver each time he responds. I feel his hot breath on my hand and his big hooves raise puffs of dust with each step he takes. 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, watching me with what looks almost like trust. 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, and I mean it. 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, his hooves falling into an easy rhythm. 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, but it’s a good kind of tired. 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 in my throat. But we now have new memories of our time together to hold onto. 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, my steps heavy with everything I’m leaving behind. 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 Kaya 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 when I get home.