Disaster Susan -- The Typhoid Mary of Travel

I’m sure that Mary Mallon was sincere in her denial of culpability in the spread of disease and very much resented the moniker ‘Typhoid Mary,’ not to mention her life imprisonment on Brother Island.  Nonetheless, it is undeniable that where Mary went, people got sick.  Thankfully, my connection to community adversity is a tad less tangible.  Still, I’m worried about a pattern that seems to be emerging.  Where I travel, so too do natural disasters.  To be more specific – my selection of a location for a horse adventure seems to invite nature’s wrath.

There was the springtime riding trip in the Rajasthan where we experienced an unprecedented heatwave that saw temperatures soaring over 105 degrees well in advance of the summer.  There was last year’s Morocco ride and the horrible earthquake that nation experienced during our visit.  Now, there is Hurricane Helene and the ride that I’d planned months ago that has as it’s a turn-around point – wait for it -- the ‘Big Bend’ area of Florida.

I get it, it’s not all about me.  Still, it’s both a little spooky and a really nice hook for a blog post announcing the trip on which we are about to embark tomorrow morning.

As those who have followed my adventures know, here in the U.S, we’ve turned our trailer west to ride the boys through arroyos that cut the high grass prairies, up to the high altitude meadows of the southern Rockies, and across the tops of ochre-hued mesas.  We’ve gone north to experience Revolutionary and Civil War battlefields, the lush forests of the Green and White Mountains, and the coastal carriage trails of Acadia.  Now, we turn south.

When I planned this trip for the first two weeks of October, I imagined an extension of summer and a series of lazy rides on beaches and shade-dappled, red clay trails.   There’d be sunny days in the Atlantic surf; rides across the fields and forests of America’s winter fox hunting capital; winds through the cypress swamps and sawgrass plains of Florida’s cow country; and, promenades on the carriage trails of the closest thing America has to a palace.

Now, given the destruction being left in Helene’s path, I suspect it will be more stormy beaches with biting winds and woods of broken trees and deep puddles.  But, as anyone who spends time with horses knows – it’s all about learning to flow with a force far stronger than you.

Perhaps, what I was meant to experience with my sojourn to The South wasn’t as much a glass of sweet tea as a shot of Tabasco.  Or, maybe this is fate’s harsh reminder that it truly isn’t about any one of us.  It’s about the remarkable way things can quickly get better when we come together after Mother Nature gives us one of her mighty slaps across the kisser.