One of the greatest things about parenthood is getting to encounter the world anew.  I may not remember the first time I saw the funny way an inchworm moves or heard the eerie hum of wind through pines, but I was able to watch my kids revel in those discoveries and experience the joy and wonder of it again.  Well, my kids are grown now and the ante for that contact high has gotten much higher – Mom, family trip to Japan?  So, I must look elsewhere – horses.

The ocean covers over 70% of our planet. (There’s really only one and cutting it up into discrete bodies is a human construct to help us cope with its vastness).  It’s a massive conveyor belt churning all around these tiny specks of earth we arrogantly named the entire planet after. In this process of constant motion it affects everything, from the weather to our bodies and gives us organisms that still have the ability to shock and awe.  Perhaps, if I was in the midst of it on a small boat, rolling in waves without sight of land, I could once again experience the wonder (and fear) I must have felt coming to the beach as a young child.  But that’s not a readily available option.  So, instead, I’ve trailered a half-ton child to the North Carolina coast.

Our first afternoon in Hatteras found us riding a quarter mile along the two-lane road that is the only way for anyone or anything to get anywhere along the 100-plus-mile length of the North Carolina barrier islands.  Juneau isn’t a huge fan of traffic, but he soldiered through it.  Next, there was a mile ride along a secondary road through a marsh -- not much traffic but a lot of mosquitos the size of osprey.  And, then there were the pelicans flying low over us like prehistoric bombers.  In all, a bunch of stimuli that had my boy wound pretty tight by the time we’d trotted the last quarter mile on an oyster shell road and crested the dune at ramp 49.

There before him it sprawled.  All 41 million square miles of the Atlantic Ocean, pulsing and moving like the massive living thing it truly is.  Yet, he allowed me to lead him over the 75 yards of thick sand toward it.  What f***ing heart these creatures have.

Kurt on Guillermo watched from the safety of mid-beach as Juneau and I approached the rolling surf a number of times.  Finally, a wave kissed his hoof and we were off to the races!! Next thing I knew I was nearly back over the dunes, my saddle slipped cockeyed to one side, and a bunch of surf fishers standing in stunned silence with their phones pointed at us.  Still, Juneau let me calm him and we took a nice trot in the dry sand, got nearly to the break again, and then headed home, battling an invasion force of insects the whole way.

The next morning, the traffic was much lighter; a breeze kept the bugs under control; and no pelican fly overs were apparently scheduled.  Still, when we crested ramp 49, Juneau and Guillermo both tried to turn back to Sugar Ridge Ranch, where we’re staying.  Clearly they were not not happy to be back with the massive, panting water monster.  But, we coaxed the boys forward and they settled into a nice trot.  We found a stretch of beach with a few less bystanders and had a lovely ride.

I won’t lie, Juneau still hasn’t let me get him into the water. The fantasy gallops in the crashing surf will have to wait for another trip (or another horse — I’ll introduce readers to Farrah on my return home).  But Juneau did give me the gift of long canter on the hard pack just shy of the waves.  It was as joyful an experience as watching my kids watch that inch worm cross a leaf in our garden.