This is my cabin. It's a small cabin on my property that was used long, long ago to house the riding instructor for the girls' camp. We called him Mr. John and he was wonderful to us when we were kids. It wasn't until we were adults that we realized how gay he was.
The girls had riding classes and John brought about 8 horses with him each summer. I don't know how he got them here, I can just imagine hauling that many horses from Cazenovia to Hawkeye. Anyway, every day my sister and I would walk to the riding ring, or the stable, to watch and learn how to ride. We had our favorite horses, of course. We were sooooo envious of those girls, who knew they weren't terribly happy at camp and probably didn't want to take riding lessons at all.
John couldn't let us ride because of liability issues, I guess, but his last day of his last year he let us ride. It was the most exciting thing we could imagine. He took us to the riding ring and turned us loose. We got to practice everything we'd learned. He sat in the center of the ring with his partner and ignored us. I thought it odd that one man was sitting on another's lap, but what did I know?
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