It was one of those bright sunny days in summer that seemed things might go my way when I asked my Mother whether we could go to the riding stables in Banff. Just to look at the horses. If I could not go riding, then looking at them would be almost as satisfactory. Further, it was clear that riding was out of the question as my Mother wore a full skirted dress.
The rental riding stables in Banff were located within the town in the 50s and early 60s before moving to locations south of Bow River and the Banff Springs Hotel. When we reached one particular stable, my Mother spoke to a wizened grey haired cowboy while I peered through the open doors of the barn smelling the comforting scents of hay, straw, leather and horses. The few horses that remained in the stable stood in tie stalls with their glossy hindquarters visible.
The conversation behind me took an interesting turn when my Mother explained my interest in riding but didn’t want me to go out by myself at age 9. This was due to my first wild gallop across a field at age 6 (to be related in a later post). The elderly gent seemed to have a twinkle in his eye when he suggested my Mother accompany me, and despite her protest of her attire he suggested she wear a pair of full bat wing chaps so she’d be decently covered while sitting astride. Mother rode the man’s son’s personal mount and I on one of the string horses, a chestnut mare in foal.
Thus, we made quite the sight to my brothers who discovered us returning from a lovely ride to Bow Falls.
This post is a tribute to my late Mother as today would have been her birthday. She was born in 1911 and passed away in 1989.
