Part One: What Am I Doing Here?
Ironically, growing up in Levittown Pennsylvania, the middle child of seven to Marion and Martin, I had the good fortune to spend a ton of time in the woods. We had a certain kind of freedom. There was a lack of restriction when it came to our daily travels. We could head down the street to the ‘greenbelt’ where there was a creek, and stay until dark. As a kindergartener I walked with my older siblings the half-mile to school. Soon after that we were walking a mile to the deli in search of Tastykakes. Seems like we could go anywhere we wanted as long as we made it home for dinner. I remember spending most of my time in the creek or up a tree.
Marion grew up in poverty and taught herself how to sew and bake. I have the feeling she strived to cover up the past with the latest fashions and chic décor. And I think she succeeded, mostly because she was a DIY woman in the 60’s.
Martin was an engineer, but he had artistic talents that lay hidden in the attic in a big black portfolio, remnants from a few courses at Parsons.
Me, I was a tomboy. Horses were my calling. Relentlessly I hounded my folks until they purchased a $200 old gelding named Biscayne. I quickly changed his name to Oaky, groomed him until he glistened and rode him into condition. I was 13. Life was perfect.
A typical day would find me riding Oaky beside the road, over the railroad tracks, through the peach orchard, along the airstrip, into the woods. Hours would go by, just Oaky and me, moving through the county, bareback, barefoot and free. There was also the stall to clean, feeding, grooming, carrying water buckets and making sure the hay and feed were ordered and the blacksmith scheduled. There was a sense of order and accomplishment. The fact that Oaky and I had a mutually beneficial relationship was not in my consciousness until I became much older. All I knew was that this horse was everything to me and he deserved the best. Meanwhile, he introduced me to everything I would need to figure out what I am doing here.
photo credits: Marion and Martin Ragsdale