ESSAY
Girls and Story By Tina Miller
I
was introduced to horses at 6, when my father’s girlfriend at the time, Nancy Safford, took me to Nip ’n’ Tuck Farm for lessons. I rode a rowdy Shetland pony named Roxy. Roxy was smart and athletic, and promptly scraped me off his back by slipping under a fence, then proudly trotted back to the barn. I have no doubt I was just another conquest for this clever, sassy pony. A few years later, I met my soon-tobe best friend Beach Phillipps, who had just moved with her family to the Island from New York City. I introduced Beach to horses when we were 9; we’d hitchhike to
excited about the next Saturday. As we got comfortable at the farm, Saturdays became longer, and we stretched our time out learning horsemanship. We learned to brush and groom the horses, lift their heavy hooves, and pick out the dirt. We learned how to tack up — putting on a bridle and saddle. And after our ride, we learned to untack, brush the horses down, and return them to their stalls. There were other horses on the farm we got to know. Mr. Fisher had a team of chestnut-colored draft horses named Bob and Barney. Frosty was a skittish ex-racehorse we were a bit afraid of; we learned it was
his workshop for Lady, and put fencing around the field below our house. Beach had an old shed that was converted for Sundance, and they also were able to fence in a pasture area. We were inseparable, the four of us. If I slept over at Beach’s house, which I did quite often, Lady slept there too. After school, we would go to our homes, tack up, and meet for a ride. We lived about half a mile from each other, me on Music Street, Beach behind the gas station. We would meet in the middle, and head into our special world in the woods. Even with cold, snowy days, there was no stopping us. We would put
Often a girl’s first love, a horse will quickly become a best friend, a confidant that encourages independence, strength, imagination, and self-determination. A horse changes that girl forever. Nip ’n’ Tuck Farm in West Tisbury on Saturdays with five bucks so we could take a trail ride with a young Freddy Fisher. It was the ’70s, and the Island wasn’t quite so precious. We could ride pretty much anywhere without the fear of being called trespassers. My pony was named Lady, a pony you might expect to see out West in the Plains, herding cattle. Lady was dun-colored — a warm, dark tan with dark brown mane and tail. Beach rode Sundance, a beautiful palomino who was a former parade horse with a flowing mane and a tail that matched Beach’s blond locks. Freddy led us on our rides on his strikingly beautiful, very well-trained, light gray Arabian named Muffet Kusna. Those Saturdays were filled with unfettered happiness and fantasy as we rode through the backwoods and fields of West Tisbury. Time just disappeared, and by the end of our ride, we were already 34 edible vineyard
best to observe his nervous energy from afar. There was Freddy’s magical horse, Kusna, whose stall was at the open door to the lower level of horse stalls. She seemed in charge of the whole group. Upstairs with the cows were the smaller ponies, a chocolate brown Shetland pony named Gemini, and of course the infamous Roxy. By the time summer came, we had worked our way into the farm system, and spent days riding and helping out at the barn. We helped mostly with trail rides, tacking horses up, and riding at the back of the group as people were led out through the woods on horseback. At the end of the summer, Mr. Fisher — Fred — offered Beach and me the opportunity for a free winter lease with Lady and Sundance. This was a win-win; Mr. Fisher would not have to feed the horses all winter, and we got to have Lady and Sundance at our homes and ride every day, which we did. My father created a small stall in
Vaseline on Lady’s and Sundance’s hooves to prevent snow from balling up in them; we would ride bareback to stay warm. Lady preferred to be with Sundance, and eventually learned how to stretch our fencing by leaning her body on the wire until it became loose. Then she could slip out and escape to see her best friend. When we got off the school bus near Alley’s Store, an adult would often tell us they saw Lady running down Music Street heading toward the gas station. It wasn’t ideal, but Lady was a pony — smart and willful. After another summer at Nip ’n’ Tuck, Beach and I were official barn rats, riding in exchange for taking out trail rides, grooming, and mucking stalls. We would spend full days on the farms. By summer’s end, Mr. Fischer offered to sell Sundance to Beach for $250, and Beach accepted the deal. Sundance had issues: He was often lame, and not always
