Saddle Up!

When we made the announcement that we got a new RV lots of people sent congratulatory remarks. There was one phrase that recurred regardless of gender, background or whether or not they even owned a horse: “Good for you, get right back on that horse,” or a more complete thought, “You get right back up on the horse that threw you!” Also, “glad to see you back in the saddle.” Interesting that so many people used variations of the horse/saddle idiom. It’s a uniquely American usage, especially in music. I wondered just which horse/saddle combo it could be…like this chestnut from Gene Autry:

I’m back in the saddle again

Out where a friend is a friend

Where the longhorn cattle feed

On the lowly Jimson weed

I’m back in the saddle again….

In Port St. Joe Florida, there are neither horses nor longhorns nearby. You might see a cowboy hat here and there, but there are more white rubber fishing boots than cowboy boots per capita. There are a few bars in Port St. Joe, but nothing on the order of a Crazy Horse Saloon. It’s a family town and spring breakers looking for action should just keep going to Panama City. Our campground is in Port St. Joe, as are our friends. After our three-day drive we arrived to find our friends were holding a happy hour party to celebrate our return. My friend Kathy, who knows me well, was ready with a glass of wine. 

I got my prosthetic leg just three weeks before this trip and everything was new, including walking. Just walking 100 yards was exhausting. I was so looking forward to walking with Ben and the dog, but I was too slow, the gravel path was uneven and I was too wobbly. It was frustrating, because I expected to be ready to hit it when we arrived. I amended my expectations until the day everyone planned to go kayaking. Wild horses (there’s that horse thing again!) let alone a wobbly fake leg couldn’t keep me from going.

On the morning of the paddle our friends helped Ben get our boats to water’s edge while I got busy getting myself across the short distance between the campground and the water. I’ve used trekking poles for hiking ever since my hip surgery, but now I needed them more than ever. I. Was. So. Agonizingly. Slow. Left step…pole. Right step…pole. Then I had to get over the strand line, which is comprised of sea grass, shells, driftwood and whatnot the high tide left at the top of the beach. It’s usually damp and squishy. As I staggered through the strand line, I had lots of support. My good friends cheered me on by advising me not to fall, and that I had plenty of time to get to the boat before the sun set in 5 hours—ha. Somehow I managed to make it into the boat—actually more of a controlled fall backwards. A couple helpful nudges and my kayak drifted out, free.

It was awkward at first. I fumbled around with my paddle, tried to adjust myself in the boat and took a few paddle strokes to get turned around. The whoosh, whoosh of the blades sweeping in the water had an instant effect on my body. My muscle memory kicked in and as I came up to full cadence, I felt strong and capable for the first time since the accident. I got a little weepy from the sensation. We planned a short paddle since it was my first time out. Friends Sonny and Linda trailed us in their little powerboat. After an hour of paddling I was tired but also reluctant to head for shore where I’d have to resume my struggle getting around on dry land. I now have great sympathy for whales, dolphins, fish, octopi and mermaids. The first rule of any out and back trip is that you turn back before you get tired so you have enough oomph to return safely, so I turned back. Back at shore, our friends surrounded us and helped me get out of my boat—which is to say they hauled me up like a sack of potatoes. I opened my trekking poles and wobbled back to the RV, while friends helped Ben schlep our stuff. We went for celebratory cocktails afterward.

I guess we are back in the saddle again, the old timey Gene Autry saddle, where a friend is a friend rather than friend #685 on social media. I’m all for social media, I’m a blogger and you’re reading this because you chose to follow one of my social media accounts, but when difficult times arrive (and they will sooner or later) it’s the people who physically show up for you that make the practical aspects of survival more pleasant.

We went out on the water a couple more times, but nothing compared to that rush I got from the first trip. Even though it was the shortest paddle I’d done in years, it was the moment I knew I’d turned a corner in recovery. Gene Autry’s horse was named Champion. Maybe I should rename my boat. Back in the saddle, again.

Onward!