Real fantasy

It still doesn’t seem as if it could possibly have happened. Can you imagine having a secret wish/hope/fantasy for absolutely as long as you can remember (at least since age three or four) that has been percolating along inside you all these years, and suddenly having it become real, full-blown?

Because over the years you grow up and cool down and get mature, and you understand that the wishes and dreams of childhood are just that: dreams. No substance. Never happen. So you kind of wall them off and tell yourself that they were just childish thoughts anyway, and you even wall off the sadness that comes with letting the dreams slip away. And you are OK. Really. Functioning well, getting pleasure out of life, having moments and even days of richness, and all in all things are working in your life.

But some part of you never forgets that old deep longing, and the pining wish is like a little red ember under the ashes. You don’t see it there when you look, but the heat can still start a fire if the conditions are right.

So that’s what happened to me this past week in Wyoming. There is no way to put into words what it feels like to have that hidden hope be kindled into joy so suddenly. My fantasy became real in every detail. At the ranch it was as if we dropped out of time entirely, and spent weeks of wonder together in the space of a few days. If you’re wondering where, this is it: http://www.paradiseranch.com

They give you your own horse for the week so you can build a relationship with it (my carrot blandishments went quite far toward creating rapport) and each of the three of us was assigned a horse with a personality that fit us well. You can pick from morning, afternoon, or all-day rides, and try team cow penning and barrel racing if you have a mind to. The land is beyond gorgeous, and though we rode on every available ride all week we never went to the same place twice. You can pick from all walk, walk/trot, or walk/trot/lope rides, and there are even “extreme lope” rides for the very adventurous.

Canyons fragrant with the spice of lodge pole pines; high, golden mountain meadows; huge jagged volcanic outcroppings of gneiss; clear rushing streams sleeked with trout; and always behind everything the backdrop of high blue mountains bearing white glaciers . . . and me and my little roan horse Red Rover, Ken and his paint Buster, and Lorian with her chestnut Jackson, all in a landscape that could hold the world: perfection.

I’m still aglow. How can something so completely otherworldly feel like coming home?