Thursday, July 09, 2026

This summer tossed me into a kind of vulnerability that may accompany awkward attempts to revive old passions. My current passions are carriage driving, particularly driving my (now) middle-aged pony, Sunny.

A couple of months ago, Sunny and I had to say a final goodbye to Rosie, her older sister and long-time companion. Now, Sunny, the lone horse in my barn, needs a job. A horse mustn’t be left just standing around.

That seemed easy enough for Sunny. She’s a trained driving horse who used to have that job, and I loved driving her. Somehow, I got busy with other pursuits back around the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, and gradually stopped driving. Now, years later, our circumstances have changed, and I hope we can start teaming up with our cart again.

First, I made sure that Sunny was physically up to the very physical task of driving. A capable equine veterinarian assessed Sunny and gave her a thumbs-up for performance capability and soundness. I began lunging Sunny daily, trotting her in 20-foot circles that turned excess weight (hers, not mine!) into muscle.

Simultaneously and surprisingly, I found myself weighed down by unanticipated clouds of self-doubt and insecurity. They began hanging heavily over my head. For example, I often found myself staring at Sunny’s harness gear and trying desperately to remember all the pieces and how exactly they used to fit together. My driving training, which occurred years ago, now seemed out of reach.

I tried to re-learn by watching YouTube videos. They didn’t help much. I found myself fearing that crucial parts of the harness might be missing. Equally sad, I couldn’t recall exactly how to secure certain harness pieces to the carriage.

I’ll confess that, behind this, were also worries about no longer being young. I found myself coping with frightening thoughts: Is failing to recall once-familiar details signaling old-age memory loss? Or might I safely consider it as “normal forgetting?” Those mental blocks felt as heavy as the iron carriage itself.

Then came another reality, of safely hitching a pony and carriage together. The equine must stand perfectly still while its person hitches the cart. I was out of practice and now without a helper to hold Sunny. She would once dependably stand perfectly, flawlessly still. But now, many years later, I’d have to trust Sunny’s memory.

Thoughts of hitching her for the first time in years, and completely by myself, were daunting and suggested potential danger. Unfortunately, nobody else in my area drives horses and could help me.

Nonetheless, yesterday morning, I awoke early, feeling resolute. In the first place, Sunny needs a job, and in the second, I had to make us a driving team again. I clenched my jaw en route to the barn, uncovered the cart, positioned it, attached its shafts, and rechecked all of Sunny’s harnessing.

Standing there, but still insecure, I frankly froze. I understood that I’d reached my limit. Hitching now absolutely required a second pair of hands. The folks I thought to call for, hopefully right now and on-the-spot assistance, were my neighbors, Frank and Annette. I reached out, and thankfully, Annette answered the call.

She came right over, an absolute trooper—and unhesitatingly stepped into an unfamiliar world. Together, we tackled harnessing Sunny, positioning her correctly at the cart, and then managing the heavy lifting. We got the horse, harness, and cart all situated. (BTW, Sunny didn’t move a muscle through all this.)

Once the pony and cart were hitched up, we faced The True Test: Would Sunny remember her training?

Upon being asked to walk, Sunny pulled the cart perfectly, first around the barn and then toward the dry lot. Once there, my worries melted. Sunny more than “just remembered.” She was a perfect pony, took turns around the area, did figure eights, and transitioned smoothly from walks into trots. As if no time at all had passed.

Here’s one of Annette’s quick captures.

All this brought me closer to two major truths:

1. Sunny is a gem.
2. Community is everything.

Many kudos to wonderful Annette. For standing at Sunny’s head and helping to manage the heavy cart. That initial hitching job felt too big for me to tackle alone. My lesson, again, was to recognize that sometimes overcoming fears takes more than sheer determination—like asking a kind neighbor to help lift the weight.

Sweet Sunny and I will yet again become a smooth driving team. Stay tuned for our adventures!

— Diana