I sometimes wish horsepower could make more of a comeback. I’m talking about flesh and blood, four-hoofed, apple-eating horses.
We could all use a slower pace once in awhile, especially at this point in autumn when colors in the trees, shrubs and prairie grasses are making the rapid, amazing change into rainbow hues. Wouldn’t you like to take a long carriage ride on a quiet road through forest and fields about now? I would.
Bill Graham
We already have carriage rides at the Country Club Plaza down in the city for tourists to see the lights, why not a sashay through the rolling hills in Platte County bordering the Missouri River hills? Within a hawk glide of a stream, one big or small, or near bluffs, that’s where the prettiest autumn color is found. Where we would find the quiet road free of engine noise, I’m not sure.
This is on my mind because Mother Nature’s slow creep to autumn turned into light-switch-quick color bursts this past weekend. I noticed on my drive home Monday that the local sumac is scarlet. A maple here and there in Platte Woods blushed crimson-gold.
The horses are also on my mind because of a chat I had this past weekend with a gentleman who made such a drive in a carriage. Although he did have to keep the horse calm as noisy ATV’s and big ‘ole pickup trucks (like mine) passed his one-horsepower mode of transport.
I peered at the hickories and oaks changing color through glass, my field of view limited by the width and height of the windshield and the side window. They’re outsized portals really, which is great if you’re on the highway in winter and summer and wish to be shielded from all elements and serenaded by whatever is on the radio.
But if it’s a sunny autumn day with a refreshing cool breeze making the autumn foliage flutter in the breeze, perhaps a ride with a complete view of all that is around you would be nice. Even better if it is at a speed that gives you time to absorb and appreciate what you are seeing, smelling and hearing.
On Sunday, I was at a driving tour through a wooded conservation area in northwest Missouri where the public was allowed to drive on roads normally closed to protect wild areas.
At a tour stopping spot, I found myself in a line where a friendly, bearded man turned around to make conversation. Like many of the people taking this tour in Livingston County, he is Amish. He smiled and remarked about the weather and the fine day.
“It’s really good for the horses,” he said of the cool breeze.
I was instantly jealous. Quite a large number of horse-drawn wagons and riders on horses from the Amish community were among the parade through the Poosey Conservation Area.
This gentleman and his wife rode in a simple but dignified one-horse carriage. When you are used to driving on a highway in Kansas City traffic that is crawling bumper-to-bumper at rush hour, or you’re being passed by people going 10 mph above the speed limit of 70, to watch people rolling along in a wagon or pausing to water the horses in a clear creek, the contrast is jarring.
Of course, it’s not that simple. I get stressed taking care of my cat. To feed, water, comb and tend horses daily is beyond my patience and means. That is a skill my grandfather mastered. He did switch to the automobile and the Allis-Chalmers tractor. But he always admired and spoke fondly of horses and mules.
I told my Amish acquaintance that I was envious of his open-sky ride through the forest.
“I don’t mind machinery,” he said with a smile, “but I do like and prefer to drive horses.”
I told him my grandfather used to talk about resting his horses after they pulled a load up a steep hill. He didn’t answer and a far-away look came to his eyes. Maybe he was thinking of grandfathers that taught him about horses, harness, reins and keeping wagon wheels greased.
Modern folks do keep horses, carriages and wagons as a weekend hobby. I’ve known a few over the years in Platte County.
But for most of us, a horse clip clopping along on dirt farm roads, maybe along one of our high ridges that let you see for miles, it’s just a wistful pipe dream. Yet who knows, consumers often generate trends demanding the novelty of what is scarce. Maybe a $20 bill or two will someday buy us a rare slow ride through autumn.