(originally published in The Journal, 2011)
My father sold cattle at the Chicago stockyards. On weekends, I often tagged along with him on country trips to meet with farmers. One rainy day in 1962 in Milledgeville, IL, a Shetland pony gave birth to a beautiful roan filly. I had never seen anything so miraculous. I was smitten. Her name was Raindrop.
For years afterward, I ran with her in the fields, groomed her in the barn, and rooted for her at county fairs. She was the best friend I ever had. Although, once I got to high school, life was gradually filled with other activities.
Fast forward to seven years ago, at the age of 53, I reconnected with my childhood passion and learned how to hitch up a pony and drive her with me seated in a cart. What a fun mid-life crisis this has been! My pony’s name? Raindrop.
When work brought me to Chicago a while back, I asked my two brothers if they would join me on a day-trip to look for that long-ago pony barn in Milledgeville. They were skeptical. I hadn’t been back there in almost 50 years and didn’t have the address, but they signed on for the adventure.
Our first stop was the Village Hall where a friendly clerk called the library and learned that the title of the farm had been transferred in 1985 to a family she knew. Directions were easy. Ten minutes later, there it was.
No one was home, so my brothers and I explored a little. The shady groves of trees and fields where I ran with the ponies were as I remembered. However, the cattle pens were overgrown, the corncrib burnt down, and the pony barn quite derelict – now a completely ramshackle structure.
My brothers saw abandoned detritus, I saw majesty. Here I was, next to the very stalls where I spent hours being with my beloved playmate. We laughed at our divergent perspectives.
On the drive back to Chicago, I felt such gratitude for the opportunity to retrace my childhood Shetland dreams. It’s quite healing to come full circle at mid-life; and even more delightful to do so with family.