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At Little Pond


At Little Pond, originally uploaded by elefanterosado.

I’ve had a love affair with horses my whole life. Here I am at age eight, outfitted in Ked sneakers and shorts (oblivious of saddle sores) astride a sweet little Shetland pony. My terrified sister (who dislikes horses to this day, probably due to watching me suffer through a long litany of hideous accidents) is holding on for dear life behind. My mother, ever chic even in one of the world’s worst fashion decades (70’s), is cute as a button in her matching pastels, white shoes and white purse. Probably shot by my father with a Kodak Instamatic. It was definitely taken at Little Pond, Maine at the home of Mrs. P (owner of the pony), the kind lady who took my father and my uncle in during World War II. My father was a war time evacuee. Because my grandfather was a doctor in the British Navy and my grandmother held an important position in the Wrens, my dad and uncle were two of the lucky British kiddies who got trundled off stateside during the ugly war years.

My father returned to England (very reluctantly) five years later, sporting a Yankee twang and bad case of American chutzpah that caused him to be an object of disdain at his new English Public (that’s private to us Yanks) school. He lasted in the U.K. for another eight years, and after proudly flunking out of Oxford, caught the first steamer bound for the colonies, whereupon he proudly matriculated at Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine. Ay-uh!