By John Hiler Bruneau, summertime. The tiger lilies in bloom. In Uncle Wid’s front yard, evening would be coming on and I’d hear a horse walking up the road. An old buckaroo would tie it off to the
I spotted the creeping car before it pulled into our farm driveway. A pleasant-looking young woman slowly climbed out, looked at my pinto mare grazing in the pasture, and started up the walk. On that summer day in 1952, I had no idea that this young woman would change my life forever.
“My name is Ina Hadam,” she said when I answered the door. “You rode in the Jerome Rodeo Parade last week, didn’t you?”
Perplexed, I nodded.
“I recognized your horse. I’d like to start a girls’ 4-H horse club. Would you be interested in participating?”
Would I! My face must have revealed my excitement, because she grinned. Continue reading
