My 8-Second Ride

It was during the summer month of July, 1978. I was almost 12-years old. It was blackberry season in Knox County. We always delighted in this time of year because it meant we would be enjoying the sweet taste of blackberry cobblers, pies, jellies, and jams. We would spend hours in the stifling humidity, braving bees, snakes, and briars. My dad would always carry a 5-gallon bucket and I would carry a smaller lard can for holding the berries that I would pick. I would fill it up and then pour the contents into dad’s bucket. I usually ate more of the berries than I picked. Dad would always holler at me, “quit eating all of the berries, we ain’t gonna have enough to fix a cobbler!” I would crouch down behind a berry bush, hiding my purple stained hands and mouth and holler back, “I ain’t eating that many!” I was always amazed at how fast my dad could pick berries and he always seemed to find the biggest ones.

On this day, we were in a big field that had several wild blackberry bushes. I’m not sure who owned the land; it was way back behind my papaw’s farm. So we were trespassing. Not only were there blackberries in this field, there was also a small horse that was wandering around munching on grass. I kept my eye on that horse and wanted to so badly to ride it. It looked sort of wild. Its hooves were pretty long and its mane was full of briars and other junk. This horse had not been ridden in a long time, if ever. Dad told me to stay away from it. “Okay, dad, I will.” We picked all of the berries that we could and headed back to the house. The whole time I had that horse on my mind.

When we returned home, my mother was delighted at the large bucket of blackberries, and hastily began washing them in preparation for cooking. We had a wonderful cobbler that night and I went to bed with a belly full of blackberries. I was having a hard time sleeping though, not because of the berries, but because of that dang horse. I laid there in bed trying figure out a way to ride that horse. I eventually fell asleep and dreamed crazy dreams that night.

The next day I still had the horse on my mind. I was determined to go back to the field and at least try and pet it. My best friend, Kevin, came over to the house and I told him all about the horse. He agreed that we should try and ride it. We made our way to the field under the guise of picking more blackberries. We arrived at the spot that my dad and I had been in on the previous day. At first I didn’t see the horse, but after a thorough survey of the field I spotted it standing underneath a tree that was beside a large berry bush. I decided to cease the opportunity. I made my way over to where the horse was standing. Surprisingly, it didn’t run. I walked closer and closer and then in a burst of determination I ran as hard as I could and jumped on the back of that horse! I might as well hit that horse with a hot poker. It took off in a mad frenzy through that blackberry field. I was hanging onto its matted mane for dear life. It began to violently kick its hind feet like a bucking Bronco. Before I knew what had happened, I was sailing backwards through the air. The whole world was turned upside down. I came crashing down head first into the middle of a large and very thorny blackberry bush. I could hear Kevin laughing hysterically from behind the safety of a barbed wire fence. I managed to untangle myself from the briars and spent the next 30 minutes picking thorns out of my bleeding skin.

My parents never did find out about my 8-second ride through the berry bushes. I’m sure mom would have said something like, “your lucky you didn’t break your neck,” and dad would have probably said, “what in the samhill is wrong with you? Ain’t you got any sense?” All I can say is...nope, I reckon I don’t.