THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, August 30, 1994 TAG: 9408300027
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: DAY TRIPPING
SOURCE: BY DEBRA GORDON, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 104 lines
NATIONAL VELVET. Black Beauty. Misty. Mister Ed.
The names filtered through my brain as I got out of the car and looked around at the sunlit fields and Old West paddock of Cherry Point stables in Suffolk.
Grazing in the fenced meadow were the horses - chestnut, black, bay. Their coats gleaming like silk in the late summer light, their knobby legs unbelievably long, their necks stretching gracefully to reach the grass.
My 7-year-old just gazed around in awe. He'd been near horses once before, he reminded me, when he was 3 and a preschool buddy invited him to go riding.
So when the owner of Cherry Point, Sue Cherry, asked him if he'd ever ridden before, he nodded his head nonchalantly. ``Oh, sure,'' he said.
``Not for a long time,'' I hastened to add, afraid she'd figure he was a pro and put him on a galloping stallion.
We'd chosen horseback riding as our last day trip of the summer because we craved the excitement of doing something totally different, something foreign to our workaday lives.
And we couldn't have picked a better place - or a better day. It was one of the coolest days of the summer, with just a hint of fall in the air. And Cherry Point, five years young, about as clean as a horse stable can be, had a special charm all its own. You could see it in the Old West-style main street Sue Cherry had created, complete with a ``town hall'' (the locker rooms for the boarders) and ``saloon'' (really just another stable). You could see it in the two miniature ponies, mother and son, grazing in their own tiny paddock.
Located 2 miles down Shoulders Hill Road past Mike's Trainland, the stables are home to about 60 horses. Most of them are boarded by their owners; the rest Cherry Point owns and uses for trail rides, lessons and horse shows.
We were there for the trail ride. For $10 a person, stable manager Vanessa McMakin would lead us on a half-hour walk through the woods that border the Cherry acreage.
But first, we had to mount the horses.
We walked over to the fence where McMakin had our horses waiting. Hmmm, I thought. They don't look too bad.
About midsize, as horses go, they stood quietly at the fence, their heads and tails twitching to keep away the biting deer flies.
My horse was named Saches Khan, which means, ``Big Cat Sits Watching.'' A good omen, I thought. At least it wasn't ``Big Cat Runs Quickly Through Woods.''
My son's horse was named Tantazi, which means, ``She Chases the Sun.''
Uh oh, I thought.
With a boost and a heave, we were seated. I have to admit, I felt kind of silly. I hadn't been on a horse since college, when a few friends and I took a day off from studying.
Now I was putting my life and limb in the trust of this one-ton creature. I sat stiffly, the reins clasped loosely in my hands, peering down from my perch to what looked like a long drop to the ground.
``They know the minute someone gets on their backs if they're a beginner or not,'' called McMakin over her shoulder as we started off.
Oh, great.
Single file - McMakin, me and then Jonathan - we headed down toward the woods.
Bump, bump, bump. I quickly learned why riders sit with their backs ramrod straight; it's the only way to avoid a slipped disc.
I glanced back to see how Jonathan was enjoying the ride and saw a huge grin plastered on his face. It would remain there for the next 29 minutes.
OK, I thought. This is worth it.
The ride proceeded relatively uneventfully through the cool woods. There are miles of trails back in there, all marked, giving the impression that you're far from civilization and the 20th century - back, perhaps, in some 18th century, unpopulated farm community.
We ducked under trees, pulled the reins in tightly to entice the horses away from the inviting grass, and bump, bump, bumped our way up the 2-mile path.
Jonathan's horse, true to her name, seemed a bit friskier than mine.
``Look out, mom,'' he called, as Tantazi speeded up on the path, nearly passing me.
``How do I get it to stop?'' he called, the smile getting wider even as his eyes showed the first hint of panic.
``Pull back and say, `Whoa, easy girl,' '' directed McMakin from the lead.
``Wh. . oa. . '' stuttered Jonathan tentatively.
Too soon, the ride was over and we were approaching the barn.
A stable boy helped us dismount, and we wobbled shakily until we got our land legs back.
On the inside of our thighs, we could feel the beginning of the soreness that would be in full force by the end of the night, the feeling of unused muscles that had been stretched.
Jonathan turned to me, that grin still plastered on his face, and said: ``That was great, Mom. That was really fun. Let's do it again!''
Yeah, it was worth it. Soreness and all. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo
DEBRA GORDON
Preparing for a trail ride, Jonathan Meyerholz, 7, is helped onto a
horse by stable manager Vanessa McMakin at Cherry Point.
Graphic
CHERRY POINT
[For complete graphic, please see microfilm]
by CNB