pony parking

So many stories to tell. Don't mind if I just jump right in and insert this one wildly out of chronological order, do you? So that trip to Dartmoor a couple months ago was a huge bucket list check mark for me. Probably I've said that before. Who knows anymore. Bottom line, I was such a horse geek growing up. I was on a horse before I could walk and my bedroom wall was plastered with posters like these. Though the names and shapes were memorized it seemed unlikely I would ever see some of these up close. We had Quarter horses, Appaloosas, and Arabians. We knew people who had a Standardbred. We saw Thoroughbreds on TV. Everything else was wildy exotic in the upper midwest in the 70's.

I had cut my reading teeth on Misty and Blaze books and was devoted to my own little Shetland. But a Welsh or a Dartmoor? Only in my dreams. Which explains how truly surreal it was standing near an older British lady sporting a purple jumper discussing a naughty foal nibbling the cafe sign nearly 4000mi away from the place I taped that poster 35yrs prior. She shared my enthusiasm and said, "Now we won't keep you another moment. Go on and enjoy!"

And I did. I really, really did.

The ponies run free at Dartmoor. They are mostly private herds now, but farmers can use the range land for grazing. When we crossed the cattle grids entering the park a small herd had meandered up to the parking area. The rest of the family dove into their lunches but I was slipping between cars to get up close to the ponies. They didn't hang around long but we did get to snap a few pictures before they were on their way.

If you have lingered here at all you already know – where ponies (or goats) are involved I lose all sense whatsoever. Because hello? PONIES!!!!!!! C'mon, c'mon….