They're Baaaack...And They're Off!
It's that time of year again. When princes of industry, socialites, high-rollers and "jes' plain folks" have descended upon a small, sleepy Victorian city in the foothills if the Adirondacks. They have come during the height of summer to revel in the ambiance of the most beautiful racetrack in the country for six glorious weeks from mid-July until Labor Day.
Saratoga and its historic racetrack are among the most special places in the world. The track itself has been the signature attraction in that quiet, little town since 1863. In the height of the late 19th century, Saratoga defined that golden era of "taking the waters" and rip-roaring fun - it was a bodice-ripping respite from the staight-laced world that surrounded it.
It is still a wondrous place, a royal pageant of colors, sights, sounds and smells that are delightful reminders that life is good, especially good, when it is summer in Saratoga. The flowers are brilliant pinks and yellows, the awnings of the grand-stand at the race course are striped red and white like a candy cane, the historic grandstand and its gables a signature structure on the vast landscape that frames the mile-plus racing oval - the oldest course in the country and long hailed as the "Queen of American Race Tracks."
But it's the magnificent horses that are at the core. They are sleek and swift. They are lastest and most refined examples of three foundation stallions from more than two centuries ago - the Darley Arabian, the Byerly Turk, and the Godolphin Barb. They are the results of blending of courage and stamina in beautiful, lithe bodies efficiently designed for speed to make the Thoroughbred breed.
When I was old enough to care, maybe about 9, I remember waiting with interminable anticipation for the racing season to begin. I would listen to the traffic late at night on the New York Thruway...I could hear it in the distance and take comfort in knowing that for an intense, 48-hour period, the horse vans would be bringing those wonderful creatures from downstate, Belmont and Aqueduct race tracks on Long Island, to the cool, elm-shaded barns in the countryside 3 hours due north. It was a horse-crazy girl's paradise, this magical place in the pines.
While the fashions and the cars and the music of the times have changed, indeed the nature of the world has changed dramatically, but the glorious tradition that is horse racing in the summer at Saratoga lives on and reigns supreme. Long may she wave.
Saratoga and its historic racetrack are among the most special places in the world. The track itself has been the signature attraction in that quiet, little town since 1863. In the height of the late 19th century, Saratoga defined that golden era of "taking the waters" and rip-roaring fun - it was a bodice-ripping respite from the staight-laced world that surrounded it.
It is still a wondrous place, a royal pageant of colors, sights, sounds and smells that are delightful reminders that life is good, especially good, when it is summer in Saratoga. The flowers are brilliant pinks and yellows, the awnings of the grand-stand at the race course are striped red and white like a candy cane, the historic grandstand and its gables a signature structure on the vast landscape that frames the mile-plus racing oval - the oldest course in the country and long hailed as the "Queen of American Race Tracks."
But it's the magnificent horses that are at the core. They are sleek and swift. They are lastest and most refined examples of three foundation stallions from more than two centuries ago - the Darley Arabian, the Byerly Turk, and the Godolphin Barb. They are the results of blending of courage and stamina in beautiful, lithe bodies efficiently designed for speed to make the Thoroughbred breed.
When I was old enough to care, maybe about 9, I remember waiting with interminable anticipation for the racing season to begin. I would listen to the traffic late at night on the New York Thruway...I could hear it in the distance and take comfort in knowing that for an intense, 48-hour period, the horse vans would be bringing those wonderful creatures from downstate, Belmont and Aqueduct race tracks on Long Island, to the cool, elm-shaded barns in the countryside 3 hours due north. It was a horse-crazy girl's paradise, this magical place in the pines.
While the fashions and the cars and the music of the times have changed, indeed the nature of the world has changed dramatically, but the glorious tradition that is horse racing in the summer at Saratoga lives on and reigns supreme. Long may she wave.
posted by Leslie | 2:04 PM
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