Peg
August flew by, but not without a few major birthday celebrations. Mom's 80th, my uncle's 83rd, my friend Fern's 50th. While they are admittedly special, there is one significant birthday that I must acknowledge - not family, but certainly a dear friend, and an extraordinary woman I've known for nearly 40 years.
I met Peg Taylor when I was 9. It was 1963 and I was at the small riding stable just outside Albany where I first began to ride. I was in heaven. Peg was probably around 40 or so then (how young that seems to me now!), but I had no sense of anyone's age who was over 18. All I knew was she was an adult like my mom. She owned a beautiful grey horse named Mr. Chips. Her daughter, Meg, was 5 years or so older than I, and she also rode.
Peg (or "Mrs. Taylor," as we ALWAYS called her) was kindly toward us younger children, but very firm, as most horsewomen of any stature know they must be. Horses demand that. They, like children, need to know the boundaries and need discipline to co-exist in this world run by humans. I liked Peg, but from afar. I didn't have much reason to cross paths with her, except on occasion in the barn. I was so young, and so shy, so those encounters wouldn't have been very significant...and yet I remember them. She was my first, true "horsewoman" role model. I liked her style, and if that was what horsewomen were like, then that's what I wanted to be.
About five years later, I encountered her again at another barn not too far from the first. Barns are like clubs. They attract a group of people, then time passes, tastes change, young girls like me become teenagers and a barn that was great when you were a child isn't the right place when you're 14. It must be that way for adults, too, because Peg had moved her horse to this new barn as well. Still, my encounters with her were fairly brief. She might have lectured me on the proper way to do something. I don't remember exactly, so maybe not, because if Peg lectured you on anything I expect I'd never have forgotten!
Fast forward 20 years or so. I had stopped riding for a few years, but in 1981, a friend gave me a gift of riding lessons and off I went to northern Columbia County to ride once again. Lo, and behold, there in the lovely big boarding barn where I went to resume my equestrian life was Peg! She boarded her horse there - a sweet chestnut gelding named Spritzie. She had moved to the area a number of years earlier.
We reconnected on a new and more personal level this time. We became great friends. Peg, who was about 70, and I who was about 30. It was really lovely.
And I learned, through our conversations, and through information from other mutual friends, that in those intervening years, Peg had spent many hours giving back to the sport she so enjoyed, for the benefit of children. She was deeply involved in the work of U.S. Pony Clubs (a nonprofit youth organization, modeled after the same organization originated in Great Britain, dedicated to the proper education and training of young equestrians). In fact, some years ago Peg was instrumental in making the use of protective riding helmets mandatory for all "junior" riders (those under the age of 18) involved in Pony Club programs and English riding disciplines. The number of head injuries that have been avoided as a result is probably incalculable at this point. A few years ago she was included among those designated as "legends" in the history of the U.S. Pony Clubs. Bravo, Peg!
The last few years have been very tough ones for Peg, but not because of her health, although one might be inclined to guess that. No, she has experienced a loss that is just unthinkable at any age. About six years ago, Peg's daughter Meg was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease. She was in her early 50s. It was unthinkable...and it was unstoppable. I've seen the disease at work first hand, as my own father suffered from it and the kind of devastation it wreaks is just heart-wrenching. To watch bright minds and bodies slowly wither away is just agonizing for those close to them. With my dad, when he finally died, I already had done most of my grieving, as I lost him mentally at least four years earlier. I think with Meg, although I only saw her once during the time she was ill, it must have been equally hard for Peg. Here your beautiful, smart daughter is literally reduced to a shadow of her former self. When Meg died, a year or so ago, she was long gone in many ways. Peg was stoic throughout it all, as was my own mother about my dad's illness. They were the primary caretakers. The impact on them has to have been enormous, but they shouldered it like so many women of a certain mind and spirit. You just deal with it, make the best of it, and eventually, your work will, sadly, but in some ways blessedly, come to an end. It did for Peg, and it did for Mom.
Last year, Peg decided she should move permanently to south Florida. She dislikes Florida, but she had spent winters there to avoid the bitter cold and ice of upstate New York. True to her stoic nature, she said she felt it was unfair to her grown children to live on her own hundreds of miles from any of them, and to put the burden on them to have to travel to her if she had a health problem. So last fall, she prepared to pack up and move to Florida for good.
But first, I arranged to pick her up and bring her one last time to the Old Chatham Square for the gathering of the first meet of the season of the Old Chatham Hunt Club and the blessing of the hounds. Horses, riders, hounds in full regalia on a crisp October morning. It was a fitting final tour for a woman of the country who loved horses and everything about Old Chatham. It was a bittersweet day for me. I felt as though our friendship had come full circle over 40-odd years as I spent the day with her visiting old friends and bidding her farewells.
Peg turned 90 on August 18. A milestone in anyone's book and one worthy of effusive acknowledgement. I know I'll always think of Peg with much love and admiration. She embodies all the best attributes that the term "horsewoman" connotes. I aspire to be just like her if I should reach 90, or even 80, or 70. Maybe there'll be some "young," 50-something girl who'll remember how I might have had a very small, but meaningful influence on her life with horses. I'm sure that would be a legacy that certainly would make Peg smile.
I met Peg Taylor when I was 9. It was 1963 and I was at the small riding stable just outside Albany where I first began to ride. I was in heaven. Peg was probably around 40 or so then (how young that seems to me now!), but I had no sense of anyone's age who was over 18. All I knew was she was an adult like my mom. She owned a beautiful grey horse named Mr. Chips. Her daughter, Meg, was 5 years or so older than I, and she also rode.
Peg (or "Mrs. Taylor," as we ALWAYS called her) was kindly toward us younger children, but very firm, as most horsewomen of any stature know they must be. Horses demand that. They, like children, need to know the boundaries and need discipline to co-exist in this world run by humans. I liked Peg, but from afar. I didn't have much reason to cross paths with her, except on occasion in the barn. I was so young, and so shy, so those encounters wouldn't have been very significant...and yet I remember them. She was my first, true "horsewoman" role model. I liked her style, and if that was what horsewomen were like, then that's what I wanted to be.
About five years later, I encountered her again at another barn not too far from the first. Barns are like clubs. They attract a group of people, then time passes, tastes change, young girls like me become teenagers and a barn that was great when you were a child isn't the right place when you're 14. It must be that way for adults, too, because Peg had moved her horse to this new barn as well. Still, my encounters with her were fairly brief. She might have lectured me on the proper way to do something. I don't remember exactly, so maybe not, because if Peg lectured you on anything I expect I'd never have forgotten!
Fast forward 20 years or so. I had stopped riding for a few years, but in 1981, a friend gave me a gift of riding lessons and off I went to northern Columbia County to ride once again. Lo, and behold, there in the lovely big boarding barn where I went to resume my equestrian life was Peg! She boarded her horse there - a sweet chestnut gelding named Spritzie. She had moved to the area a number of years earlier.
We reconnected on a new and more personal level this time. We became great friends. Peg, who was about 70, and I who was about 30. It was really lovely.
And I learned, through our conversations, and through information from other mutual friends, that in those intervening years, Peg had spent many hours giving back to the sport she so enjoyed, for the benefit of children. She was deeply involved in the work of U.S. Pony Clubs (a nonprofit youth organization, modeled after the same organization originated in Great Britain, dedicated to the proper education and training of young equestrians). In fact, some years ago Peg was instrumental in making the use of protective riding helmets mandatory for all "junior" riders (those under the age of 18) involved in Pony Club programs and English riding disciplines. The number of head injuries that have been avoided as a result is probably incalculable at this point. A few years ago she was included among those designated as "legends" in the history of the U.S. Pony Clubs. Bravo, Peg!
The last few years have been very tough ones for Peg, but not because of her health, although one might be inclined to guess that. No, she has experienced a loss that is just unthinkable at any age. About six years ago, Peg's daughter Meg was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease. She was in her early 50s. It was unthinkable...and it was unstoppable. I've seen the disease at work first hand, as my own father suffered from it and the kind of devastation it wreaks is just heart-wrenching. To watch bright minds and bodies slowly wither away is just agonizing for those close to them. With my dad, when he finally died, I already had done most of my grieving, as I lost him mentally at least four years earlier. I think with Meg, although I only saw her once during the time she was ill, it must have been equally hard for Peg. Here your beautiful, smart daughter is literally reduced to a shadow of her former self. When Meg died, a year or so ago, she was long gone in many ways. Peg was stoic throughout it all, as was my own mother about my dad's illness. They were the primary caretakers. The impact on them has to have been enormous, but they shouldered it like so many women of a certain mind and spirit. You just deal with it, make the best of it, and eventually, your work will, sadly, but in some ways blessedly, come to an end. It did for Peg, and it did for Mom.
Last year, Peg decided she should move permanently to south Florida. She dislikes Florida, but she had spent winters there to avoid the bitter cold and ice of upstate New York. True to her stoic nature, she said she felt it was unfair to her grown children to live on her own hundreds of miles from any of them, and to put the burden on them to have to travel to her if she had a health problem. So last fall, she prepared to pack up and move to Florida for good.
But first, I arranged to pick her up and bring her one last time to the Old Chatham Square for the gathering of the first meet of the season of the Old Chatham Hunt Club and the blessing of the hounds. Horses, riders, hounds in full regalia on a crisp October morning. It was a fitting final tour for a woman of the country who loved horses and everything about Old Chatham. It was a bittersweet day for me. I felt as though our friendship had come full circle over 40-odd years as I spent the day with her visiting old friends and bidding her farewells.
Peg turned 90 on August 18. A milestone in anyone's book and one worthy of effusive acknowledgement. I know I'll always think of Peg with much love and admiration. She embodies all the best attributes that the term "horsewoman" connotes. I aspire to be just like her if I should reach 90, or even 80, or 70. Maybe there'll be some "young," 50-something girl who'll remember how I might have had a very small, but meaningful influence on her life with horses. I'm sure that would be a legacy that certainly would make Peg smile.
posted by Leslie | 5:10 PM
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