How many miles to Babylon?
Three score and ten.
Can I get there by candlelight?
Aye, and back again.
If your feet are nimble and light
You’ll get there by candlelight.
–Mother Goose

I read a lot of horse stories as a girl. One of my favorites — still on my bookshelf — was a book called Can I Get There By Candlelight? which told of a young girl who discovers that the nursery rhyme comes to life on her horse, Candlelight. By riding Candlelight, she goes back in time. She forms a friendship with a girl from another time. She cannot get to her new friend, however, unless she is on her horse.

She can’t go back without Candlelight.

My sister and nephew on Jess.

It’s an amazing story, but for any farm kid who grew up on horses, it didn’t seem so far-fetched. During the summer, away from friends from school and mostly out in the country with siblings as the main entertainment, horses were adventures to someplace else. Our memories and photo albums are filled with horses whose mere mention inspires my sisters and I to start in on “remember that time we….?”, ending with a reckless exploit on horseback that thrills our memory to this day.

After Munchkin, the old family cat, died several years ago, there was only one animal left from my childhood. It was Jess, the horse you see in the photo. She came to us a bit insane and ended up being one of the most amazing, big-hearted, trustworthy horses I’ve ever known. My sister Janet reminisced on the phone tonight about how many people had ridden her, from multiple generations to just about anyone who came to visit us on the farm. Her back has held exponential numbers of kids and adults over the years.

Jess only has a few days left in life.

She’s extremely old now. My sister Janet is going to have her put down, and it is the right decision. She is fading physically.

I think of how, just knowing she was still alive, allowed me some kind of way back to childhood and the memories of growing up on the farm and riding with my sisters.  Everything has changed so much in life, much of it hard and confusing to me. We’ve all gone our separate ways and have different lives. It was nice to know that Jess was still alive, that I could still lay my head against her neck and breath in the smell of hay and horse and just go back to summer days on the farm when life was easier.

It’s best that this happen; this is her time to go. My nephews understand it, my sisters and I understand it, but it doesn’t change how it feels. I know we are all sad.

The candlelight is fading and I can’t go back.