Nahhhhh. The folk museum a walk-through of thatched roofs and green grass and my friend date was fun and involved shakes. mmm.
From the left: Shelby (house cook 1), Lynsey, Abbi (house cook 2) and Lauren
What you want to hear about is horseback riding through the Irish countryside. On Saturday morning, a group of the students and I (7 of us in total) set off via bus and bus transfer to the northern town of Armoy. Our destination was Shean's Horse Ranch.
Save Shawn, none of us had ridden a horse in around ten years. In addition, we had all ridden western style. I, not being a horse person, didn't realize that there were two styles of riding: western and English. I mean, I'd heard of English style, but in my mind that entailed side-saddle...
So there we were, on our enormous creatures, without a saddlehorn in sight. My horse's name was Flo. Flo was hands down the most ginormous of our entire group. She also had the personality to go with her size. If I were to think of her as a person, I would say that she was very much like my Grandma Daisy Marie. She won't necessarily tell you what she wants, but she sure ain't gonna take instruction contradictory to her own ideas. And if you catch her at it, she will feign innocence.
Flo stood dead still when I urged her to walk, trotted when I wanted to "woah", and turned in the opposite direction of the group when I tried to steer her. She also fancied a wee stop and snack every couple of minutes (also similar to my sweet grandma. haha).
In response, I figured I'd just let her do what she wanted. "Go with the Flo" if you will. And, excepting for the times when my instructor realized just exactly who was in control of our relationship and tried to put me back in charge, the plan worked. Flo and I made it safely from trail beginning to trail end, traversing creeks, crevices, and craggly paths alike.
Flo's ears and the trail ahead
Flo and I along the path less green
The group
On a separate and final note to this post, I have officially been here a month. Aller anfang is schwer: all beginnings are hard. I found that in Maria VonTrapp's autobiography, and I thought it fitting. Although the same is true in English, it feels fitting in German. Both are complicated and a bit ugly.
The beginning was hard. There's no getting around it. And, though I'm still in the beginning, it's changing. I'm making friends, I'm getting involved with my church, I'm in classes, I'm starting to breathe and relax, I'm becoming able--through the grace of God--to accept and even enjoy life here without my loved ones. Each day brings along with it a new set of different, but I'm becoming less afraid and less defeated by those changes. That only leaves room for thankfulness.
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