The Horse That Found Me
‘‘Hang on,” I said to my seven-year-old. I pried markers from the hands of my four-year-old twins. “Please don’t color your bodies.”
The Saturday after Thanksgiving—another day in the life of a working mom. I loved my three boys, my husband and our life in the woods and pastures of Appalachian Virginia, but it wasn’t easy putting my passions on hold to raise a family. I’d been a distance runner and a psychology professor before we had kids. Now the runs were short—I had to get home to pick up the twins from preschool, my oldest from first grade—and I taught only one class a semester.
And then there were the horses—Phoenix, who I had rescued in college, and a small pony, Harriet. They needed my attention too. We were diligent about rotating their pastures, bringing
