We drove almost 1,000 miles to get from Chicagoland to Newport News, Virginia. This took a long time. Naturally, it taxed the patience of our three small children, who in turn taxed our patience.
Most normal people would be satisfied with reaching their destination. I, however, could not resist a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to drive 246 more miles to see wild horses.
For those who question my sanity, these were not just any horses, mind you, but the horses that inspired the Misty of Chincoteague books that inspired every fourth grade girl in America. Ahem.
(Girls, this should help refresh your memory)
So off we went, three oblivious boys in tow. Come to think of it, maybe this is part of the answer to my prayer about two years ago. I remember distinctly sitting on a bench in our veranda in Kazakhstan after a lengthy discussion about tractors and praying,
“God, would you help me to still be a woman when this is all over?”
I could see my future stretched out in front of me: one long blur of action movies and dinosaurs. And it scared me.
But thank the Lord for my understanding husband who allows me to revel from time to time in entirely feminine pursuits.
“Boys, just go outside and play. Your mother has to do her hair. We won’t be leaving anytime soon.”
“Boys, stop wrestling. This is a store. I know your mother has tried on hundreds of outfits, but act like you like this one the best.”
You get the idea.
So we saw the wild horses of Chincoteague. Upshot? They were pretty far away. If you want to see them in a photograph-worthy wonder, you should pay for the boat tour. But there were a lot of them, more than at Cumberland Island, and it was cool to see them all run together in a big pack.
A little disappointed, we stopped next to McDonalds where they have tame horses that are descendants of the wild ones. My husband obligingly stopped for a photo.
Afterward, before the long ride back to Newport News, my husband bribed my kids into happiness with mounds of ice cream. And content to forget all gender and generational distinctions, I was happy to be bribed as well.
Who knows when the next once-in-a-lifetime wild horses adventure will beckon…