I tried so hard to make a life for my fourboys. I had been searching for anactivity to give my children added interests and  more friends besides school. Pony Clubseemed an obvious choice for children who were riding at a very young age. Atthat time, Cooyar (one pub-one store) was the only place in the district thathad such an organization. It was in the opposite direction to Blackbutt and theroad we took from Mount Binga was a one-lane, very hilly sandy track that wasseldom graded.  The day before pony club,the boys would wash and brush their horses. The older boys took care of theirponies; only the youngest who was four received help. His Shetland, aptly namedPepper was a tricky little devil thathad to be coaxed into the holding yards with a slice of bread; and Pepper wasjust as likely to nip the boys on the bottom if they turned their back on him.However, once in the arena, this rather shaggy little pony performedbeautifully and our youngest child sported six winning ribbons at his veryfirst gymkhana. Once the horses were loaded on Pony Club day, my husband wouldset off in the rattle-bomb of an old truck. I would follow in the station wagon with four saddles and four boysdressed in crisp white shirts, striped ties, and light-fawn jodhpurs with brownhelmets on their laps.  It was before thetime of seatbelts in cars. I could not tolerate the boys getting excited andbeing silly while I was trying to drive on the nasty, disgusting road. If Iwasn’t going up a steep white sandy hill, I was sliding down another. I had myown idea about the lavish tons of white sand on the strip of land in theimmediate area.

     Perhaps, a hundred million years ago an inland sea swamped thecentral regions and sea monsters and dinosaurs...   

More tomorrow.....

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