Heather participating in in-hand trail
It’s September in Salmon, Idaho . . . leaves show a hint of autumn. A new season unfolds with bright colors offering a renewal of hopes and dreams. For people of all ages, seasonal changes create an opportunity to believe in yourself . . . and so it was for Heather McPherson.
During her growing years, Heather struggled with both physical and mental disabilities. Her tight heel cords and calf muscles made walking difficult. Another challenge for Heather came in the form of the cognitive problems that created frustrations in school.
“Fat lip.” “Retard.” Taunting words shot at Heather hit their target in her tender heart during elementary school. “Sometimes I was real sad, “she said,” I walked away to be alone. And sometimes I was so mad I wanted to sock them real hard.” She smiled. “But I knew I’d be sent to the principal’s office and he was a huge man . . . too scary. I had a hard time in school . . . math and stuff like that. Writing was very hard, my name looked too big and too messy. I remember thinking over and over . . . I can’t. I can’t do it.”
A breeze lifted her golden brown hair. At times during her school years, resource teachers lifted her spirits. They opened the door for her to experience the joy of success, no matter how small. The words I can whispered softly to Heather. As she grew up, another nurturing thread remained strong. It all began when she was eight years old. A twenty-seven year old cow horse trotted into her life. Saturdays were the highlight of her week, she and her horse became one as they rode in the pasture. For those glorious moments, she was free of her disabilities.
Five years later, sadness struck in March before the ice thawed. Searching for something to eat, her horse started across the ice-covered pond. He slipped and fell. Struggled to get up, lay back exhausted. “Later that day,” Heather said, “I glanced out the window and saw an animal lying down on the pond. I thought it was a cow. I looked through binoculars, the animal looked like my horse. I ran to the barn for a pail of oats. My folks drove into the driveway just as I started toward the pond.I cried out, My horse is hurt.
"Wait with your mother, I’ll call the vet." Dad said.
"But he’s my responsibility."
My mother took my hand. "Heather, you need to wait with me."
"I guess my mother didn’t want me to see him die.”
Another loss was felt that summer when her parents divorced. “I lived with my dad for seven years,” she said. Once again, a single day became a highlight of her week. Every Thursday she rode a horse at the stable near her dad’s home. Heather’s worries or upsets dissolved as she and her horse moved in rhythmic harmony.
At age twenty-one, an invitation for growth and change came again when Heather moved back to Salmon. Her mother found her a job as an aide at the Child Development Center. To herself Heather said, “I can do this.” She told the director, Joyce Scott, “I miss the love of my life of riding horses.” It wasn’t long before Heather joined the Whitewater Therapeutic Riding and Recreation Association. Life was full . . . she groomed, cared for horses and made new friends. She became a horse leader during classes once a week for the younger children. “I saw their happiness riding a horse.” Heather said, “I knew the joy they felt.”
Heather went to Special Olympics several times and came home with a first place in showmanship, a second in Western Equitation and a first in English Equitation. She joined the WTRRA Board and became active in the fund raising. When CDC closed its doors, Heather found a job in the pre-school program with children from age three to five. They have similar disabilities to Heather’s. She started as a recipient of community resources. Now Heather helps others learn how to cut and paste and most of all write their name . . . “not too messy or too big.” ‘I can’ nudges another child.
Heather has beautifully demonstrated that when you believe in yourself I can’t becomes I can.
The End
