I, being an only child as well as an incorrigible tomboy, was taught by my Dad to ride very early and always “help” the men in the fields. My Dad patiently explained to me how the mules, after a day of plowing, had to be unharnessed, taken to the creek for watering and then walked back, or released to return on their own, to the barn for feeding.

He emphasized the necessity of this, as the mules knew they were to be fed and raced, uncontrollably, to their feeding area.

One day, after removing the harness, I proudly marched one of the mules past my Dad, who was relaxing on the front porch, and onto the creek for watering. After the animal had it’s fill I decided , being the accomplished horsewoman I thought I was, to ride it.

I had no sooner crawled aboard its back when the mule turned, jerked the reins from my too small hands and sprinted back toward the house. With no other choice than to just hold on, I did so.

In a short amount of time we approached the front of the house and, suddenly, as if obeying an unspoken command from my Dad, the mule sidestepped and bucked, tossing me high and hard into the wood pile.

My Dad never left his chair, never raised his voice. He simply said, “I told you not to ride the mules back to the barn.”

As an adult and a business woman, I’ve often been offered opportunities which appear to be too good to be true - an easy ride. But, even though my Dad has been dead for twenty years, I still hear his voice and I never forget his warning.

I slowly walk those opportunities all the way back to the barn.