Autumn rains have finally decided to visit east Tennessee where the beagles and I enjoyed a wet romp through the fields. Never mind that I strayed from our farm and daringly trespassed over neighboring hay fields; 'tis the nature of autumn rains and Wellies that makes me giddy and reckless.
And now, a favorite Wellies story. Dateline: Rolex 2011, Lexington. To say that Kentucky experienced a wet spring is a gross understatement. It is now old legend that jumps not intended to be water obstacles on the cross country course were, in fact, water obstacles. The course provided this challenge to the spectators as well as competitors. On cross country day I found myself walking the course with 100,000 fellow horse lovers, and it is no exaggeration to say that this day boasts the highest concentration of Hunter Wellies- and Dubarry-clad fans per capita in all of North America. In a serious miscalculation I wore my mid-calf Wellies instead of the traditional knee-high pair. At one point I needed to ford a ditch that appeared bottomless, and I noticed two Wellies-clad equestrians striding out of the water and in my direction. I stopped them to compare the water lines on their tall boots. After serious consideration, we all decided that I should go for it, and off I waded into the swirling (not really) eddy. It was tricky going, truly dangerous stuff (not really), but after several tense moments at last I emerged on the other side, my feet still dry, my Wellies sparkling. I glanced back to the other side and was met with hearty cheers and double high-fives from the Wellington crowd that had assembled on the bank and had willed me through the raging torrent. Go me.
What if there were two types of people in this world, Hunter people and Dubarry people? I would be a Hunter Wellies girl.
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