The World Looks Different from Horseback

Dearest Amanda:

I am happy to hear Operation Protect the Country was a success. You should have asked secret service to try and maneuver one of those gigantic diesel ambulances behind their tricked out bulletproof stretch SUV. Mr. Smith with his fancy earpiece and all black alien hunter suit definitely wouldn't have been able to keep up. Not to mention parallel park the thing at the end of the Biden parade. You win.

Sorry this has taken so long to respond. As you know, I have been in New Hampshire visiting my parents. Oh, and horseback riding on top of a mountain in Moultonboro overlooking Lake Winnipesaukee with apparently my future husband, or so he thinks. In any case, it was an enjoyable weekend filled with coffee, kissing, homemade buffalo chicken pizza and lots of random adventures. More on that later, though.

The thing is that now, after nearly 23 years of being petrified of horses, I am looking into taking horseback riding lessons on my own because I had so much fun! Maybe it was the company or the fact that I literally did nothing on the horse and she followed the rest of the group perfectly, but regardless, I have been bitten by the horseback riding bug. Can't you just picture me living in a log cabin somewhere with a horse, mucking out stalls at 6am every morning?

Yeah... me either. That's why my future husband better not mind shoveling shit.

Which is convenient, because apparently the man who wants to be my future husband, or so he's telling everyone, is a pro at shoveling shit. And unloading bales of hay. And riding horses. And basically everything that you would ever need to own a horse. Ever. Which fits perfectly into his support of my dream to become a rodeo barrel racer.

No, not really. But if he's as serious as everyone keeps telling me he is, then I won't be mucking any stalls at 6am.

So, back to my incredible weekend. It started off with a gorgeous drive through Crawford Notch, my favorite of all the notches, to Conway where the mister lives. We then went and bought pumpkins, pumpkin pie fixings and pumpkin beer (Shipyard Pumpkinhead was all out so we went with Blue Moon) and prepared to have a pumpkin filled evening. We then baked the pie and drank too much to carve pumpkins (oh well) and went to sleep.

The next morning, the mister had to help his dad and brother unload 800 bales of hay for their family farm while his brother's girlfriend and I went to Dunkin Donuts for our caffeine fix. On the way, she and I talked about how the mister is always talking about how he is going to move with me and how he wishes he could do it now. We returned and gave the boys their coffees so they could finish the job, and then the mister took me to the Castle in the Clouds for a fun filled day of sight seeing, touristing and horseback riding. We overlooked the lake while eating lunch on the balcony of the Old Carriage House, an early 1900's horse barn that cost more than my entire life. We wound through mountain trails on horseback for an hour or so, which was petrifying, because of my aforementioned fear of horses. But, the mister would just smile and laugh while looking back at me, smiling like a fool on top of my horse, because I was "adorable." We then went to the actual Castle, the former home of Mr. Plant and his wife back in the early 1900's before the stock market crashed and they lost everything.

After the mister footed the bill for our passes to take the cute little red trolley with wooden benches to the top of the mountain, which gave me a good laugh because his 6'5" body barely fit into the seats, we sat through the introduction and then went on our own. He gave me the tour, having done it a dozen times before, telling me things about the house and Mr. Plant that the tour guides didn't even know. We examined original wallpaper almost 100 years old, perused rooms used by the many servants the Plants kept, and got some ideas for our future homes based on the absolutely gorgeous architecture. Apparently, Mr. Plant had a fetish for marble, because it was everywhere in the house, including a beautiful piece around one of the fireplaces that he let "age" to a specific shade of green with huge rust veins running through it. Now, I was unaware that you could age marble like cheese or wine, but apparently it is possible, and Mr. Plant had his marble aging down to a science. I'm currently plotting ways to break into the estate and steal the marble from the fireplace, seeing as now I'm a professional horseback rider and all... now I have a get away plan!

The mister took me outside the estate into the garden with the wishing well, where we tossed pennies in after a few silent moments in concentration. We walked the garden and where the green house used to be, checking out all the old piping and other hardware still inlaid in the granite walls. The mister held my hand and brought me to a corner of the grounds under a gazebo, where he pulled me to him and kissed me.

And then he told me he loved me.

How fucking fairy tale, right? I almost died. Here we are, the sun about to set, overlooking Lake Winnipesauke from one of the most beautiful places in New England, and he looks at me with those brown eyes and that smile and says the words I've wanted to hear for four years in something other than a text message.

I am terrified. I feel crazy. I can't stop smiling. That must be love.

Unless I am crazy. Which I know you'd tell me if I was. So... what do you think?

Lerv Yer,

Brooke


(PS: you can get a lady without having "date night approved" clothing... lets be honest.)