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Maryland College on academic recommendations. My life seemed to be falling into place, going somewhere—and yet it wasn’t.
    I remember lying in bed one morning shortly after graduation and thinking about all these things.
    The summer sunlight flooded into my window. Filtered through leaves in the trees outside, it splattered into flickering points of dancing light across my bed and along the pink, roseprint wallpaper. I yawned and rolled over to look outside. When daddy had built his dream house, he’d included these unique touches—such as the small “porthole” window near the floor beside my bed. I’d just turn over in bed and look down outside.
    It was still early but I got up quickly and fished out a pair of Levi’s and a pullover shirt from my dresser. As I dressed, my eyesturned once more to the black leather diploma folder on the dressing table. I ran my fingers over its grain and the embossed Old English lettering of my name and school crest. Just a few days earlier, I had walked down the aisle in cap and gown to receive that diploma.
    “Breakfast!” Mom’s voice downstairs punctuated my reverie.
    “Coming, mom,” I called. Bounding down the stairs, I pulled a chair up to the table.
    “Are you going out to the ranch after church, Joni?” asked mom.
    “Uh-huh. I know Tumbleweed’s going to be ready for the summer horse show circuit but I want to spend more time with her, anyway.”
    The “ranch” was our family farm some twenty miles west of town. It was situated on a panoramic ridge in the rolling, picturesque river valley and was surrounded by state park land.
    By the time I got there, the sun had already climbed high in the sky and the fragrance of new-mown hay was blown toward me. The breeze also caressed the tall wildflowers and grasses of the sloping meadows and gently tossed the uppermost branches in the sweet-smelling apple trees nearby. Humming softly and happily, I saddled Tumbleweed and swung up to mount her.
    It was refreshing to be so far away from the dirt, noise, and noxious smells of the city. In summer, Baltimore suffers from the industrial air pollution and sweltering humidity that rolls in from Chesapeake Bay. Here, in our own little paradise, we’re free to enjoy the summer sun and air.
    I pressed my thighs against Tumbleweed’s sides and nudged her with my heels. The chestnut mare headed up the dusty dirt road at a walk. When we came to the pasture, I dug my heels again. Tumbleweed really didn’t need the silent command. She knew there was room to run here without concern for potholes or rocks. Scattered across the field were several log-rail fence jumps. We cantered toward this first jump, a broad, four-foot solid railfence. As I tightened my knees against Tumbleweed, I felt the smooth, precision strides of the big horse.
    The experienced rider instinctively knows the right “feel” of a horse preparing to jump. Tumbleweed was experienced and so was I. We had won all kinds of ribbons and horse show awards. I knew the sound of hoofs—the proper cadence, pounding across the earthen course.
    Smoothly, the horse lifted up and over the fence. Suspended for an instant, it was like flying. Nearly ten feet off the ground aboard Tumbleweed, I was exhilarated each time the mare jumped. After several runs, Tumbleweed was wet with sweaty lather.
    I reined her to a slow trot and turned back toward the barn.
    “Joni!”
    Looking up, I saw dad astride his gray gelding galloping across the field toward me. Smiling, he pulled his horse up.
    “I saw her jump, Joni. She’s in excellent shape. I think you’ll both run away with the ribbons at next week’s show!”
    “Well, if we do, it’ll be because you taught me everything I know about riding,” I reminded dad.
    By the time dad and I returned to the barn, unsaddled the horses, and slapped them toward the corral, it was 4:30. “We’d better head for home. We don’t want to be late for dinner,” I said.
    I recalled the pleasure