A Summer Writing Project at Skode's
Another lifetime ago, I worked with young people through a program I created to help give voice to their experiences, strengths and hopes. The program was called Storytellers Ink Inc. and it started in Liberty City, Miami -- one of the poorest city's in the country at that time.
I used to sit on flowers shaped mats on the floor with the other program facilitators and listen to the children write their absolute truth -- no editing (save for spelling and grammar). Then we drew and painted, and then -- after months of practicing -- the children performed their stories in public. We went to Barnes and Noble, churches, community centers and The Florida State capitol. Once, we even got to fly a child to California where she spoke about being what life was like as an 11-year-old "who lived in the ghetto without a Dad." The children amazed people - - made them laugh and weep and really, really think.
Those years in that program were a gift to everyone involved. The children said they felt strong and proud of who they were. The parents said they felt hopeful and closer to their children. The school administrators said test scores were going up. My fondest memories were of kids wrapping their arms around my waist and telling me how excited they were about sharing what they had written about their lives (something no one in a million years thought would happen.)
"Ms. Lori! Ms. Lori! Listen to this! Look at this!" they yelled.
That program came straight out of my heart and manifested itself in the light in those kids' eyes. I never thought I would stop doing what I did, anymore than I thought I would stop breathing.
Then one of the facilitators and I moved to Oregon to grow the program on the West Coast. After that things we couldn't control -- can we ever control anything? -- just happened. The money stopped flowing, the investors stopped investing, and my friend and I found different dreams.
"I think it's a pause, a comma -- not a period dead end," another friend told me as I cried.
I wasn't sure I believed her. But I never forgot her words, and even while building Skode's Horse Treats Inc., I dreamed about somehow working with kids again. How that could ever happen while working 12 to 16 hours a day with horse cookies, I didn't have a clue. But the dream stayed. That's the funny thing about dreams -- even if you forget to nurture them, they are there. Deflated, perhaps. Weary, perhaps. But there, waiting.
A few months ago, I met a young girl by the name of Kaylee Emoto. She recently turned 13. One could say we met by "accident." I decided to break the monotony of a long day by going riding. I remember I had to push myself to do it -- I was tired. Wearily, I put a bareback pad on my horse, Vashka, and climbed aboard. Nevermind that I was wearing flannel pajama bottoms, mix-matched socks and a dirty t-shirt. I was going riding, I told myself forcefully. Before I could even make it out my front gate, I saw another rider.
In my neighborhood, that is unusual. People have horses everywhere, but no one seems to ride. It's depressing.
"Hey!" I yelled at the rider without even seeing her. "Want some company?
"Yes!" she yelled back.
And that is how I met Kaylee.
Turns out her grandmother had pushed her out of the house to go riding because a friend of hers had flaked on their afternoon plans to ride in the park.
The more time we spent together, the more I thought about Storyteller's Ink. And then one morning the idea was just there: What if Kaylee could chronicle her life at Skode's Horse Ranch. What if she could illustrate her experiences, strengths and hopes here?
The teenager sits downstairs as I type upstairs. She is busy writing in her new spiral notebook about who she is and why she is here. And she is excited to be writing (don't tell her I know that though -- she is supposed to hate writing.) Her writing project is called Summer at Skode's.
I won't say anymore. As soon as she is finished with her first entry, I'll let you read it.
"SKODE"





I get quite a few emails from people who tell me their dream is to have their own, full-time horse business. They work professional, sometimes very highly paid jobs. But they want to get out of the rat race so they can be happy.
Anyone who makes a lifetime commitment to a horse, faces the dreaded day when they will have to say goodbye to their cherished friend. That day for Harley and I came much earlier than I wanted.
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