Tunesday : Wildfire

Wildfire

(Lord, P / Smith, V / Hall, D / All, S) Performed by Michael Martin Murphey

She comes down yellow mountain
On a dark flat land she rides
On a pony she named Wildfire
Whirlwind by her side
On a cold Nebraska night
Oh, they say she died one winter

When there came a killing frost
And the pony she named Wildfire
Busted down his stall
In a blizzard she was lost
She ran calling Wildfire

She ran calling Wildfire
She ran calling Wildfire
By the dark of the moon I planted

But there came an early snow
There's been a hoot owl howlin' by my window now
For six nights in a row
She's coming for me I know
And on Wildfire we're both gonna go
We'll be riding Wildfire

She ran calling Wildfire
She ran calling Wildfire
On Wildfire we're going to ride her

We're gonna leave sod bustin' behind
Get these hard times right on out of our minds
Riding Wildfire

I heard Wildfire not long ago and the first thing I thought was, "I can't believe I never wrote a Tunesday post about this song that I loved when I was a little girl", and the second thing I thought was, "Just why did I think this song (with a dead horse and a dead girl) was so hauntingly beautiful when I was little?" (Hint: Because I was little  -- seven when it was released -- but even so, I thought it was funny that when I googled it this morning, one of the first results I got was another blogger who had filed this under "Blatantly Bad 70s Songs"; and I can't argue with that upon listening to it again, lol.)

Is every little girl horse crazy? I had never even been on a pony ride when this song came out, but I knew that if I had a horse and he busted out of his stall, I would also go roaming through a snowstorm to try and get him back. It was around this time that I read Black Beauty, and I can still remember how horrified I had been by the whips and spurs used on him (and wasn't there a barn fire in that book? Or did Wildfire just make me associate horses with fire?) And I was famously horse crazy within our family: Oh, this is Krista, she loves horses; and yet, I never rode a horse or even got close to one until I was a teenager. (The closest I got to a horse before that was one belonging to my Aunt Diane -- probably on the trip down to PEI when I was twelve -- but she never offered to saddle her up and lead me around; for which I was tremblingly hoping.) 

I was so famously horse crazy within our family -- and so jealous of the girls in our rural community who had or boarded horses -- that my Dad once promised me that someday he would get me my own horse. This was no small thing: we had nothing -- a crappy house, a crappy car, old clothes, few toys, never quite enough to eat -- but as my father had never promised me anything before in my life, I believed him; in my mind, I already owned this horse. And his name was probably Wildfire. Dad had never promised me anything before; I completely believed (for years) that I would eventually be bought a horse and I just needed to wait and never remind (nag) Dad about it; I never got a horse. And I think Dad forgot that promise: after he bought Ken a Mustang when he was sixteen, I flippantly said, "Well, since you never did buy me that horse, you can get me a Mustang someday, too, and we'll be even". I remember Dad was put out by that statement (I'm sure he hadn't remembered that long ago promise to a starry-eyed little girl), and he gave me an unhappy glare of confusion. Fun fact: I ended up being the only one in my family not given a Mustang; Ken got one, Kyler got one, Mum got one (which was eventually given to Kyler), and a few years ago, Dad even bought himself a Mustang. Now, I loved the Dodge Polara that I was given instead of a Mustang (and, gah, I am certainly not complaining; I was given a car at sixteen after a lifetime of never getting anything), but I don't think Dad really knew how the horse/Mustang promise was tied up in my mind (and it was because I felt in my heart that I was still "owed" a Mustang and that Mum's classic convertible would be the only thing us kids might ever fight over after our parents are gone that I removed myself from the running when Mum decided to have a lottery amongst us for it: I wanted it too much, had too many ugly feelings, and bowed out on my own terms [and that was the right decision: I no longer feel bitter or "owed" anything]). *Should I mention that Dave eventually bought himself a Mustang as his everyday car and I had much fun driving it, too? And that I had no nostalgic urge to protest when he traded it in on a Camaro, which I also enjoy driving around in?

Now, Mum decided to give one of us her Mustang because it was impractical to own where they retired deep in the woods, but know what she thought wouldn't be impractical? Actual horses. After their big house was built, they cleared a bunch more trees, put up a huge barn/riding arena, and brought down a horse, Doc, that Mum bought from a man who had been giving her riding lessons. Not wanting him to be lonely, they eventually bought another big beautiful thoroughbred, Justin, and just for funsies, they got a couple of ponies, too. My girls were maybe two and five when the ponies were added to the barn (at first they had Chubby and Molly, a couple of lovely, stocky doe-eyed Shetland-looking ponies, but after Molly died suddenly, they got Willy; a grey Welsh pony [he really looked like a miniaturised Appaloosa] that Kennedy adored), and as the girls and I would go down to visit for three or four weeks every summer, it was almost like horse camp for them: waking up and mucking out stalls every morning, brushing out their own ponies, taking riding lessons from a friend of my Mum's. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that, apparently, my mother had been horse crazy herself for my whole life, and even more bizarrely, that my father had a lifelong love of horses and had, as a boy, helped various woodsmen with their work horses in these same woods where they were now living (how could this story have never once been told to me until I was in my thirties? I will never know my parents.) Apparently, my Dad had always wanted to own horses, and when he made me that promise, he was probably sincere; when I later reminded him of this (now broken) promise, I was probably reminding him of his own failed dream. Huh.

The problem with my parents and the horses was that no one ever rode them, not once did anyone ever suggest that I could ride one of them, and after so long (did they have them for ten years? Maybe more like seven or eight?), my Dad decided that the expense and work involved in owning these huge animals (he compared it to having four enormous dogs that contribute nothing but bragging rights) wasn't worth whatever joy they were bringing, and they were all sold off (Dad also complained that the horses "tied them to the property" and they were the reason my parents could never come up and visit us, but they've been gone for years now, and no visits, so...) Although my niece and nephews came along after the horses and ponies were already gone, I am very grateful that my own girls had that experience; they had the bragging rights as little girls (Yeah, I totally own my own pony at my grandparents' house) and I now consider all promises kept.

But to get back to Wildfire and blatantly bad 70s songs: Maybe all little girls go through a horse phase, but not all the little girls I knew loved this song. Whenever my friends and I would be driving around and nostalgically start to sing the songs of our childhoods -- and for the most part, these would be the misery tunes of the 70s -- I'd be the only one remembering Wildfire (or at least the only one who knew the words, and that amounts to the same thing in a singalong). Cora's favourite song had been Patches (about a 13-year-old boy who had to take over the work on the family farm after his father died, I had never heard this song before Cora sang it for me); everyone knew Seasons in the Sun (as did I, even if I hated it) and One Tin Soldier (a song I never remembered hearing on the radio but eventually learned as it was everyone else's favourite childhood song; really?? A song about war and slaughter and hating one's neighbour?); and when I met Dave, his go-to nostalgia song was (is) Billy Don't Be A Hero. Today, I'd admit these are all terrible songs (blatantly bad even). But still, Wildfire, as silly as it may be, is obviously the best of the lot. Obviously.

We'll be riding Wildfire

And I'll be singing Wildfire

I'll be singing Wiiiiild fiiiire