King Neptune

There are certain memories from one's youth that linger like honeysuckle on a summer's day. They're sweet and true; they permeate your soul.

That's what Chincoteague Island is for me. It's a place that captured my heart as a child, and has never let go. Throughout my adolescence, my family and I would visit the island with our dear friends, the Rodgers Family. They owned a home on Main Street, offering us a comfortable place to rest, while enjoying the beauty of Virginia's Eastern Shore. Part of their family goes back generations on the island; so much so that their family name is mentioned in the famous book, "Misty of Chincoteague" by Marguerite Henry.

It was a wonderful place and time that our two families shared, and our mothers are best friends to this day. A few years ago, several of our family members were able to visit Chincoteague together again during the busiest time on island - the Chincoteague Pony Swim. It's a tradition that has spanned nearly 100 years.

This momma's heart was overcome with joy because it was the first pony swim that my children ever attended. Such cherished memories that I held onto from childhood were trickling down to the next generation. And it felt good.

Little did I know that this trip would change the course of my family's life in a matter of days.

Before I go any further, it's important to give a little back story. My husband and I built a home on a few acres of land in Maryland. Months into the build, I had this urge to add goats to our new homestead. I have the tendency to come up with ideas that may seem a bit "out there" - but that's just how I roll.

For years, I tossed around the thought of having goats. My kids were on board, my husband, not so much.

Now back to Chincoteague - it was the day of the pony swim. During slack tide, the ponies swim from Assateague Island to Chincoteague Island. They rest, then parade down Main Street to the carnival grounds.

Wild ponies pranced through town as saltwater cowboys guided the way. At the end of the line, a woman riding a bicycle was selling raffle tickets. It's tradition that the first foal to touch land after the swim will be raffled off that night.

She asked if we wanted any, and I quickly ran inside to grab five dollars and a bottle of water for her. She turned down the water, but tucked my ticket stubs in her back pocket. I cringed thinking they were going to disappear on the way to the carnival grounds.

As the ponies settled into their temporary home, we went about our day. The plan was to eat dinner out, then head to the carnival and celebrate the pony swim with the town and all its visitors.

I had this continued sense that I must be at the carnival grounds that night when they raffled off the foal, known as King or Queen Neptune. You have to be present to win, and I kept reminding everyone that we had to be on time.

We divided our group up, and I walked to the carnival with my dear friend and her children. The entire way, I joked about how we're going to win the pony, and he'll have to ride home in my Jeep with his head sticking out the window. Lighthearted silly talk is always a good idea with children.

When it was time for the raffle, I had this vivid moment that I'll never forget. I stood up, visualized myself feeding a carrot to a foal, and smiled. That was it.

My friend and her daughter, along with me and my daughter, joined the crowd of anxious ticket holders. The rest of our family stayed back to play bingo. As they called off the numbers, one-by-one, there were collective sighs across the sea of people.

And as they called off each number, I could feel my heart beating in my ears. "5-2-1-9" rang out from the intercom. That “9” was a bolt of lightning to my body. I screamed like a wild woman, and grabbed my daughter's hand.

We dodged onlookers, and swerved through the massive crowd to reach the announcer. I begged, "Please tell me you called this number," as my hand trembled holding the ticket.

Indeed, she did!

And you know what happens next.

I become the proud momma of King Neptune of Chincoteague.

Everything went swirly for hours after. Strangers congratulated me, a newspaper reporter asked for an interview, a pony genealogist told me King Neptune's lineage, and the list goes on. I even got to enter the coveted corral where the wild ponies were being tended to by the saltwater cowboys.

It was overwhelming and beautiful.

I called Mr. and Mrs. Rodgers as soon as I could form proper sentences, to let them know the incredible news. They were unable to attend the swim for the first time in decades because Mr. Rodgers was not well. Chincoteague was his homeland; this moment was profound for all of us.

As we giggled about how this finally came to fruition, I kept rattling off to him, "Can you believe it?" And he said to me, "Of course I can." That stuck with me. His confidence over the phone was steady and pure.

I knew that his reassuring words, along with my ramblings equaled the perfect name for our new pony.

We named him Believe It.

As things settled down, and the reality of bringing home a pony sunk in, I had a lot of logistics weighing on my mind. A woman with silky gray hair leaned against the corral fence and congratulated me on my win.

I thanked her and explained that we're complete novices to the equestrian world. My husband's family were horsemen and women, but it skipped his generation. I was nervous to take this on, but knew it would be good for my children.

She smiled with her eyes and said, "They're herd animals, so he'll need buddies. Get yourself some goats, and you'll be good to go."

Finally - after years of dreaming out loud - I got my goats. And a pony too.