Category: Wingfield (Page 3 of 5)

Guest Post: Winning the Jug

Last week my family celebrated a pretty epic event – we won the Little Brown Jug. Because I wasn’t there, I asked a few of my cousins to pen their experience because I want it to be a part of my digital footprint. Today’s comes thanks to my cousin, Rebecca Browning. 

The morning was filled with hope, excitement and nerves as the lawn chairs began to fill up with family and friends. There was a chill in the air and when the sun came out and it set the tone for a beautiful day! The conversation that day included talking about the race and someone would say, ‘If we win” and then within moments, an interjection of “WHEN we win” “Ah yes, WHEN we win…how do we get across? WHEN we win…how many people will be in the picture? WHEN we win…how are we getting Uncle Bill and Aunt Judy over there quick enough? WHEN we win…what day will we go home?

We walked over to see Limelight Beach and it never dawned on me that we weren’t just walking to a horse barn to see him we were walking into the JUG BARN! As I walked through the entrance it hit me like a ton of bricks, our horse is in this barn. Our horse is in the Jug Barn!

It was an amazing feeling. So proud. So hopeful. So happy. The kid in me was coming out and I was in awe of all these beautiful horses and couldn’t believe after all the times I had walked the circle looking at these majestic horses I was now looking at our horse in that very circle. We talked to Limelight Beach and took pictures with him and gave him our good luck wishes. We always sit in the same chairs on the barn side of the race track. We were nearly opposite of the finish line but you can’t see every second of the race because of buildings, tents, and the tote board. When Limelight Beach won his first heat, everyone cheered, hugged and tore out of the seats like a bat out of hell to run to the winners circle. I remember repeatedly yelling as I was running “Are we sure we won?” When I turned the corner and saw the tote board and the 2 horse had been declared the winner, chills filled my body! We all ran, jumping, hugging each other across the infield. It was so crazy to be in the winner’s circle…little did we know that it was only the first time that day we would be there.

Used without permission from Rebecca's facebook profile.

Used without permission from Rebecca’s facebook profile.

The next hour went by in a flash…Thank God! Because more nerves sat in but also a kind of hope settled over our 50+ chairs. We had a trainer family friend watch all the races with us. When I heard him talk about Limelight Beach and the finalist…I knew we were going to win. There was a lot of that talk going around. Limelight Beach was the horse to beat in that race. Moments before the race began two bald eagles flew over the track. As we all pointed at and admired the eagles, we felt a calmness and confidence come over the cheering section. We stood on chairs and coolers, we crowded the fence, and we peered over top of loved ones and once again waited and watched. Limelight Beach owned that race and put on a show for us!

It became obvious he was going to win and the noise grew louder and louder and louder. We erupted with tears, cheers and laughter. We just won the jug! There was a moment after he won and we were hugging, high-fiving, kissing, and/or shaking the person next to us and we just stopped and realized we needed to run like Hell to get to the other side. That moment was so exhilarating!

I am a sentimental person and I feel close to people when I have one of their personal possessions. When Grandpa Bill passed away I rummaged through his things, along with all my cousins and I ended up claiming a navy blue cardigan with big wooden buttons. It’s gender neutral enough and I love wrapping up in the worn out garment so I wear it often in cold months. Chilly Ohio mornings in September call for a sweater. And I had the perfect one. (I love that moment when an outfit comes together and when I saw that sweater I knew it was the perfect thing to wear.) So I kept the sweater on me most of the day even tied around my waist when the sun was pounding down on us in the heat of the afternoon. That heat (and beers) must have got to me before the final race. I wasn’t wearing the sweater. The race was over and I started to make my mad dash to the other side and had a sudden tug to turn around and there in the already abandoned chairs was the sweater. I grabbed it and took off. Grandpa Bill was headed to the winners circle too.

The 2nd trip over was even more celebrated. The winners circle was jam packed. I’ve had my picture taken in the winner’s circle since I was young. But I have never looked out from the circle to see so many reporters, cameras and fans! It was absolutely crazy! I never really imagined such a big moment like that or what it would feel like. The moment was prestigious. The blanket of yellow roses draped over Limelight Beach along with the reigns filled with white and yellow carnations that adored him were aromatic and beautiful. The coveted trophy was shiny and so big and heavy! This was a moment that only the greats get to relish in. Looking back, it’s a moment comparable to someone winning the Kentucky Derby, Daytona 500, The Stanley Cup, or NBA Championship. It was so surreal. For many they kept repeating…we just won the jug! Many would say…it’s so surreal. It hasn’t sunk in yet.

The celebration in the winner’s circle was epic for the Wingfield Brothers. One brother’s hobby created so much hope, togetherness, and happiness for everyone in the family! I turned the hometown radio on the day after the win to my father saying that this horse has created a lot of opportunities to be with family and “before today we already felt like winners!”

Wheels

When my cousin Tim enjoyed his own roaring 20s, living the DINK* life, he bought a brand new black Camaro. A sensible purchase? Probably not. But at what other time, other than late into retirement, can one enjoy such treats? Somehow Tim knew to grasp onto the momentary lack of full responsibility.

The Camaro. That is not Tim in the background with the surfboard, no matter what he might say. Photo courtesy CC - Wikipedia

The Camaro. That is not Tim in the background with the surfboard, no matter what he might say. Photo courtesy CC – Wikipedia

My 16-year-old self took full advantage of his situation. He made the drive home one Saturday in May to drop off the newly washed and waxed set of wheels. He parked in the barn and showed me how to work the 6-disc changer (which resided in the trunk. Hellloooo again, 1990s!) which I later forgot and listened to Collective Soul on repeat. Then he gave me the mandatory and expected Lecture. The car goes fast, he told me. Be careful. Then he said something unexpected: At the end of the day, it’s just a hunk of metal.

You are more important than a car.

Of course, this goes without saying within the context of being careful and avoiding accidents. Yet hidden underneath, and now that I’m a tad older and wiser myself, I see the beauty in wanting good things for the people we care about.

I can’t imagine the trust he put into my 16-year-old self, let alone my 17-year-old date, whom he never met. His actions told me that believed in the goodness of people and the worthiness of his little cousin, enough to hand over the keys.

This weekend a friend found herself in unfortunate circumstances without a car. We were laying low so we drove JJ’s vehicle down so she could get to an engagement. Even when you fully trust someone, in the back of your mind you always do the “what would happen if” dance, and we were no different. Yet like my cousin, I believed a person to be more valuable. His words echoed in my ears: At the end of the day, it’s just a hunk of metal.

I’m not sure I would’ve had the guts to follow through had the same trust been placed in me. It would be easy to come up with a reason why we couldn’t extend the offer. Family or not, I want to live like I believe that people are always most important. But it’s hard to live your values.

One of the only things that speaks louder than fear is love, and I was fortunate to be loved with a set of keys early in life, which made it possible for me to love in the same way.

 

*Dual Income, No Kids

On Not Being There

My newsfeed erupted in photos capturing one of the most joyous occasions of my family’s shared history. I have to ignore Facebook altogether to avoid crumbling because it’s painful to be reminded over and over how I wasn’t there.

I didn’t smell the dust and beer and sweat of a day’s worth of celebration. I didn’t hear the jokes and laughter anticipating the big race. I didn’t pet Limelight Beach to give him a pep talk or a congratulatory hug. I didn’t see the horse take off out of the gate. I didn’t get a jab in the ribs when he never let up. No one hugged me in celebration and my cheeks didn’t burn from smiling in the hours following the winner’s circle picture.

Pile this atop the growing list of the ways in which I’m limited by my present reality. Living far from family with a gaggle of young children results in multiple occasions of sitting out the opportunities presented.

“It was just a horse race,” we can try to convince ourselves. (Yet all of the harness racing junkies will vomit in their mouth a little when I refer to the Jug as “just a race.”) Sporting event or not, the family experienced together. It will go in the books as something akin to Cruise 2000. My face will be absent in the pictures because I got the van fixed instead. Not by choice, but a result of circumstance.

Which is where it gets tricky. It was our choice, or so I hear, to have all these kids and move away and attempt to do this unassisted by kin. And while we mostly chose the size of our family and the way in which we spend our days, aware our life won’t share all similarities as others, we didn’t get any fine print to examine.

We anticipated having to rethink the way in which we vacation. We knew Christmas would be consistently small. It’s always been clear we would have to make hard decisions in regard to how we spend our time, specifically around extra-cirricular involvement by our kids. It was obvious money would always be in short supply. We weighed those decisions and found them worthy trades of the added personalities to our little homestead.

I love the little buggers, but nothing prepared me for the heartache of missing life’s moments like Thursday because we couldn’t find an all-day sitter. I wouldn’t trade our little big family for anything, but that doesn’t mean I can easily brush aside my frustrations. Joys outweigh hardships, but the challenges can still be heavy.

Similar to how it’s hard to say I’m pregnant, it’s difficult to share my feelings of frustration – I feel I don’t have a right to complain about the circumstances of life which I chose. Any parent is free to express feelings about challenges of kids, but the number of kids you have increases, so does the times you hear “well, you chose that” when you say these things out loud. As a result, I feel I must be silent about what keeps me up at night.

(Except for this blog, where I get to voice what ails me and put words to the feelings I didn’t fully realize until I start typing.)

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