The day the tractor flipped over, survivor's guilt.

My favorite horse,  Buddy.

When I was 12-years-old I worked as a guide at a riding stable in Northern California. Buck Norred's. It was a great job. They were not allowed to pay money to a child, so I worked for riding lessons. I took all the lessons they offered, working my way up to English Jump.

On April 1, 1977 the stables were closed due to heavy rain. We all reported for a short day of work, however, because horses don't stop eating when it rains. We loaded hay onto the tractor and jumped on for a muddy ride to the box canyon where the horses were kept.

There were about 5 teenagers piled onto the body of the tractor already, so my best friend "A" and I climbed onto the hay bales in the scoop. The tractor had barely started rolling toward the down-slope leading to the stream when all the kids down below jumped off.  All of them. I couldn't believe they abandoned us like that. The driver later explained that the steering had locked. "A" and I were alone on the tractor and the kids were yelling for us to "JUMP!" The problem was, the tractor was rolling forward onto the sloping wall of the down-ramp to the stream at about a 45-degree angle. The front-right tire rode up the slope and the tractor began to tilt. "JUMP, JUMP!" they screamed, but I didn't. I had a feeling that if I jumped too soon, I would be beneath the tractor when it turned. If I jumped too late, same problem. I got my feet under myself and crouched, ready. The tractor began to flip and I, being on the right side of the scoop, got the benefit of the torque of the turning motion.  I used the momentum to spring with my legs and landed halfway up the hillside on the opposite bank, scrambling up to the top, then turned to look for my friend but she was gone.

I screamed her name repeatedly and jumped back down to the muddy track where the tractor now lay completely upside-down. There she was underneath it, lying on 4-inch-deep mud and pinned down by the scoop of the tractor resting on top of the hay bales. She said urgently, "get me out of here," her face being squished by the heavy weight.  I tried to lift the heavy metal of the side of the scoop myself but the others had gathered around and led me away so they could help her.

"A" ended up with a few hairline fractures on her vertebrae that took about a month to heal. She was up and walking normally within a few weeks. In retrospect, she was the one on the down-side, the pulling side, as the tractor flipped over. She was sucked underneath it. I was on the up-side, the pushing side, and got an extra boost. I don't know why it happened that way but it did.

The reason I mention this is because something happened yesterday at the synagogue that brought it all back. One of the congregants was in tears because we are at the 1-year anniversary of his son's death. His son died in a kayaking accident in the ocean off of Santa Barbara. Daniel Zembrosky and his friend, both in their mid-twenties, were kayaking in strong winds when the kayak flipped over. They decided to swim for shore. Why did one boy make it and the other did not? I don't know. I was moved to look up Daniel's My Space page. He was a young man with a wonderful sense of humor and a taste for adventure. If any family members ever read this, please accept my deepest condolences. My heart is with you.

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