"Why look - it's a horsey."
Hand in hand, my wife and I had just swooshed out of the gilded revolving door of the Pfister Hotel. We had passed underneath the vaulted ceilings, walked down a corridor featuring Victorian paintings. Our heels had clicked on polished marble. Needless to say, I was slightly shocked to step outside and see, standing in the spot reserved for valet parking, a real live horse.
Sure enough a strong, powerful, ash-colored gelding was right there, directly in front of the premier hotel in downtown Milwaukee. He stood patiently, harnessed to a carriage with ornate leather. Nearby, his owner chatted to a passerby. I approached the beast, holding out my hand and speaking in a low tone. At first he paid me little heed. I gently massaged his head, underneath the leather strap that runs behind his ears. Right there - now, he is my friend.
The owner, seeing my affection toward his horse, approached. His was a service for hire; for a small fee, one could enjoy a carriage ride through the downtown area. I turned to my wife. We had always said that the next time we visit New York we would take a carriage ride through Central Park. Here we were, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, on a gorgeously clear and mild spring evening. After a moment of thought she remarked, "It's my birthday - heck with it, let's do it."
The driver helped us up, and we proceeded toward the lakefront. The horse's name was Wilson. He clomped along at a comfortable pace, the sound of his hooves reverberating off the pavement and buildings. Such a calming, soothing sound. I looked up. The buildings stretched aloft, but did not pollute the night sky. A blanket of stars gave depth to the abyss. On this evening we were blessed with an unseasonably warm stretch of weather. A cool breeze swirled off Lake Michigan, but did not chill.
I decided then and there, that I love Milwaukee. Everything is so close - from the lakefront to downtown we were within easy walking distance. But what really struck me about Milwaukee was the feeling that this was a big city with a small-town, local, friendly heart.
I struck up an easy conversation with one of the drivers, who appeared to be slightly younger than my father. He had enjoyed a career in the Navy, and returned to Milwaukee because he "loves the Midwest." To this I could relate. In turn, I was asked what I did for a living. When I replied that I run a dairy farm, both drivers turned and looked at me, with a respectful look of intense curiosity. It's the same look I always get when I am away from home, typically in a large city. I guess farmers are something of an oddity, but I will never get sick of that look.
As it turns out, the two men driving the carriage were father and son. The son, probably in his early 20s, was learning the ropes of the trade. Every once in awhile the father would lean over and point - "Take Lincoln back, and then hit Wisconsin." Wilson plodded along complacently, his hooves setting a peaceful rhythm to the night. I got the impression that he probably would have walked back on his own, without any directions.
The night was such that we were treated to a spectacular lakefront view of Milwaukee. On one side, buildings punctuated the shore, providing spires of light that complimented, rather than competed with, the night sky. On the other side, Lake Michigan stretched to the horizon. Here, there was no light. No moonlit glimmer, no bobbing watercraft gave the impression that there was anything there - just a great inky void. Cars passed by the carriage, making me feel as though we were threading a fine line between busy chaos and vacuous emptiness.
Ashley and I had dinner reservations, and Wilson had been volunteered to drop us off directly in front of the restaurant. One obstacle had yet to be overcome - I was a little short of cash. Would it be possible to stop at an ATM? If we pull over in front of a bank I'll quickly jump off. It won't take but a minute.
We approached a bank with a drive-through ATM. Wilson, reluctant at first, pulled us into the building, through the parking ramp, and directly aside the ATM. I didn't even have to get out of the carriage. To this we all had a laugh - somewhere inside the bank, a security guard is probably watching a television screen. He's witnessing a horse-drawn carriage enter the facility, navigate the driving lanes, and stop at an ATM. The security guard is probably throwing up his hands right now, "Well that's it for me - I quit."
Wilson pulled ahead, checked his blind spot, and merged back onto the street. We arrived in good time at the restaurant, and I was sad to say goodbye to the father and son, and especially Wilson. What a magnificent animal, to be able to do all of that. As we settled up, two young girls approached. They wrinkled their noses and exclaimed, "That horse smells like a farm." Wilson had already attracted his next clients.
Saying goodbye the father turned to me, "So let me get this straight - you take a vacation from your dairy farm, only to come to the city to ride a horse?"
I thought about the irony of it and responded, "Yeah, but look - now I can write the whole weekend off as a farm expense."
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times that normally appears each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
Hand in hand, my wife and I had just swooshed out of the gilded revolving door of the Pfister Hotel. We had passed underneath the vaulted ceilings, walked down a corridor featuring Victorian paintings. Our heels had clicked on polished marble. Needless to say, I was slightly shocked to step outside and see, standing in the spot reserved for valet parking, a real live horse.
Sure enough a strong, powerful, ash-colored gelding was right there, directly in front of the premier hotel in downtown Milwaukee. He stood patiently, harnessed to a carriage with ornate leather. Nearby, his owner chatted to a passerby. I approached the beast, holding out my hand and speaking in a low tone. At first he paid me little heed. I gently massaged his head, underneath the leather strap that runs behind his ears. Right there - now, he is my friend.
The owner, seeing my affection toward his horse, approached. His was a service for hire; for a small fee, one could enjoy a carriage ride through the downtown area. I turned to my wife. We had always said that the next time we visit New York we would take a carriage ride through Central Park. Here we were, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, on a gorgeously clear and mild spring evening. After a moment of thought she remarked, "It's my birthday - heck with it, let's do it."
The driver helped us up, and we proceeded toward the lakefront. The horse's name was Wilson. He clomped along at a comfortable pace, the sound of his hooves reverberating off the pavement and buildings. Such a calming, soothing sound. I looked up. The buildings stretched aloft, but did not pollute the night sky. A blanket of stars gave depth to the abyss. On this evening we were blessed with an unseasonably warm stretch of weather. A cool breeze swirled off Lake Michigan, but did not chill.
I decided then and there, that I love Milwaukee. Everything is so close - from the lakefront to downtown we were within easy walking distance. But what really struck me about Milwaukee was the feeling that this was a big city with a small-town, local, friendly heart.
I struck up an easy conversation with one of the drivers, who appeared to be slightly younger than my father. He had enjoyed a career in the Navy, and returned to Milwaukee because he "loves the Midwest." To this I could relate. In turn, I was asked what I did for a living. When I replied that I run a dairy farm, both drivers turned and looked at me, with a respectful look of intense curiosity. It's the same look I always get when I am away from home, typically in a large city. I guess farmers are something of an oddity, but I will never get sick of that look.
As it turns out, the two men driving the carriage were father and son. The son, probably in his early 20s, was learning the ropes of the trade. Every once in awhile the father would lean over and point - "Take Lincoln back, and then hit Wisconsin." Wilson plodded along complacently, his hooves setting a peaceful rhythm to the night. I got the impression that he probably would have walked back on his own, without any directions.
The night was such that we were treated to a spectacular lakefront view of Milwaukee. On one side, buildings punctuated the shore, providing spires of light that complimented, rather than competed with, the night sky. On the other side, Lake Michigan stretched to the horizon. Here, there was no light. No moonlit glimmer, no bobbing watercraft gave the impression that there was anything there - just a great inky void. Cars passed by the carriage, making me feel as though we were threading a fine line between busy chaos and vacuous emptiness.
Ashley and I had dinner reservations, and Wilson had been volunteered to drop us off directly in front of the restaurant. One obstacle had yet to be overcome - I was a little short of cash. Would it be possible to stop at an ATM? If we pull over in front of a bank I'll quickly jump off. It won't take but a minute.
We approached a bank with a drive-through ATM. Wilson, reluctant at first, pulled us into the building, through the parking ramp, and directly aside the ATM. I didn't even have to get out of the carriage. To this we all had a laugh - somewhere inside the bank, a security guard is probably watching a television screen. He's witnessing a horse-drawn carriage enter the facility, navigate the driving lanes, and stop at an ATM. The security guard is probably throwing up his hands right now, "Well that's it for me - I quit."
Wilson pulled ahead, checked his blind spot, and merged back onto the street. We arrived in good time at the restaurant, and I was sad to say goodbye to the father and son, and especially Wilson. What a magnificent animal, to be able to do all of that. As we settled up, two young girls approached. They wrinkled their noses and exclaimed, "That horse smells like a farm." Wilson had already attracted his next clients.
Saying goodbye the father turned to me, "So let me get this straight - you take a vacation from your dairy farm, only to come to the city to ride a horse?"
I thought about the irony of it and responded, "Yeah, but look - now I can write the whole weekend off as a farm expense."
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times that normally appears each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
