Chapter 7
Jenna didn’t get it. She frowned as Mom and Gordon got into her mom’s Mazda—Gordon in the driver’s seat—and took off for the
beach. The pair had been together all weekend, and now they were halfway into the next week and nothing had changed.
Unless her mom was working, they were on the go: the pony museum, the village shops, one of the local restaurants. On Sunday
they’d driven up to Ocean City for the day. What had happened to her homebody mother?
They always invited Jenna to go along. On Saturday night she’d joined them for supper at Captain Zack’s, where she’d tried
to casually extract information from Gordon while the singer of a local band belted out song after song. He was friendly and
cooperative, though decidedly vague in his answers.
But having a man in the house who wasn’t her dad felt weird. Jarring. Jenna tried to seem friendly and accepting, but she
didn’t like having this stranger in her mom’s house, sitting in her dad’s seat at the table, watching Mom’s TV, and washing
his clothes in her laundry room.
Now as Mom’s car pulled from the drive, Jenna stepped away from the window and wandered back to the kitchen, where they’d just enjoyed a cozy breakfast for three. When Jenna had entered the kitchen this morning, she’d caught Gordon and Mom in a lip-lock over a griddle of pancakes.
She wrung the image from her brain and pulled out her phone.
They’re off to the beach now.
Seconds later Tyson replied.
You can hang out over here if you want. We can put you to work. Dishes, toilets, grout work, whatever your pleasure.
I assure you, none of those things are my pleasure.
I tried. [shrugging emoji]
She was feeling stir-crazy. And what her soul really craved was the ocean, some quiet outdoor time to soothe her worries and
process her thoughts. Most of all she longed to see Jenna’s Dream again. It had been too long since she’d visited her beautiful
girl. She’d missed that special connection she always felt with her dad when she watched the mare grazing on the refuge.
Jenna’s old kayak was still in the garage, but there was no chance it would fit in her car. She had another idea, however.
Coastal Currents Kayak Tours was just minutes down the road on the Assateague Channel.
Fond memories washed over Jenna as she pulled into the full lot.
At sixteen she’d been so proud to get her first job here.
Though she’d known Miss Molly all her life, the woman still insisted on a proper interview.
The job didn’t feel like work at all. Each day she got to breathe in the ocean’s fragrance and share her passion for the island’s
history and the wild ponies. And while most of the tour guides stuck to the script, Jenna enjoyed using her own words. She
loved seeing children’s eyes light up when they spotted their first pony, usually grazing in the saltwater marshes lining
the channel.
Back then she’d known all 150 ponies by name, but in the years since she’d left, some had died and new foals had been added
to the herd.
She pulled into the one empty parking space and exited the vehicle. It was a beautiful morning with pure blue skies and a
balmy breeze coming off the water. The turquoise-blue building stood like a bright seashell on the channel’s shoreline.
Orange and red kayaks lined the small marina, and at least a dozen people gathered around the dock area. Some were removing
life vests while others waited for their tours. From inside the grass tiki hut, Miss Molly offered the customers a strained
smile as she gathered signed forms.
Tina Birchfield, Miss Molly’s right hand for as long as Jenna could remember, exited the building, said something to Miss
Molly, then shrugged. The older woman closed her eyes for a brief second, then nodded. Tina returned to the building.
Jenna had picked the wrong day to rent a kayak. She stopped the owner as the woman headed toward the building. “Everything
okay, Miss Molly?”
“Oh, Jenna, thank God. Honey, can you help me out?”
“Of course. What do you need?”
“A retirement plan and a prescription for Xanax! But I’ll settle for a tour guide. I’m short-staffed by two this morning. Are you game?”
“Uh, sure. I have nothing but time today.”
The woman’s slim shoulders practically drooped with relief. “God bless you. Grab a life vest and take the Jacksons—pony tour,
family of four. They’re suited up and ready to go.”
“Got it.”
Jenna sluiced her paddle through the calm waters of the channel, the Jacksons trailing her like ducklings: Skylar and Jaden
and their teenagers Mila and Carson. All of them had kayaked before, so instructions had been minimal.
Beyond the introductions and small talk, most of the information would wait until they reached Assateague’s shore where, she
could already see, a band of ponies currently grazed.
“There they are!” Mila called.
Carson, already man-sized though he looked to be about sixteen, had caught up with Jenna. “They’re not very big.”
Not to be outdone, Mila came along Jenna’s other side as they paddled toward the marshy shoreline.
“They average only twelve to thirteen hands,” Jenna said. “Do you know what that means?”
“That they’re shorties like Mila.”
“Don’t be dumb. Horses are measured in hands.”
“You’re right, Mila. Since medieval times we’ve measured horses by the distance between your thumb and outstretched fingers—about four inches.
And we only measure from the ground to the horse’s shoulder.
” Jenna stopped talking to catch her breath—something she didn’t used to have to do.
Her arms were also getting fatigued. Boy, was she out of shape.
Mr. and Mrs. Jackson glided up, flanking their kids, eyes glued to the ponies.
“They’re so pretty,” Mila said. “Their fur’s kind of shaggy. I like the spotted ones.”
“Those are pintos. You’ll notice the ponies’ legs are short compared to horses. That helps them navigate the boggy terrain.
From left to right, we have Sky Dancer, Wendy’s Carolina Girl, and Pennies from Heaven.”
“They have names?” Carson asked.
Mila sliced her paddle through the water. “I thought they were wild.”
“They are. I’ll explain how they got their names in a minute. But first, do you know how they got here to begin with?”
“I heard they were left here by farmers,” Mr. Jackson said.
Jenna was glad they were nearly to the shoreline. She lifted her paddle from the water and the others followed suit. They
slowly drifted into the marsh and came to a stop.
“There are some who say that’s where they came from. Early settlers did let their animals forage here. What we know for sure
is that the Chincoteague ponies have been here for hundreds of years. Evidence suggests they’re survivors of a Spanish shipwreck
that occurred near the coastline and that the ponies swam ashore.”
“What evidence?” Mrs. Jackson asked.
“Well, before modern navigation there were a remarkable number of shipwrecks on the mid-Atlantic coastline. There’ve been
hundreds of shipwrecks along Assateague Island, and it was common in the day for those ships to transport horses to the colonies.”
“I like the shipwreck story best,” Mr. Jackson said, “but I’m still not convinced they weren’t just left behind by farmers.”
Jenna grinned at the teens. “I saved the best for last. In 2022 a Spanish horse tooth was found in an old colony in the Caribbean.
And a DNA study showed that the closest genetic match existing today was the Chincoteague pony.”
Mila beamed. “That’s so cool.”
“It’s hard to argue with genetics. What we have here is a very unique and hardy breed.” Jenna used her paddle to shift the
windblown kayak. She let them take pictures and talk among themselves for a few minutes.
“Who owns the island?” Mrs. Jackson asked.
Jenna explained how the land lease worked and how the Chincoteague Fire Company took care of the ponies.
“But how do they keep the herd to one hundred fifty ponies?” Carson asked. “Don’t they have babies?”
“They sure do. Since they have to keep the herd number limited, that means they can’t keep all the new foals. So each year
in July those foals are auctioned off during our Pony Penning Days.”
“I heard about the Pony Swim,” Mrs. Jackson said. “Is that the same thing?”
Mila shifted in the kayak. “We saw pictures of it in one of the stores.”
“As many as forty thousand people come to the island the last week in July to see the ponies swim across the channel from
Assateague to Chincoteague for the auction. But before that can happen, the ponies on the refuge have to be rounded up. We
call the people who do this the saltwater cowboys. Many of them are from the fire company, and it’s considered a privilege
to participate in the penning and Pony Swim. They have to earn the right.”
“Are they on horseback?” Carson asked.
“Yep. And they’re expert horse people. They not only have to round up the ponies, but they also have to get them safely across
the channel to Chincoteague, where the auction takes place. We’re talking a hundred fifty ponies plus sixty to seventy foals.”
“Sounds like a lot of chaos,” Mr. Jackson said.
“Oh, it’s something else. My friend Tyson is a saltwater cowboy—fourth generation, in fact. They have to get all those ponies
through marsh and mud, and it’s extremely stressful. The cowboys worry about the ponies getting injured or killed—stallions
can be a real handful. He’s told me when they finally get the ponies to the swim site, right over there”—she pointed toward
the narrowest part of the channel—“and all the ponies are safe and accounted for, the relief is immense.”
“Do the ponies really swim?” Mila asked.
“They sure do. Even the foals can swim. In fact, the first foal to swim ashore each year is dubbed King or Queen Neptune and
is raffled off to a lucky winner later that day.”
Mila gave her parents a beseeching look. “Aw, can we come back in July?”
“Unfortunately not,” Mrs. Jackson said. “But it does sound pretty amazing.”
“You said you’d tell us how the ponies got their names,” Carson said.
“After the ponies swim ashore on Chincoteague, they’re led through town and end up at the carnival grounds, and that’s where the foals are auctioned off.
The average auction price is around four thousand.
But . . .” She paused dramatically. “Since the herd needs to be replenished, some of the foals are auctioned with the stipulation that they’ll return to Assateague Island with the rest of the herd.
These are called buyback ponies. And those who purchased those ponies get naming rights. ”
“But they don’t get to keep them?” Carson asked.
“Nope, those foals get to go home with their mamas.”
Mila grinned. “Aw, I like that.”
“So do I—as do a lot of other folks. That’s why our buyback ponies fetch the highest price at auction, averaging sixteen thousand.
But we’ve had them go as high as fifty.”
Mrs. Jackson’s eyes widened. “What do they do with the proceeds?”
“They use some of it for veterinary care of the ponies and some to keep the fire company running. It helps pay for the trucks,
equipment, even the building. And some of it goes toward community scholarships.”
“That seems like a great business model,” Mr. Jackson said.
“It is. But to the fire company and even the islanders, the ponies are much more than business assets. We have an emotional
bond with them and a strong desire to take care of them and make sure they’re around for many more generations.”
“I want to purchase a buyback pony,” Mila said.
Mr. Jackson grinned at his daughter. “If you find sixteen grand lying around, it’s going into your college fund, young lady.”
Mila rolled her eyes. “Oh, Dad.”