KAREN LAND

As a child, I loved watching reruns of the 60’s television comedy, “Gilligan’s Island.” The idea of becoming one of seven castaways on an uncharted, previously uninhabited island was oddly romantic to me. Of course, it was easy for me to relate to Gilligan, the bumbling and accident-prone crewman of the S.S. Minnow. But it wasn’t just one character that did it for me, it was the hodge-podge of pasts, personalities, interests and hang-ups of all the ill-fated passengers – the Skipper, Thurston Howell III, Lovey Howell, Ginger Grant, the Professor, and Mary Ann – that made the Island seem like a home.

A person can still feel alone living in a bustling city surrounded by millions of other people; when you live on an island, you don’t take your neighbors for granted, even if they are downright strange.

And then in the 90’s along came “Northern Exposure” – now, there was an addiction of mine. Residing in a tiny town in backcountry Alaska is pretty much the same as squatting on a spot of dry land amidst the immense Pacific Ocean – give or take a few or 6 feet of snow.

I was not only intrigued by a diverse handful of people gathered in a remote location just for the purpose of living, but I adored the vast space between these humans… and the next town… and the town after that.

Standing at just under 13 hands, Winnie is a little mustang with a big history and an even bigger heart.

“She seemed grateful,” Shelly Henss, a longtime friend, explained. “After all she’s been through, she really appreciated the attention.”

For almost 20 years now, I’ve enjoyed watching Shelly professionally groom, train, and show dogs. When I heard about her most recent four-legged project, I was curious to see what she’d done with a 4-year old wild horse from Utah.

“I just treated her like a dog,” Shelly said.

And it shows. When I first met Winnie at a small backyard boarding stable in Martinsville, Indiana, the portly bay pony with an unruly mane carefully poked at my pockets with her rigid muzzle. The government wild horse freeze mark on her neck was the only indication that I was feeding stale marshmallows to a mustang who had once freely roamed the mountains of Utah.