From the time schools were organized in the west, children either walked or drove the school horse, hitched to a buggy in summer and a cutter or sleigh in winter.

The school horse was patient and had one trot, slow. In spite of the small hands holding the reins, the school horse, like the horse on the dairy wagon, knew exactly where to go and how to get there.

To accommodate the school horse, each school, whether in the country or in small towns, had a barn where the school horse spent its day while school was in session. In the back of each buggy was a sheaf of oats to feed the horse at noon.

The fall before I started school, my dad bought a Welsh pony, which I rode all summer so the pony and I could get accustomed to each other. As our farm was located on a corner, the road north lead to my grandfather's, and the road west to the village where I would be going to school.

All summer my pony and I traveled the north road. When it came time for school my dad built a cart and each morning, at the age of 6, I would start down the road to the school three and half miles away.

My pony quickly showed me who was boss as he refused to continue west on the road and in spite of all my tugging on the lines. He just would not go past the corner. After all, his only training had been to go north!

Each morning I would return to the house in tears and either my mother or some other adult would have to get in the cart and take me and the pony well past the corner.

One morning my mother was making soap outside in a big iron kettle and I came home as usual in tears Her patience was at an end with both the pony and me. She grabbed the paddle she was using to stir the soap, got in the cart and that morning there was no hesitation on the part of the pony to pass the corner.

Though there were not as many cars as there are now, I was warned to take care when meeting a car. As a result I drove all the way to school in the ditch to absolutely avoid being involved in a far-from-probable accident.

Later on I made sure I would drive behind a neighbour family. The sheaf in the back of their buggy was the carrot that kept my pony following closely. We were joined at the corner by another school buggy and as we progressed towards town more buggies joined the line.

We became a cavalcade of horse drawn vehicles with some of the older boys riding horses. Sometimes the braver drivers would race each other, locking wheels with a threat of an accident.

Because of my tender years, the rest of the students gave me the first stall in the school barn for my pony so there would be no danger of me being kicked by another horse. Looking back, I don't think the school horses had enough life in them to kick.

As my brothers grew to school age, we went in a buggy and by this time we had moved to a farm just off the highway.

It was the thirties, and trucks carrying big bales of hay were often on the highway. One day as we were going to school, a big truck passed us loaded with bales. The truck just nicely passed us when to our dismay the hay came tumbling to the highway, just avoiding hitting the buggy. After that we were really apprehensive when one the hay trucks passed us.

In the winter we drove a cutter with a box-like cover that shielded us from the wind. A small slit in the front accommodated the reins and a larger one allowed us to see. With warm blankets we were really quite cozy and only stayed home from school in the winter if the weather was too cold for the horse.

Now children are bused to their schools, and the old school horse is history. Kids today may be more comfortable travelling to school, but I'm glad I had the opportunity to experience driving the old school horse.