Frisky, my husband Pat’s beloved horse and childhood companion, was with us when we came to Crofton, but by that time she was more than thirty years old. This picture was taken in the late 1970s.
Frisky, my husband Pat’s beloved horse and childhood companion, was with us when we came to Crofton, but by that time she was more than thirty years old. This picture was taken in the late 1970s.
A much older Frisky on Crofton Farm in the mid-1990s. By this time she no longer lived up to her name and had become much more gentle and quiet in her advanced years. We will miss her always.
Pat riding through the surf in Vilanculos on Jade, whom we rescued from Zimbabwe along with the rest of our friend John Crawford’s herd.
Here I’m riding Bridle, Pat’s father’s horse, and Pat’s cousin Roy is on Frisky. This picture was taken in Enkeldoorn, where Pat grew up, at the paper chase in 1979; one of the few pictures we have from that time.
My two boys with their sister in the middle in 1988. Pictured from left: Jay, Kate, Paul.
As a young boy, Jay hated leaving the farm. Here he is with Pat on his way to boarding school. As you can see, he doesn’t look too happy at the prospect.
Jay and Kate dressed in their school uniforms at Crofton with our dog Opal, a harlequin Great Dane.
A view of Crofton during happier days in the mid-1990s. Our mango tree is visible, the round-topped tree to the left of the house.
My middle child Jay looking at what remained of Crofton Farm on a return trip we took there in 2012. Everything we loved was now gone, burned by the war vets who took it over. You can see Jay’s despair as he stares in disbelief; he had loved roaming the wild African bush as a boy.
My two high-spirited boys in the early 1990s. Paul is driving with Jay on the back. They loved to ride Dad’s motorbike around the farm.
Deja-vous, who was born at Crofton, waiting patiently for her food bucket on Zimofa Farm, 2005. A most loving and gentle horse, she came to a tragic end in Mozambique.
Our faithful Fanta. She has blessed the lives of so many children, in both Zimbabwe and Mozambique, who learned to ride on her. Here she is in the Chimoio riding school, 2007.
My husband, Pat, the avid horseman, riding Duke while competing in the gymkhana we held for our riding school children in Chimoio, 2006.
Here I am with Squib and little Sebastian, 2006, at the Chimoio riding school. We are indebted to the parents, both NGO workers and ex-Zimbabwean farmers, who supported our school there.
Ramazotti, Pink Daiquiri’s beautiful foal, in 2005. Both horses were taken by a corrupt farmer who claimed they had destroyed his wife’s soybean crop. These sorts of false claims were part of the nightmare we had to endure on our journey.
Pat with Fleur, the day after arriving in Vilanculos. He was worried that the horses would be terrified of the sand and sea, but with the temperature a scorching 113 degrees Fahrenheit, the horses immediately took to the water.
The beautiful Lady, named after her mother Lady Richmond by our friend and neighbor Charl. Here she is sticking out her tongue, waiting for a treat after a riding lesson in Vilanculos, 2011.
My beautiful daughter Kate with Tequila on Benguerra Island, a small island off the coast of Vilanculos. Tequila, a stubborn but lovable horse, stays on the island because of his expensive escapades; he is forever trying to return to his home in Zimbabwe. On the island he has tried on three occasions to do the same, but found no way off.
Pat and Tequila enjoying a swim on Benguerra Island, the day after we arrived in January 2008.
Our long-time worker and loyal friend Jonathan Muzulu, who helped us on our journey and remains with us to this day.
Martini from Umboe Estates, Chinhoyi. Here he is up to his hocks in lush green grass and looking a little chubby on Benguerra Island, 2012.
Tequila (left) attempting to remove Slash’s halter. He is an expert at this and Slash is always a willing partner. They both remain on Benguerra Island.
Charl and Tertia Geldenhuys, our neighbors on Two Tree Hill Farm. Many of their horses became a part of our growing herd after they were forcibly removed from their home.
Pat and I love the view from the Red Dunes. Together we have traversed countless miles and suffered incredible loss, all while doing what we could to save the horses we love. Now, in Vilanculos, we are thankful for each new day and the promise it brings.