Author/Editor Note: This painting “Ride Like the Wind” by Debbie Criswell is a wonderful metaphor for my sister. In writing my memoir for my Storyworth book project, I ended up telling her story. As often happens with memoirists, we become biographers.
My sister, Susan Reinke, was born with the horse gene. Those of you who share the affliction know what it means to have this gene. It has been a lifelong affliction, for her only quelled by health and aging issues as she now begins her 9th decade on the planet.
Google says that spiritually horses symbolize freedom — majestic animals that embody the spiritual power of independence and freedom. This power has been alive and well in her most of her life. She has not been gently loping through life; instead, she has been galloping at full speed excelling academically, including in her veterinary medicine class where she was one of the few women students; practicing veterinary medicine with a board-certified specialty in dermatology; creating an incredible experience living and practicing veterinary medicine in Switzerland; traveling extensively throughout Europe and in Africa on safari; developing with her husband a magnificent 100-acre farm in Petaluma, California as well as a vacation retreat at Lake Tahoe. The list goes on and on.
Yes, horses have been the love of her life. Sure, she loved her family, first our nuclear family — my dad, mom & me — and then the family she created with her husband, Jerry Reinke, their two children, Kara and Darren, and many years later, their children — her darling grandchildren: Madden, Kai, Hadley, Scarlett, and Landon.
But horses? They were in her blood.
Her first horse, Cinders, came into her life while we were living on our northern Idaho farm in Hayden Lake. She was a big, tall, jet-black wonder. Our dad saved up his quit-smoking-50 cents per day money to buy her a fancy saddle. And ride she did. She and the handsome boy on the farm near us taught Cinders and my sister how to be a riding duo. Occasionally she would let my best friend, another person besotted with the horse gene, take herself and me on long rides up and down the country lanes.
Susan was also born a book worm. Which books? You guessed it: stories about horses who ran like the wind, their long manes blowing in the wind. They became permanent fixtures in her heart and mind.
While her real horse Cinders galloped around the fields at home, Susan galloped around the grade school yard playing “King of the Mountain” on the imaginary horses she read about in her books.
We raised sheep on our farm. One very hard, snowy winter when my dad was finishing his master’s degree in agricultural economics at the University of Idaho in Moscow, my sister took charge of the sheep. We went through a terrible spell with them contracting a disease that killed a number of them. We thought the problem was lack of exercise so after school we’d shepherd the flock up and down the snowy roads for their exercise program. We also had birthing problems. When the ewes had trouble, she would literally be up to her shoulders inside the suffering ewes to pull the lambs out into the world. No gloves. It was just her and the ewe trying to get those precious little lambs birthed.
When we moved from the farm to a small acreage in Boise, we took along Cinders and an assortment of other farm animals. There Cinders gave birth to a reddish-brown beauty. Cinders was impregnated by a real stallion — not by artificial insemination. My dad took my sister and me along to visit the stallion. When the actual “event” was to take place, my dad was so embarrassed that he banned us from the corral.
The high school years were about academic success to make sure she would be admitted to the veterinary medicine school of her choice, which turned out to be Washington State University at Pullman. It was a good choice because there she met and married fellow student, Jerome Reinke. They’ve now been married forever.
When Susan and Jerry finished vet school, they moved to New York City to practice. If I have the facts straight, Jerry — being a guy — got the more prestigious job at the Animal Medical Center (AMC), while she — being the better student, but a gal — got the good, but less prestigious job, working at the Humane Society. While they loved New York City and all that it offered, after a couple of years they headed back to the West where they both grew up.
They bought into a veterinary practice north of San Francisco in Marin County. While Jerry and his best friend from the AMC built the practice, Susan had her hands full with their two children, as well as working sometimes with Jerry, and other times in other small practices.
Besides the wonderful life they had in Marin County, Susan also wanted to do some more traveling. She had joined my parents and me who were living in Nigeria and that whetted her appetite for travel. As we headed back to college in the U.S., she and I spent a wonderful summer traveling all over Europe on a Eurail pass.
Where to travel next? While doing further veterinary studies at the University of California at Davis, she arranged to work in a veterinary hospital in Switzerland for a year. Jerry and the kids happily came along. Together they had a fabulous year being Europeans, traveling around Europe, making great friends, and creating a host of memories.
Back in California, Susan and Jerry were able to realize their dream: they developed a 100-acre farm that they named “Deer Creek Farm”. Every blade of grass was perfect. More perfect though for Susan was her opportunity to have horses once again in her life. They had a whole herd: some were hers, and others were guests.
My husband, Ken Normington, and I lived several times at Deer Creek Farm in their guest houses. We are so grateful for the years spent on this magnificent farm sharing a glass of wine, hiking the hills with their dog Tess, but most of all treasuring the time spent with Susan and Jerry and our extended family celebrating holidays and special events. Love, laughter, and life.
Personally, it was a unique opportunity for my sister and me to be “Sistahs” as we called ourselves. In our adulthood we were separated across the country, if not the world. My sister and I shared a unique sense of humor. We laughed until we cried. At nothing. At everything. We understood each other perfectly. As sisters can be with each other, the good times were fabulous, the bad times were excruciating. Yet, always always always a love only Sistahs can share.
When it became time for Susan and Jerry to retire from veterinary medicine, and from managing a 100-acre farm, they sold the farm — yes, a very sad day indeed — and moved to Encinitas in Southern California to be near their children and grandchildren.
No more horses. No. That era has passed. But what remains are memories of a lifetime spent riding like the wind. Just like the horses.
Photo of Dr. Susan Iddings Reinke by Ken Normington (2013).
Copyright © 2024 by Jane Iddings
Oh Jane, as a person who also has the “horse gene” I really resonated with your story! It’s beautifully written. Thanks so much! Ann S.
A beautiful story. So very well written. I can easily see the two of you laughing and hiking together. Completely filled with devotion and love of each other. Thanks for sharing this part of your life.