Stephanie M. Sellers

I moved to North Carolina at age ten from the Midwest when my father was called upon to design Seven Lakes in West End, North Carolina. I made a lot of summer trips to my grandparent’s farms. I wrote about those summers and my horse days in high school. I went to college at Lees-McRae Presbyterian College and was nearly kicked out when I got caught as editor of the Underground Bobcat. I struck a deal to be editor of a much needed campus paper, but life got harried and the next year I went into the US Air Force where I worked as a Dental Assistant. Other than that handful of years, I’ve been here in North Carolina’s horse country, where I belong.

I remember ponies calling me over to feed them handfuls of grass from the time I was four. Growing up, ponies and horses dumped me on manure piles then ran to their barns. I’ve tackled their heads to get bits in, only to be scraped off. A pony picked me up once between my shoulder blades in its defiance of being led from the pasture. Its friends, the cows, chased me. Most of the time, I ended up having a great ride getting my teeth jarred loose.

A product of the late sixties, my childhood gave me the freedom to ride a bicycle to school. I tied string to the handlebars as reins and named it Lightening. It was my first horse. I rode every mutt pony, horse no one else would, any neglected nag in the back field and made friends with any girl who had two.

When I was in my late twenties, after marriage and babies, I managed to conquer my dream and became a horse owner. One of them died two years ago. Sugarbabe was a Tennessee Walking Horse. She won first place in confirmation in North Carolina. She won my heart the first time I yelled, “Do you want a bath?” And, she answered. Sugarbabe blew, tossed her long neck and ran to the barn. Her sister, Class, is still with me. She is nineteen. I am forty-eight. Both of us, at heart are only thirteen when we are out on the trail.

Horses run throughout my short stories and novels.

Articles:

Horse Slaughter– A Passionate Appeal

Checkpoint Charlie – Hot Spot of the Cold War – A Book Review