“Of course. What do you need?”
“A retirement plan and a prescription for Xanax! But I’ll settle for a tour guide. I’m short-staffed by two this morning. Are you game?”
“Uh, sure. I have nothing but time today.”
The woman’s slim shoulders practically drooped with relief. “God bless you. Grab a life vest and take the Jacksons—pony tour, family of four. They’re suited up and ready to go.”
“Got it.”
Jenna sluiced her paddle through the calm waters of the channel, the Jacksons trailing her like ducklings: Skylar and Jaden and their teenagers Mila and Carson. All of them had kayaked before, so instructions had been minimal.
Beyond the introductions and small talk, most of the information would wait until they reached Assateague’s shore where, she could already see, a band of ponies currently grazed.
“There they are!” Mila called.
Carson, already man-sized though he looked to be about sixteen, had caught up with Jenna. “They’re not very big.”
Not to be outdone, Mila came along Jenna’s other side as they paddled toward the marshy shoreline.
“They average only twelve to thirteen hands,” Jenna said. “Do you know what that means?”
“That they’re shorties like Mila.”
“Don’t be dumb. Horses are measured in hands.”
“You’re right, Mila. Since medieval times we’ve measured horses by the distance between your thumb and outstretched fingers—about four inches. And we only measure from the ground to the horse’sshoulder.” Jenna stopped talking to catch her breath—something she didn’t used to have to do. Her arms were also getting fatigued. Boy, was she out of shape.
Mr. and Mrs. Jackson glided up, flanking their kids, eyes glued to the ponies.
“They’re so pretty,” Mila said. “Their fur’s kind of shaggy. I like the spotted ones.”
“Those are pintos. You’ll notice the ponies’ legs are short compared to horses. That helps them navigate the boggy terrain. From left to right, we have Sky Dancer, Wendy’s Carolina Girl, and Pennies from Heaven.”
“They have names?” Carson asked.
Mila sliced her paddle through the water. “I thought they were wild.”
“They are. I’ll explain how they got their names in a minute. But first, do you know how they got here to begin with?”
“I heard they were left here by farmers,” Mr. Jackson said.
Jenna was glad they were nearly to the shoreline. She lifted her paddle from the water and the others followed suit. They slowly drifted into the marsh and came to a stop.
“There are some who say that’s where they came from. Early settlers did let their animals forage here. What we know for sure is that the Chincoteague ponies have been here for hundreds of years. Evidence suggests they’re survivors of a Spanish shipwreck that occurred near the coastline and that the ponies swam ashore.”
“What evidence?” Mrs. Jackson asked.
“Well, before modern navigation there were a remarkable number of shipwrecks on the mid-Atlantic coastline. There’ve been hundreds of shipwrecks along Assateague Island, and it was common in the day for those ships to transport horses to the colonies.”
“I like the shipwreck story best,” Mr. Jackson said, “but I’m still not convinced they weren’t just left behind by farmers.”
Jenna grinned at the teens. “I saved the best for last. In 2022 a Spanish horse tooth was found in an old colony in the Caribbean. And a DNA study showed that the closest genetic match existing today was the Chincoteague pony.”
Mila beamed. “That’s so cool.”
“It’s hard to argue with genetics. What we have here is a very unique and hardy breed.” Jenna used her paddle to shift the windblown kayak. She let them take pictures and talk among themselves for a few minutes.
“Who owns the island?” Mrs. Jackson asked.
