One of my cherished memories was an annual Christmas gift of a book from my mother. She had an uncanny knack for picking out a read perfect for me. One year she choose The Hands of Cantu by Tom Lea. The book was about a vaquero in old California that trained horses. Her enclosed note said simply, “these hands had a special talent as I am sure yours do.”
At that point in my life I was riding horses as often as I could saddle up. Mother had once ridden gaited horses in the show ring professionally. It felt deep down good for her to recognize my budding talents and love of horses. That love blossomed over the years as I rode and owned many fine horses.
As a kid, I read every book about horses and dogs and the outdoors as I could get. My reading habits expanded and became more eclectic. As an adult, I worked fifteen years in a public library. It was like being in a candy store. Those years were golden with a plethora of books to read, writing and publishing my own tales, and riding horses.
To this day, I consider a book a special gift from me to another person and from the author to the reader. No two ways about it, books make a grand gift for your fellow readers and friends.