ONCE UPON A TIME IN A DEEP, DARK MINE
In memory I hold a vision of my grandpa grooming one of his Shetland ponies on his farm in the 1940s. He was expecting a family to visit that evening—a possible sale. “But you know, Millie,” he said to me as, brush in hand, he gently stroked the pony’s sleek, brown hide, “we have to be careful who we sell our ponies to.”
“What do you mean, Grandpa?”
“Well, some people don’t know how to care for a pony. If you give
