I reach above my head as I pass beneath a tree laden with bright red plums, aim a wrist-twisting grab, and grin as I score four or five of them. Barely bigger than pumped-up cherries, they fit neatly in my hand. This one spot on the trail is my only chance. All the other trees are set too far back and shielded by a tangle of poison oak. Only this tree, set forward with overhanging boughs, offers me the opportunity. And only this horse makes it possible.

Red is the biggest horse I’ve ridden in my two-year acquaintance with the equestrian arts. A Morgan, he stands 15 hands, three inches (a hand equals four inches; the measuring point is where the neck meets the body). The first time Red and I rode this trail, I felt like I was driving an SUV after years behind the wheel of my trusty Corolla. The horizon met my eyes at a new angle. The branches dipped lower. And the swelling plums, which until then remained out of the question, were suddenly accessible.

Once they began to turn red, I started itching to get my hands on them. It crossed my mind that picking fruit on public land was not only challenging, but probably against the law. When Red came into my life, the challenge part melted away. And now here they are in my hot sticky palm, near the end of a long July ride. I bite into one and its sweet/tangy flavors melt into my dried-out mouth. Heaven! I toss the pit aside and quickly finish the others.

Once home from the barn, I decide that, in honor of Red, it’s time to make some wild plum chutney. My neighbors’ trees are not really wild, but there is no poison oak growing around them either. And, with proper permission, I can avoid violating any laws. In fact, the neighbors offer their blessings, thrilled that fewer fruit will fall on the ground and be smashed. I am thrilled that I manage not to fall off the ladder. Red’s back was so much more secure.

After a steamy day in the kitchen, I bring a neatly-labeled jar to each of my plum-suppliers. But Red, alas, does not like chutney. To say a proper thank-you, I haul a bundle of carrots up to the barn and try to explain it all to him. Red could care less, but he loves the carrots. I decide that’s good enough for me.

For the recipe for Red’s Not Truly Trailside Not Exactly Wild Plum Chutney, click here.