As I was heading from one photo opp to another on the Wednesday of Grandparents Days, gymkhana field to lacrosse, I left a scene I’ve watched too many times to count: adoring, amazed grandparents in the stands, eagle-eyed for their special one out there, riders running races or cheering each other on (often across enemy lines). This year, the mud made by dark-of night rains slowed things down a bit. That wasn’t a bad thing, really: fewer hearts in throats.

I’d found myself drawn this particular day less to the races themselves than to the fringe elements–kids having thumb-wars as they waited their turn to run, or talking and laughing on the sidelines, hollering for Orange, Blue, or Green, taking a slow solo lope around the fields. Watching it reminded me how much I admire these kids–most of whom hardly knew which end to feed when they arrived here a few short months ago. Such courage and fortitude! And how much I respect my colleagues who work with them through those months, through sun and dust, in arenas and on trails, with a mix of patience, firmness, understanding, occasionally tough love.

The Horse Program, from its serendipitous 19th-century beginnings, is still a rock-solid piece of what Thacher is. The races may get faster, the riders grow older and graduate, horses cycle in and out–but the School’s faith in all the lessons of the horse stays strong.

But now, my camera and I had to get on to the next thing. As I walked away from the field, I could hear the captains of the present underdogs leading their mid-afternoon rallying song, a cheer I sang (different team, 2600 miles away from this slice of heaven) in my own salad days:

“We are the Blue Team,
mighty, mighty Blue Team
Everywhere we go-oh
people want to know-oh,
who we ah-are,
so, we tell them,

We are the Blue Team. . . ”

Echoes from the past informing the present, promising the future.