1967 in South Lake Tahoe, California, years before the giant casinos take their hold on the community; Sam Borges enters his son's name in a raffle. The prized is a pony. That winter he starts a Lake Tahoe tradition of delighting neighbors and visitors alike with his horse drawn sleigh rides. For over 40 years, people from around the world have come to dash through the snow, enjoy picturesque views and listen to stories of a land that once echoed with the thundering hooves of Pony Express Riders and the Wild West. Sam Borges, born in 1924, begins his story when his mother, Aldina, is cured of her blindness by the power of prayer. Her life's calling then becomes a resolve to share this good news with others. Compelled, Aldina packs up her brand new Model 'A' Ford with religious book, her baby daughter and 5 year old Sam. Together they travel across these United States. But this is only the start of Sam Borges' adventures. During the Great Depression Sam decides on settling in Central California as a farmer, rancher and dairyman until a life changing earthquake drives him north to the land of the grand Sierra Mountains, the cool waters of Lake Tahoe and Bonanza's own Ponderosa Pines. His story gives hope that life struggles can present opportunities to achieve greater things. His joy of life and love for nature, animals and humanity are endearing. You will love the fun facts, history and good humor. The sleigh rides are a unique attraction that is quickly disappearing from the landscape of this county. Once a common sight, sleighs are now only images seen gracing seasonal greeting cards. Take a sleigh ride in Lake Tahoe with Sam Borges and enjoy this step back in time.

A SLEIGH RIDE IN LAKE TAHOE

MEMOIRS OF SAM BORGESBy Dianna Maria de Borges

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Dianna Maria de Borges
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-9496-3

Contents

Chapter One-In the Beginning:...............................1Chapter Two-On the Road.....................................25Chapter Three-An Easier Way.................................43Chapter Four-Forever a Day..................................67Chapter Five-Finding Home...................................87Chapter Six-If You Open, They Will Come.....................97

Chapter One

In the Beginning:

A light snow had fallen overnight. It crunches and squeaks under the stress of my heavy boots. Although the air I breathe is bitter cold, the sky is blue, and the winds are light. The meadow always seems to welcome me. It is a beautiful day in the mountains - a beautiful day for sleigh rides!

I have operated my sleigh rides in this meadow since 1969. There are not many businesses that can say that. No, not many a'tal. It's been easy for me, though. These sleigh rides are more than just a job. They are more than just a business. People use business to pay their bills or make their mortgages. The sleigh rides are more like a part of me. We live together as one would live with their own body. It is a part of me, a part that I can't live without, like my heart or soul.

I can hardly believe it's been so long. The days since I've started this business have seemed to race by me and the collection of my memories I am constantly living and reliving in every detail. Maybe it is old age? I stop, stretch and let my thoughts catch up with me.

It is good here in the meadow, cradled among the trees, the mountains and the lake. Ever present is beautiful Lake Tahoe, that jewel that sparkles in the bosom of the Sierra Nevada. My mind wanders to her, the sight of her, there, in the distance. Happy are those who know her, who respect her changing moods, who cherish her and care for her. I take in her cobalt blue color and let my worries drown in her depths. When I drink her sweet, cool waters, I can taste life itself. Here, I feel a harmony creep over me, a kinship with the earth. Here, I am complete. Here there is an oneness with nature, an oneness with God and an oneness with myself.

How many times have I come to this very spot on the globe? Can I count the hours I've worked here with my horses or tally up the memories? How many sleigh rides can one person do in 40-some odd years? I expect it's an unbelievable number, and I decide to turn my attentions to the immediate challenge - this parking lot: I do need to be careful. Walk carefully! Focus on each of my steps; do not slip and fall on this ice, Sam Borges. Old bones break too easily. They will hurt for a long time. You just got a new knee, I tell myself, and you don't want to mess it up.

A truck and trailer has just arrived with the horses. They are parked on the side of the street with flashers blinking. The crew hurries to unload the horses and cross the small street. They file out one by one. They're big horses, Belgian draft horses, and each weighs more than a ton. They are magnificent blond giants, a fittin' animal for the work at hand. How many horses are in that trailer? Six? Eight? Woo-wee!

The employees have taken to calling that truck, that fine piece of heavy-duty automotive wonder the 'Storm Trooper.' I chuckle to myself. How true that name is: It is a 2005 Ford 350 4x4 Dually Super Duty four-door extended cab, with leather seats, DVD player and upgraded stereo system, a pickup with integrated trailer brakes; and a draft-size FeatherLite trailer. My Lord, it has all the bells and whistles. That modern marvel of a truck was bought and driven all the way from Michigan herself. It's a vast difference from the 1948 Army surplus truck and tractor I drove in 1965, when I first arrived here in Lake Tahoe.

* * *

I was born on January 21, 1924, in Albany, New York. St. Joseph's Hospital was just three blocks from the Hudson River. We lived in a small house in Taunton, Massachusetts. My dad worked on the Lincoln Highway: good work in those days as the road was expected to stretch all the way to the West Coast. Bits and pieces of that road are still travel across these United States and marked in places like Lake Tahoe; carefully preserved in the pages of history. As the road was being built it became longer and longer; and the workers would be further and further from home. My father, Bernardo Borges, would take the train home to see us - my mother, Aldina; my grandmother Geralda; my aunt Delphina, whom we called Aunt Della, and me.

We lived at my grandmother's house on 80 Plain St. in Taunton, a home forever imprinted on my mind. It was a two-story house, painted white - common in those days. A family lived upstairs and we downstairs. The house held no special decoration or extravagance that distinguished it from any other, but it was all a small boy could need: woods out back with a streams running through it, friends and adventure.

Now, when my mother was young, she went blind. Neighbors would come by to visit from time to time. One day, three special neighbors came by for a visit. This one visit would change her life forever, because with these visitors came the miracle: A new chance in life. These neighbors had come by to pray and asked if Aldina would pray with them; and so she did.

Aldina was amazed by the way they prayed. She was familiar with the rote of prayers she had learned as a child; but these people talked with their Savior in their prayers, just like I am talking to you; reverently sharing their heartfelt concerns and giving thanks; and this was new to Aldina. They came over a time or two more before they asked Aldina if she would go with them to their hall.

She liked her new friends and came to love the way they prayed; however, she wasn't so sure about changing religions. She didn't want to go to another church; she was already going a church with her family. Now, as you would imagine, she didn't go; but she did continue to pray this new way and accepted her friends' visits warmly.

About two months later, she woke up and wiped the sleep from her eyes and could see. She knew in that very moment that it was because of the special praying. The power of prayer had cured her. Her friends were Seventh-day Adventist, and she would become one too.

No one blamed Aldina for her overwhelming joy. She began going to their hall and was active, too, always learning and always praying. She attended their college, the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in New York, and graduated with a nursing degree. She wanted to help others. She wanted to share her story. She wanted to praise her Savior. When she had completed her schooling, she did just that.

She bought a bicycle with saddlebags and filled them with all kinds of books, from Bibles to health foods. She carried children's books too, like Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories, each story a parable. She worked as a nurse when she could, but her greatest joy was riding around selling books, talking to people and praying, like her friends.

By now, I had just started Walker School about a mile away from my grandmother's house. My schoolteacher's name was Miss Hood - funny how I could recall her name after all these years. It is because the name of the truck that sold ice cream in the neighborhood was also Hood - Hood's Ice Cream. I couldn't forget the name of the ice cream truck. What kid would? Likewise, I never forgot my first teacher's name.

Other children in the...