Paint the Wind

I love the way Ryan writes. The reader can paint a picture in their mind and sail on the wind, arms spread wide, smiling with the freedom of flight. This is a beautiful story of love, loss, and belonging. Don't pass this up.

I always enjoy a Pam Munoz Ryan book. Her novels make me hum with happiness and invite me to sit down for a cozy read. She also seems to write about things that I have a personal connection to. The title, Paint the Wind, evokes the beloved, King of the Wind by Marguerite Henry and the book will have great appeal for those same horse loving book readers. The story opens as the mare, Artemisia, is about to give birth. Artemisia is worried about the baby as her last foal was stillborn. The scene shifts to Pasadena, California where Maya lives with her stern and autocratic grandmother. Photos of her father abound throughout the house but all images and mentions of her mother are forbidden. Maya has only the haziest of memories of her early childhood but she treasures a box of plastic horses that belonged to her mother. The grandmother's sudden death brings many things to light, including the news that Maya was supposed to have been spending her summers with her mother's family in Wyoming all these past years. Emotionally withdrawn after her years with her grandmother, Maya has a hard time responding to the warmth and love of her grandfather, great-aunt and great-uncle when she arrives in Wyoming to live with them. Her keen interest in horses helps her find her place and even tolerate the hostility from her cousin, Payton. He is used to being the only kid at the family camp along the Sweetwater River during the summer. With the help of her Aunt Vi she begins to learn about her mother and family. Maya's story is inter-cut with scenes of Artemisia, her colt and the rest of the herd. Maya and Aunt Vi see the herd captured in a "gathering" of wild mustangs but the mare and her colt evade the round-up. Without the protection of a stallion, the horses are vulnerable to attack from predators so Maya spends long hours in the saddle looking for them. When a disaster traps Maya in a remote area and she must win Artemisia's trust in order to survive and get home. PMR tells the story in four parts, "Walk," "Jog," "Lope," and "Gallop" which match Maya's emotional growth and happiness. Parts of the storyline felt a little forced. I wondered why Maya's grandfather had never challenged the custody arrangements for his granddaughter. This is a book for horse lovers. Fans of Terri Farley's books will be familiar with the controversial "gathering" of wild horses. There is a glossary and a list of websites, media, and books for readers who want to know more about the subject. Paint the Wind celebrates swimming in a river, days of horseback riding, camp chores and caring for the horses -- a summer vacation that any horse loving kid would give their iPod and Playstation III to enjoy.

"She dropped her head and licked the baby's damp and clotted fur, her tongue persuading him to breathe. At last, he twitched and stirred. The small body roused. The foal, who would become known as Klee, rolled onto his chest, lifted his heavy, wobbly head, and perked his ears. Minutes later, he stood but braced his front legs too far apart. He collapsed on the ground, limbs splayed like bird wings. Artemisia waited until he rose again, stiff-legged and tottering. She moved closer, extending her back legs and positioning herself so that Klee could suckle. He tried to nurse on the hock of one leg but Artemisia shifted away from his awkward attempt until he found a teat." I'll never forget my surprise when, walking home from Commack High School North one afternoon, I encountered a horse standing in the small grassy backyard of our family's suburban Long Island home, craning its head over the fence and surveying my arrival. It turned out to be but the latest highlight in my sister's love affair with Equus caballus. It had been, perhaps, a half-dozen years earlier and maybe a dozen paces from where the young mare was standing that afternoon, that I had overheard a conversation in which my little sister was earnestly describing for the young girl next door all of the animals she would be accumulating someday after she'd purchased her horse and her farm. "As Artemisia nestled close to her baby, she felt content and in no hurry to get back to the small band of horses. She welcomed this time, free from Sargent's constant scrutiny and her duties as lead mare. With Mary, she had stayed away for a week, enjoying the solitude with her new foal, until they were discovered by Sargent and herded back to his harem." Other than some photos of our mother riding horses at a dude ranch in the Catskills in the days before she met our father, we had scarce few encounters with horses when we were young children. And it was I who was known in the family and beyond as the young book-a-day reader. But I unquestionably trace my sister's current living situation -- a farm and horses down in Costa Rica -- all the way back to her reading and re-reading of Marguerite Henry's MISTY OF CHINCOTEAGUE when she was a little girl. And there is also no doubt in my mind that, decades from now, some guy will be tracing his little sister's lifelong love affair with horses back to her reading and re-reading the haunting, new, girl-and-a-horse tale, PAINT THE WIND by Pam Munoz Ryan. " 'Maya, do you know anything about your mother's family?' "Maya searched her memory for the details Grandmother had told her and slowly nodded. 'My other grandmother died when my mother was really little. I have a grandfather and he lives with his brother and sister...but they're actually hillbillies with no education and they live like pigs in an uncivilized land. Oh, and they don't appreciate culture and are extremely crass and unsavory.' " Eleven year-old Maya lost her parents in an accident

Pam Munoz Ryan is a wonderful writer. Her books are always beautifully constructed, carefully thought out and the language is rich and powerful. This book is no exception. Read it and you're in for a treat as sweet as a handful of molasses grain.