Saratoga Dreamin'

by Natalie Keller Reinert

I'm writing tonight about summer-time.

It's seventeen degrees in Brooklyn this evening and summer-time couldn't seem much further away. I've been outside nearly all day, and I'm warm for the first time in thirteen hours -- because I just got out of a scalding hot shower. I've turned up the radiators and I've stolen my husband's flannel PJ pants (he never wears them anyway) because I want to write about summer and I can't do that without bursting into tears unless I'm warm.

Oh summer. I spent all my time thinking about you. I've actually been writing about summer since... last summer. That's because I was working all autumn on my new novel, Other People's Horses, and it's set in the most wonderful, summery-est place of all: Saratoga Springs, New York.

One of Saratoga's perfect, cute, adorable, wonderful signs.

Does it get any better than Saratoga in the summer? Probably not, or I wouldn't be dreaming of it every day. The leafy streets, the gaudy Victorians, the red-and white awnings of the grandstand... and all those horses.

Thoroughbreds everywhere.

Heaven.

There's even a barn named Horse Heaven. Genius!

Look, I know Ocala is the Horse Capital of the World (TM) and I know that's probably disputed by Lexington. I've lived in one town; I've visited the other. But Saratoga, graceful beautiful historical Saratoga, truly wears the crown. Saratoga is like Racehorse Disneyland. It's so perfect you have to suspect the hands of masterful Imagineers must have put it together; a shimmering illusion of what the racing life should be.

I conceived Other People's Horses while sitting at an outdoor cafe in Saratoga last summer. It was scorching hot and the sun kept finding me no matter how I wriggled around the table, trying to use the umbrella for shade and failing. I pulled my straw hat down to shield my eyes and flipped open my Fasig-Tipton catalog to the blank pages reserved for notes. Instead of jotting down observations about the yearling Thoroughbreds we'd seen at the sales pavilion earlier, I jotted down the plot of a story.

The story of Alex, the star of my first novel, The Head and Not The Heart, set loose upon poor, unsuspecting Saratoga.

Jumping in head-first at the most prestigious meet in North America, Alex, an inexperienced groom, and six horses journey to Saratoga and find that pretty is as pretty does, but one can't account for how people will behave, even in the most beautiful surroundings. There's a whole new cast of characters, including Leading Trainer Ken Doll (not his actual name), and some fun new horses, each with their own quirks and personalities.

Concept cover art for Other People's Horses

In the end, some of my favorite parts of Saratoga made it into the novel. The horses crossing the road with a horsey crossing guard to block traffic. The wonderful bars and restaurants tucked into the stately brick buildings downtown. The riots of flowers and brightly colored buildings that make up the sprawling grounds of the historic racecourse. The modern glitz of the sales pavilion where baby racehorses sell for the gross national products of small European nations.


And of course, some horses that I've loved, or lost, or met along the way.

Everything comes together under one of the hottest, driest summers Saratoga has ever known. Which, I might add, is the exact opposite of tonight. It's probably snowing up there right now. There's a reason why Saratoga is only a heavenly vacation spot for racehorse groupies in the summertime. That joint is really, really far north. 

But tonight I'm dreaming of summer-time. It's almost here again, right? I can see it, I can feel it, I can taste it now. Green trees, blue skies, soaring temperatures. Cold drinks and melting ice cream. And, oh look! There's me in my straw hat, leaning on the white rail of the paddock at Saratoga.