(Diamond Solitaire had her first baby this weekend, a filly by Jack Christopher)

It’s been awhile since I have had a foal on the ground. Got to go all the way back to Diamond Solitaire, and that was 8 years ago when she embarked on her remarkable, amazing, miracle journey from survival to Stakes winner.

And, I can tell you so that I have missed the sights and sounds.

Missed them so much.

Missed the little squeals.

Missed the first wobbly steps.

Missed the initial huddle of mom and baby.

Missed the first taste of mother’s milk, which delivers all of the babies internal medicines with the first mouthful of colostrum.

Missed the first time to feel a halter.

Missed the first time to be lead to the field.

Missed the first encounter with friends and neighbors.

Missed the first roll in the hay.

Missed the first time to feel the breeze and run with the wind, bucking and squealing as if life had no boundaries.

Missed the first of many firsts.

Right now, once again, I can just stand and watch.

The sights. The sounds. The fun. The glory.

The living art unwound and then wind back up again.

I can just stand and watch. For hours.

It is the magic of life. It is the magic of a Thoroughbred, who can be born one minute — stumbling and weaving and fighting the cobwebs of slumber.

And, then, somehow, magically, standing and nursing in a matter of a few more?

Are you kidding me.

How on Earth?

I am truly convinced God had a reason when he helped convince mankind that baby horses should be born in the Spring of the year, for the most part. It is, like everything else God has done for us and this great place we get to call home. It is perfect.

The perfect time of year to start a horse on a new beginning of such immense hope, speculation and so full of dreams.

It is when things — nearly all of nature’s grand things — either spring to life for the first time; or spring back to life for the hundredth time; and all things in-between.

The grass starts popping up green again.

The tress start popping out buds again.

The wind starts warming the souls again.

The horses start revving engines again.

Winter coats are stored away.

Baby faces are here to stay.

And, it is only natural, I would think, that it is also when the momma horses start delivering baby horses again.

The green, green grass of home fields are now dotted with moms and babies, both running to and fro and having a grand time of being alive on some of the greenest pastures of lush grasses known to mankind in the midst of our old and new Kentucky homes.

Babies run off to be with other babies, only to run back to mom for the safety of care and a meal of both nurture and protection.

Moms drop their heads to churn some chew, only to pop their heads up to spot the youngster and make sure that nothing is the matter.

The sun splashes on both, revealing life happening and growing right in front of your eyes.

It was Alexander Pope who first wrote that “Hope Springs eternal,” in his poem “An Essay of Man” way back in the year of 1734.

But many of us forget the rest of that statement. In its’ entirety it reads:

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast.”

The mind may be fit enough to create and carry the dreams of tomorrow.

The feet and legs may still be strong enough to log the miles back and forth from field to field and carry us back.

The hands and arms may still be healthy enough to lift the gate; and stroke the head of a weary and wary mom and suspicious baby.

But it is only the heart in the human breast that is big enough to support the hopes that you have for this newest sprig of spring life.

You look into those baby eyes and all you see is a life full of potential; full of spry energy; full of awkward steps and stumbling strides that you know without a doubt will someday smooth out like a boat first learning to plane on a smooth bed of water and be able to run quicker, faster, farther, stronger than any other little baby of her age.

You look at those shaky, little legs and all you see is windmill full speed that will carry this baby — your baby — faster, quicker, farther, stronger than any other little baby of her age.

You look at those little hooves and you see crystal slippers that fit just right and you see your own little Cinderella someday, one day, winning the Kentucky Derby or the Kentucky Oaks or the best races of the land.

You look and all you can see is hope running on four legs that seem to have a mind of their own.

I have missed those feelings for a few years now. Missed them more than I even knew.

But when I got a text message and the first photos from my great friend and horse partner, Lori Hebel-Osborne, on Sunday morning, I knew how much I had missed those feelings.

The news had arrived. Diamond Solitaire — our own little girl of several years ago, who had to overcome the loss of her mother and a broken leg when she was just a week old to go on to become a two-time Stakes winner and earner of over $400,000 in purses — had become a mom.

The baby had arrived. The daughter of the manly man Jack Christopher, a powerful and fast racehorse who nows stands as a stallion at Ashford Coolmore Stud in Versailles, KY.

The hopes had arrived, just like the smell of a fresh cut of lawn.

It was as if the bedroom window was wide open. It was as if the warm breeze moved the curtains and the stale winter air around and out. It was as if there was a fresh glass of cold orange juice was sitting on the bedside table. It was as if March flowers were sprouting on the window sill, and a red robin stopped just to sing me a song.

It was as if Spring had sprung. Right then. Right there.

Hope is a powerful emotion. It can float a lot of bad days right down the river. It can wash the mind clean of nagging negative thoughts. It can cleanse the soul and it can make a lot of “wrongs” seem so unimportant and trivial, and boost a lot of “rights” right to the front of the mind line.

Herb Stevens, an old, hard boot trainer from Central Kentucky, used to hang out in the Keeneland kitchen every morning after an early day of training horses. He would sip coffee. He would listen to stories of the day. He seldom talked much. But when he did? People listened.

One such morn, he leaned into his java and gave us “boys” at the time, some sage advice.

“You know, boys, someone asked me the other day how long I would continue to train horses,” Herb said, before pausing for a drink and the drama effect. “I said, ‘Oh, I don’t know. As long as the horses will have me, I guess.’ ”

We laughed a little, but Herb wasn’t done with his statement. Or his “Thought of the Day.” The best was yet to come.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” he continued. “An old horsemen will never die if he thinks he has a really good young horse.”

Herb’s voice tailed off. He left you to your own devices to interpret the message. But to me it was loud and clear.

You either get a good young horse, or believe like hell that you have one.

I choose to believe we have one.

After all…

Hope does spring eternal in the human breast.

And, that is the reason I own a racehorse.

Or four.

And, now five.