's Gift

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http://www.dfw.com/mld/dfw/16148521.htm

Posted on Sun, Dec. 03, 2006

KELLY'S

GIFT

As

Christmas approaches, a couple celebrates days filled with purpose and

poinsettias. It's the life their daughter, who was born with Down syndrome, has

given them.

By

MARY ROGERS

STAR-TELEGRAM

STAFF

STAR-TELEGRAM/JILL JOHNSON

Judy and Jerry Horton wanted their daughter to live in a

community that would recognize her gentle spirit, give her work to do and friends

who would love her.

More

photos

ELGIN

-- She was pushing and panting, willing the baby into the world, but in some

shadowed chamber of her heart, she already knew that this child, her last,

would be different.

She

hadn't told her husband of this dark premonition, but now, with destiny about

to catch them, she knew he would be devastated.

She

reached for his hand. " Promise me, " she said between gasps. " If

there's anything wrong with this baby ... promise me you'll be here. Promise me

you'll stay. "

Yes, yes,

of course he'd stay. Where would he go? They'd been married more than a decade,

hadn't they? He loved her three girls as if they were his own, didn't he? He

was invested completely, heart and soul. She could count on him.

She just

had the jitters, didn't she? They'd both be back to their graduate studies and

finish those doctorates soon enough.

But when

the baby was born, all purple and slow-moving, the medical staff in the Austin birthing room grew

quiet. They cast their eyes down and did not look directly at Jerry or Judy

Horton. Someone handed her the baby.

Judy

cradled the child in her arms. She looked into the little face and didn't need

a doctor to tell her that this baby, with its flat features and upward-slanting

eyes, had Down syndrome.

At 42,

with the youngest of her three children already 16, Judy had known this

unexpected pregnancy was risky. But she had refused to take any test that might

detect abnormalities. It wouldn't have mattered if there were any, she had said.

She would not consider abortion.

But now,

holding the child, guessing at how her family's life would change, she felt

like a dreamer trapped in some misty netherworld of disappointment and fear.

Mother

and father studied this new resident of Earth with awe and dread. How could

they raise a child who, by the world's standards, would never measure up? What

were they to do with their own hopes for this little girl?

Outside,

in the parking lot, Jerry prayed: " Deliver me from this baby. "

But

destiny cannot be denied, and already the Hortons were rushing headlong into a

future they could not even imagine: a life filled with purpose, joy and

thousands of Christmas flowers.

All they

had to do was embrace it. But sometimes fate unwinds itself slowly, stretching

like a cat in the sun, one deliberate movement at a time, until at last it lies

full length and relaxed in the day's warmth.

Blessing in a lab coat

There

were hard stretches ahead, but what the Hortons needed more than anything that

bright afternoon in 1984 was encouragement. They got it from a young doctor who

breezed into Judy's hospital room cradling newborn in one arm. The doctor

was smiling.

" We're

so lucky here, " she announced. " Her heart is great. I feel sure her

digestive system is fine. She's healthy. She's looking around. You're going to

have a great time. "

Judy

stared at the young woman.

" I

wouldn't have taken the tests, either, " the doctor confided. " Can you

imagine saying you have to meet all these standards before you can come into

this world? "

Judy's

heart fluttered, and, through a curtain of tears, she saw a blessing in a lab

coat.

" Don't

worry, " the doctor said. " I know everything to do. Right now, all you

have to do is change her diapers and love her. "

And so

began the Hortons' long journey to a new life.

Making room for baby

Jerry

called the family together. " Now we're going to find out what we're made

of, " he said, not completely understanding that he was the one about to

plumb his resolve, inventiveness and devotion.

He didn't

know then that life would be so full of surprises.

" We

got her home, and suddenly we loved this child fearsomely, " he said.

" It's so overwhelming an emotion. You would give up anything, do anything

for her. "

Sitting

in a mobile home that is now an office, Jerry recalled the man he was in 1984.

" My

focus was on my teaching, my work, " he said, explaining that he

had hoped to be president of a community college. " I was totally absorbed

in myself -- and then this little

baby was there. I didn't want it, but I said to myself, 'I've got to think of

her. What can I do with my life that will help her?' "

The

Hortons read all they could about Down syndrome. They went to meetings. They

networked with parents and professionals.

When they

came home, they played with their little baby. Jerry hoisted her onto his

shoulders, blew raspberries on her fat, little belly and rocked her to sleep.

Judy found programs to help with the baby's development. Days grew short,

Christmas came and went. The New Year grew old, and little mastered all

the important lessons of life: how to hug, kiss, roll over, crawl, wave, clap,

love.

Judy and

Jerry learned, too. They smiled and laughed, but at night, when darkness

enfolded them and the wind whispered to the moon, the Hortons worried about the

day when their vulnerable little daughter would have to venture out into the

world.

They

thought about the time when they could no longer walk beside her, when they

could not shield her from those who might be cruel to one so different.

Where,

they wondered, was the community of people who would understand her, cherish

her sense of humor and her hopeful, gentle spirit? Where could she find

meaningful work? Where could she make friends? Where would she be welcome?

was

just a toddler when the Hortons decided to build that community themselves.

The vision

Then, in

1990, they found a 215-acre hardscrabble spread east of Austin,

near Elgin. It

had an old barn and a couple of dilapidated outbuildings, but Jerry envisioned

a complex with a learning center, cottages, a chapel, a swimming pavilion and a

row of greenhouses where residents could do real jobs.

It was

only a matter of time before an entire community of people like would

live there, he told himself.

The

Hortons took out a $300,000 mortgage and, in 1991, when was 7, they moved

into a mobile home that they installed on the place. They sold their Austin home, quit their

jobs and cashed in their retirement accounts. Judy had been working at Austin Community

College and at the Texas State Teachers

Association; Jerry had been with the University of Texas Student Health Center.

" We

burned our ships behind us, " Judy said. " It was the smartest thing we

did. There was nothing left, and that made it easier to go forward than to go

back. "

Jerry

believed that no foundation would consider a proposal for funding until the

land was free and clear, so the Hortons scrimped and saved and started some

summer camp programs. In a few years, they paid off the mortgage. Then Jerry

began sending grant proposals to foundations. The money trickled in. The

Hortons set up more camps and worked to improve the grounds.

" We'd

get convicts on Saturday mornings ... first-time offenders who had to do so

many hours of community service. I'd go get them and bring them out here, and

we'd chop mesquite and whatever, " he said.

Slowly,

the ranch began to take shape. Volunteers found their way to its gate, and the

Hortons found work for them to do.

" We

wanted to start some cottage industries, small businesses to provide genuine

work for our residents and supply a revenue stream. Put me in a greenhouse, and

I'm in heaven, " Jerry said.

So they

built a small greenhouse, and one Saturday morning, Jerry made a series of

small signs and stuck them in the ground. " Future site of greenhouse

number 2, number 3, number 4 ... "

One day,

a woman from one of the foundations showed up for a tour. " Oh, you plan to

build more greenhouses, " she said, nodding toward the row of signs.

" Well,

what you see here is the hope for the future, " Jerry said.

Dreams come true

It didn't

take long for that hope to become a reality. The woman's brother was getting

out of the nursery business. He had already given his greenhouses to two other

nonprofit organizations, but when those organizations couldn't move them, he

called Jerry.

Yes, of

course, he wanted the six greenhouses. He needed two weeks to figure out how to

transport them from Abilene to Elgin, but he'd do it. Fret not.

A couple

of days later, the man called back. " Look, I need to move these

greenhouses now, so don't worry about coming to get them. I'm sending them to

you, " he said.

Suddenly,

Down Home Ranch needed a cash crop, and the Hortons began trying to find one. A

friend suggested poinsettias might be the ticket.

" We

didn't know anything about poinsettias, " Jerry said. " But I knew a

small grower, and he said he'd teach us. The first year, we grew a couple of

thousand plants. That was 1999. Last year, the hot weather really hurt us. We

lost a lot of the plants, but this year ... we've got 12,000 poinsettias to

deliver. "

Today,

Down Home Ranch has 10 residents, all adults, who work and live with trained

staffers. The Hortons want it to be home to at least 30 people with special

needs. Recently, a learning center with a large teaching kitchen, computer lab,

break room and activity area were opened, along with three new cottages and a

permanent private home for the Hortons.

The

swimming pool and fitness pavilion are finished. One lodge for weekend and

summer campers is completed, and the foundation for another has been poured.

" We're

going to grow, but from now on, we're going to grow slowly, " Jerry said as

he poured a second cup of coffee.

Outside,

residents scrambled into two vans for their weekly trip to the Elgin Library.

Each morning, residents work and train in the garden center, take care of the

horses and other livestock, or clean the cabins. They rotate between the duties

and are paid for their efforts.

In the

afternoons, they take cooking classes in the bright, new teaching kitchen,

preparing casseroles that will be served in their cottages that night. They

have exercise classes every day, learn American sign language on Mondays, go

bowling on Wednesdays, attend chorus on Thursdays and go shopping at Wal-Mart every

Friday.

They ride

adult tricycles around the grounds and take golf-cart driving lessons. They

consider themselves independent adults, and their pride in their

accomplishments shines through the darkest disappointments.

" I

love my family, but I'd rather live on my own. I have friendships, " said

Mark Struby, a 23-year-old from Nebraska.

That is

the hope of every parent, and the reason the Hortons built Down Home Ranch in

the first place. , 22, moved to one of the girls cottages in the fall.

" It

was the first time she had lived away from us, " said Judy. " It was a

big step. Sometimes, there were tears from both of us. "

She

smiled, remembering all the tears she has cried through the years, tears that

cleared her vision and made her see more clearly the long road that she and

Jerry have traveled together and the blessings that have bloomed along the way.

" Sometimes,

I'm shocked and amazed, " Jerry said. " I look around and I say, 'How

did this happen?' It's like having your dreams come true in a way you never

imagined. "

IN THE

KNOW

About the

ranch

Residents

are charged on a sliding scale. For more information about Down Home Ranch, its

volunteer, residency or camping programs or to make a donation to the 501©(3)

nonprofit organization, call 512-856-0128

Down Home

Ranch's poinsettia crop is sold for this year. Call the number above to order

for next year.

About

poinsettias

Poinsettias,

which grow wild in Mexico,

have long been a symbol of the holiday season. For centuries, the Mexican

people told the story of a young girl and her brother, who had no gift to

present to the Christ child. As they went to church on Christmas Eve, they

picked weeds growing beside the road and prayed that the humble gift would be

acceptable. As they approached the altar, the weeds bloomed into bright red,

star-shaped flowers. The plants were called

de la Noche Buena, Flowers of the Holy Night. The brilliant plants,

which bloom during winter's short days, were brought to the United States in 1825 by amateur botanist

Poinsett, the first U.S.

ambassador to Mexico.

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