Silly People Pay To Traipse Through Mud; I Get That Pleasure For Free

Yeah, I never did get that whole "yay, let me pay you so I can roll in the mud and ice and get really dirty AND we can call it a race!!!" thing.

It's hard to wax poetic between mud-wrestling my way up the hill in the dark to sweep-search a paddock for equines and holding work meetings at night (horrors - I do NOT get paid enough for that).  I am DETERMINED that both Encore and I will scrape every last ounce of time out for PT in order to arrive in spring ready to run.  Logically, I know that we have to work hard now and put in the time so we can have fun later, but it takes every ounce of stubborn willpower I have not to collapse home on the couch after work.  It would be much appreciated, atmosphere, if you would at least stop peeing on us.

Of the three of us, Solo is doing the best of all -- his weight is fantastic, his feet are, well, nevermind, they are as good as they can be, and he is so much more settled and content now that Amber has given him a job to do.  I have been trying to find time to ride him during the week, as he stares quite pointedly at me over the gate, but I have so far been thwarted.

This weekend will bring us two sunny, 74-degree days (just for the record, CLIMATE CHANGE I HATE YOU, and I know this is very bad in the long run....but I am going to enjoy my two January days of not-rain).  Sunday will find us hopefully cross-training with our BFF and her endurance racing cohorts.  Except they go around the jumps.  We...might not, heh heh heh.

I  know I'm not the only one picking mud out of my hair after a longeing session -- are you managing to squeak in a ride or two in the dark?

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Courtney King-Dye Reflects On Two Years Post-Trauma

When people scoff at my narrow-eyed helmet criticism, when they say, we're just walking, we're just trail riding, we're just working on the flat, he's a pro...I still choke.  But don't take my word for it.  Take to heart the grave words of Courtney King-Dye, an Olympic competitor, after two years of hard work following her head injury when her horse tripped in 2010.


Courtney from Riders4Helmets on Vimeo.

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The Horse That Inspired A Nation...And Me

He was literally standing on the slat-sided kill trailer at New Holland when a young Dutch emigrant, too late for the auction itself, looked through the bars and decided he couldn't let the skinny plow horse with scars on his chest and torn-up feet end up with a bolt in the head.

Thus began the improbable story of Snowman and Harry de Leyer.  And if you don't read it, you are missing a magical piece of history about two characters who literally had nothing, yet, without any benefactors and sponsors or grants, became everything.

Harry was the son of a successful brewer in Holland and rode his own mare, carrying the flag for queen and country in international competition as a teenager.  But then the 1940's happened -- the Nazis occupied Holland, Harry's father joined the resistance and had to go into hiding lest he be sent to a concentration camp, and Harry had to forget about riding and focus on surviving the horrific conditions of occupation.

Following liberation, Harry married and emigrated to the US, where he did a stint as a sharecropper in High Point, NC (only about an hour from where I live now!) and ended up teaching riding at strict girl's school on Long Island.  He was proudly able to purchase his own 1.5 acre farm and prided himself on finally becoming his own man.  During the school year, he taught riding to the girls, giving them the one place they could truly be free and be themselves, on the backs of the horses, and during the summer, he showed the school's horses to try and earn money to support his growing family.

Aside from being the story of a gentle grey plowhorse who took children swimming in the morning and jumped six-foot open jumper championship in the afternoons alongside Frank Chapot and Bill Steinkraus, The Eighty-Dollar Champion:  Snowman, the Horse that Inspired a Nation, is the story about making dreams out of difficult situations, about making your goals happen, and about taking chances and following your heart.

Sinjon and GM at the 1960 Rome Olympics

Harry was (IS!) a kind man and a soft rider; he turned many of the shiny Thoroughbreds owned by his students parents' into jumper champions.  Most amusing is his memory of selling one such horse, a hot but talented young jumper named Sinjon whom Harry had brought up through the ranks, to the USET, where Sinjon was paired with a young, upstart kid named George Morris.  I don't think much ever became of them, though...

He even sold Snowman once, as a child's gentle mount.  And the horse jumped miles of pasture fences to come home for several months, even after a truck tire was tied to his neck, before Harry gave in and bought him back, even though he never thought the horse would be anything more than a good school mount.  After all, he stumbled hopelessly over crossrails and ground poles and never went faster than an easy lope.  He took a chance one day though, feeling unmotivated to get off and lower jumps set at four feet, and rode towards a single vertical.  The plow horse transformed into a pegasus, having finally been set at something worth his effort. 

Harry and Snowman

They never looked back.  Summers were their chance to shine.  The placid plow horse would trot quietly into the show ring on a loose rein and proceed to gallop around six foot jump-offs while crowds gasped in amazement.  Snowman, destined for a dinner plate, instead won a hefty amount of his own plates, cups, and ribbons.  Once fall came, it was a back to school and to gently carrying the frightened beginners over their first crossrails.

It never mattered that horse shows were the realm of the Vanderbilts and the Roosevelts, the upper crust of society whose ranks were NOT permeable to commoners.  In the 1950s, sport was considered to be firmly the territory of the monied amateur, who didn't have to work and could devote all his time to play and training.  It was even thought to be in bad taste to have a cash prize and if there was, you certainly didn't accept it!  The professional trainer and instructor was looked down upon as a poor underling who had to do the dirty work to earn a living and for quite some time, was not even permitted to ride in shows at all.  Fortunately for Harry, a recent rule change permitted him to do the one thing he always wanted:  to ride his OWN horse over those white poles.

Oh, how times change and how hilarious the paradigm shifts can be.  

I haven't finished the book yet, but I have already been inspired by the incredible amount of hard work, dedication, and thoughtful fairness that Harry brought to everything he did.  With no money, little time to call his own, and a horse who came with nothing more than wise brown eyes, cut-up knees and harness scars, Harry brought his dreams to life.

So why can't we?

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In Which I Once Again Prove That I Am Daft

I've been working with Amber and Solo, teaching her how to dig out his trot from beneath the turtle shuffle veneer.  In the process, I have her with very little contact, just riding his butt forward.  And we all know that if you ride the hind end forward correctly, the back and withers lift, the neck becomes soft and round, and the horse reaches into the bit, right?  Which is exactly what I watched my horse do today.

Aww, I miss Muscle Solo

Which is exactly what I've been trying to get Encore to do.  I even said it out loud to Amber:  "Well, damn, looks like I can teach it, but I can't ride it..."  I spoke half in jest, but....

When we were finished, I got on Encore.  Thoughtfully.  I've watched David ride him.  I've watched Foy ride him (see Micklem review post below).  What did they have in common?  Both rode from the seat and leg with a longish, very soft rein.

I know it in my head.  I know it in my body.  I got another rider to do it on my own horse while I was on the ground.  I even get it with Encore, but can't keep it consistent.  But it didn't all mesh together and I wasn't riding it.

Idiot!

I was riding Encore into contact, but I began to wonder if it was too heavy.  Was I using too much rein?  I often feel as if I am in his face more than I would like.  I am not heavy-handed and I have become consistent and following with my hand, but I still feel like I am doing to much in the bridle.  David had said, both after riding him and watching him in our lessons, "The key to this horse is going to be a very light hand."

So even though our footing resembled a cranberry bog after yesterday's rain, I gathered up my reins and asked for a trot.  I rode almost entirely off my lower body, my contact barely there, just at the level of okay, I can lightly feel you but I shall remain passive and just give you the space where you should be.

Yes, yes, we know how this ends -- SURPRISE!  It clicked into place, even in the ten minutes of squishing around that we squeezed in.  When you ride correctly and thoughtfully, you get correct results.  It is slower in the beginning than pushing them into the shape that you want, but -- I know, ever more surprise *insert dry sarcasm here* -- you lose the tension in the horse's body.

Oh, we are SO getting that left lead back!

It's hardly epiphany -- if you've ridden for any length of time, you hear "ride back to front, don't worry about the head, ride the hind legs and the front will take care of itself."  Basic equestrian gospel.  Yet so counter-intuitive to let go and trust the process.  To REALLY let go and do it right.  We think we are doing it (or at least, I thought so) but then something causes me to make a tiny shift in my approach and I realize what I WASN'T doing.

It seems too obvious to even write about.  But one of the biggest challenges of being the (financially challenged) adult amateur who cannot do consistent lessons is that your training is a slow process of trial-and-error.  That starts over when you have an entirely different type of horse.  Encore is able to physically give so much more than Solo could, that to get more, I need to do less.   

From the Master of the Obvious, you're welcome.

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What, Is It A Holiday Again Or Something?

Yeah, I don't really "do" holidays.  I don't know, maybe it's the pressure, the expectations, the completely illogical rules of them; most likely, d, all of the above.

But when I have not one, but two amazing horses in my life, every day is Christmas morning.  Every day, I see their faces and even after seven years, there's a part of me that can't quite believe it's real.

So despite the bottomless, money-eating pit, despite the stress, despair, anxiety, obsession, psychosis, sleep-deprivation, and all the rest, each day is still a gift because of them.

My day today was riding Encore on a sunny, blue, t-shirt kind of day and discovering that he can once again perform a left lead canter without feeling like a washing machine on spin.  I laughed a bit, thinking people who didn't know better might feel some kind of pity, seeing me at a farm, absolutely alone, accompanied only by the singsong of donkeys and geese.  When in reality, that was just about the best gift I could have been given.  A warm, companionable quiet in the place I love most.  And the best part is, I get to open it over and over and over and over....

I hope each of you had a piece of joy in your day and the joy of peace with a wonderful horse.

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