The icy rain hit both (yes, I had on two) layers of hoods as the 20 mph wind cut around my legs. Damn. It's finally winter. About on schedule -- January and early February are usually when we see our coldest temps, but even still, 2012 was the warmest year yet, so I make no predictions.
As I slogged through an ankle-deep slurry of mud, manure, and horse pee, I confess I thought bad thoughts about people who rant online about how no one is a horseman anymore, no one puts in the real work, no one is a thoughtful rider these days. I was the only person in sight as I tucked my horses into their insulated blankets and made sure they had a clean, dry shed floor to stand on as a break for their feet from the mud (and last summer I had wondered if matting the shed was worth the work, ha!). I wasn't there to ride or longe or anything else -- my 20-mile commute was purely to prepare my horses for the winter storm blowing through that night.
Tomorrow, I will haul at least one to an indoor arena (Solo is barefoot AND a giant wuss and finds the occasional rock in our arena to be a gross insult) due to two weeks of rain (Encore is the tough brother, he can work at home with no complaints) and Sunday, Encore will be doing some road and speed work while we test out a new bit.
I know I'm not the only one putting in my time in the dark. I know there are other people who lay awake at night thinking about their current feeding regime and conjuring up one thing to improve in the next ride and waiting impatiently for the next time weather and schedules and diesel money align so they can trot 13 miles through the woods and fields, working now because it would be unfair to expect a spring season otherwise.
We are here, in the freezing rain, under the stars (and sometimes clouds), staying on our toes and keeping the horses' routines creative and varied after we are done scraping off the mud. After the ride, we don't come back to a fancy stall or a Florida hammock (well, I sure as heck don't anyway), we just shake off our jackets and follow the headlights home so we can do it all over again tomorrow.
I write this to you, Event World At Large, so that we are not dismissed in favour of a false nostalgic narrative. Every day, I work so hard to not only do my best for my horses, but to learn and observe and try new things that will make us a better team. Our kind are not unicorns in that we are neither singular nor imaginary; but our greatest quality is that you don't have to believe in us -- we will journey on regardless.
As I slogged through an ankle-deep slurry of mud, manure, and horse pee, I confess I thought bad thoughts about people who rant online about how no one is a horseman anymore, no one puts in the real work, no one is a thoughtful rider these days. I was the only person in sight as I tucked my horses into their insulated blankets and made sure they had a clean, dry shed floor to stand on as a break for their feet from the mud (and last summer I had wondered if matting the shed was worth the work, ha!). I wasn't there to ride or longe or anything else -- my 20-mile commute was purely to prepare my horses for the winter storm blowing through that night.
Tomorrow, I will haul at least one to an indoor arena (Solo is barefoot AND a giant wuss and finds the occasional rock in our arena to be a gross insult) due to two weeks of rain (Encore is the tough brother, he can work at home with no complaints) and Sunday, Encore will be doing some road and speed work while we test out a new bit.
I know I'm not the only one putting in my time in the dark. I know there are other people who lay awake at night thinking about their current feeding regime and conjuring up one thing to improve in the next ride and waiting impatiently for the next time weather and schedules and diesel money align so they can trot 13 miles through the woods and fields, working now because it would be unfair to expect a spring season otherwise.
We are here, in the freezing rain, under the stars (and sometimes clouds), staying on our toes and keeping the horses' routines creative and varied after we are done scraping off the mud. After the ride, we don't come back to a fancy stall or a Florida hammock (well, I sure as heck don't anyway), we just shake off our jackets and follow the headlights home so we can do it all over again tomorrow.
I write this to you, Event World At Large, so that we are not dismissed in favour of a false nostalgic narrative. Every day, I work so hard to not only do my best for my horses, but to learn and observe and try new things that will make us a better team. Our kind are not unicorns in that we are neither singular nor imaginary; but our greatest quality is that you don't have to believe in us -- we will journey on regardless.