Summer Lovin'

I arrived home yesterday after a great riding lesson caked in a sticky film of dust and sweat with a ball of frizzy hair piled on my head and I couldn't have been happier.  There's something about this summer that is just so perfect and satisfying that I never want it to end.  I would liken it to that delicious moment when you sink your teeth into a ripe peach.



Holding the plump orb of a summer peach in your hand, its soft warm skin kissed with the red, yellow and orange blaze of the sun,  you pierce the delicate fruit and release succulent nectar which drizzles to your chin in golden rivulets of syrupy splendor.  My summer has been a lot like that simple but fulfilling pleasure.

This year, I decided not to overbook the kids with activities or other obligations and, with the exception of one week of writer's camp for my daughter, we have spent hours of quality time together.  We're nearing the end of July and I've only heard the dreaded "I'm bored" three times (yes, I'm keeping track).  Instead, the three of us have been playing, enjoying the local pool and getting together with good friends.  At the end of the day, we fall into bed exhausted but looking forward to what adventure the next day has in store for us.

We've also discovered three very nice girls who like to babysit.  What a lucky strike!  Not only will the girls babysit while I go for a ride, but my husband and I have actually been able to enjoy a kid-free meal or two at some of our favorite local restaurants.

Did I mention riding?  Oh, yes, the riding.  Romero, formerly known as Wassachusetts, has been an absolute dream these past few weeks.  One of the finest moments of this summer was the successful trail ride this past Monday.   In fairness to my horse, I've only taken him on a true trail ride - walking the turn out fields after a lesson hardly counts - a handful of times and that was last summer.   With the support of three other women riders and their trail steady horses, Wassachusetts and I rode through the woods, under low branches and into a large open field without incident.  I focused on supporting him with my lower leg while letting the reins hang loose, which, trust me, took some doing on my part since it felt completely and utterly counter-intuitive.

As we made our way through the wooded trails,  I noticed just how reactive my horse was to my body language.  When I got anxious, he would start to arch his neck and jig, but as soon as I relaxed my lower back and hips, the tension in his muscles would almost automatically dissipate.  I also noticed that if I took any hold at all on his mouth or face, he would get nervous and stop focusing on having a rider on his back, but putting a loop in the reins and hugged his sides with my lower leg, made him a happy trail horse again.

When we got back to the barn, I was absolutely ecstatic.  I have no poker face - nor do I try to have one - especially when it comes to riding.  I was beaming that sunny July afternoon, gratefully indulging in one of those delightful, ripe peach moments.

Crazy Cool

It was long overdue, but Wassachusetts finally has a new (and enormously improved) horse show name. For those of you not familiar with this bizarre naming ritual, take note: Horse people are an odd sort when it comes to choosing a name for their mounts, and when it came to dubbing Wassachusetts with his own fancy-schmancy show name, well, honestly, I had an easier time naming my children.

Initially, I was happy to keep the name Wassachusetts.  The name was so strange and awkward that it gave me a little giggle every time someone was forced to say it.  At our second horse show, the announcer stumbled over the name like she had a mouthful of marbles; it seriously lightened my mood and alleviated my bad case of nerves as I entered the show ring.

What I hated was that each time Wassachusetts was muttered either at a show or in casual conversation at the barn, I found that I was the only one who got a kick out of my horse's eccentric appellation.

For months, I played the name game with friends.  We tried names with literary or personal meaning and even tried to find witty or funny names, but nothing seemed to stand out.  Finally, I gave thought to Wassachuett's personality.  There is no doubt that he is a very masculine horse with his own independent thoughts about how things should be done.  I coupled this seed of thought with my personal preference to find him a name buried in some great work of literature.  Then it occurred to me. Whose writing would best represent my manly horse?  Why, Ernest Hemingway, of course.

Ernest Hemingway

It didn't take long for a name to come bubbling up from Papa's great body of work.  I'd finally found a name worthy of my fantastic beast.  From here on out, he would be known in the show ring as Romero.  Now, if you happen to be a little disappointed in my choice, hold your horses - pun intended - before forming a final opinion.

In "The Sun Also Rises," Hemingway introduces the reader to a young bullfighter named Pedro Romero.  He is confident, dignified and unwavering in his dedication to the art of bullfighting, just as I like to think that my newly dubbed, four-legged Romero will be committed to his job as a hunter-jumper.  Oh yes, and two other attributes that my Romero and Hemingway's hero share:  They are both strong- willed and handsome.

Curious to know more about Hemingway's character, I lost myself in a trail of Googled information on the novel, bullfighting and even stumbled across a short bio and picture of a famous matador named Pedro Romero from Ronda, Spain.

Pedro Romero
1754-1839

The bullfighter's swoony, debonaire gaze captured by the painter is how I would picture Hemingway's hero and, in turn, is the human face I might put to Romero-the-Horse.

So, good-bye Wassachusetts and hello Romero.  Ole!

Hot Damn

Just as I was nearly convinced that Wassachusetts and I were destined to part ways,  things started to come back together again.  After a ride or two with my trainer's daughter, Wassachusetts started to become more confident in his approach to jumping and I started to dig deep and have more faith in my abilities as a rider - a GOOD rider - and began to trust Wassachusetts again.

On Sunday, we hopped a ride with a fellow boarder and headed to our first show since the spring.  Maybe it was the our renewed relationship with one another or maybe it was the ungodly heat and humidity, but neither Wassachusetts nor I were in the least bit nervous when we got to the show grounds.  I'm the first to admit that I am an anxious, high-strung type of person and Wassachusetts is...well, a young, sometimes feisty, off the track thoroughbred.  'Nuff said.

But this time around, you would have thought we were a seasoned horse show team.  The loud speaker, slamming Port-O-Potty doors and general horse show hubbub never phased us a bit.  My pulse stayed steady as we waited on deck to enter the ring and my heart didn't race when we approached our first fence.

After our first over fences class, the 90 plus degree weather got to me.  Bundled up in tall leather boots, a long-sleeved shirt that buttons at the neck, a show jacked and breeches made my body sweat like a 500 pound fat man in a sauna.  We sought shelter under some scraggly trees, but it was too late.  Sweat dripped from the tip of my nose and drizzled down my back.  Then, I started to get dizzy.

"Oh, great," I thought to myself.  "I'll be 'that girl who passed out at the horse show.' "  And who wants to be her?  Not me!

I took my helmet off to seek some relief and, in typical fashion, fellow boarders helped by carrying cold cups of water to those of us who were showing and holding horses or jackets in an effort to help us keep cool.  The horses were offered a bucked of water, which they gratefully slurped from to satiate their own thirst.  After what seemed like an eternity, each of us filtered back to the main ring to finish our second over fences class and then, at long last, completed the division with the under saddle class.

Wassachusetts was soft in the bridle and responsive to my aids in his over fences classes and wonderful in the hack. We left that day with a pink and a white ribbon (a very nice color combination, according to my excited 7-year old daughter, who promptly squirreled her prizes away).  Better than any prize was the feeling that Wassachusetts and I have conquered a difficult period in our training together and had a better than satisfactory day at a very hot horse show.

The Chapter That Almost Wasn't

After what seems like forever, I decided to write a new blog entry.  I haven't been remiss in my updates because of my busy schedule or for lack of material.  Instead, I've been hesitating over my keyboard trying to decide how to narrow down the long list of topics swirling around in my head, and the one topic I keep coming back to would be the final chapter for this particular blog.

My sweet, smart and sometimes overly-opinionated Wassachusetts was giving me more training issues than I'd bargained for when I initially settled my mind on buying a young, green thoroughbred with a racing history.  Over the past two and a half years, I've run out of patience with the high-intensity rides and his explosive tendencies.  I've lost my courage and have a hard time trying to reestablish my trust in him.  Anyone who knows horses, knows that this is a lethal combination that can potentially ruin both horse and rider.

During one recent lesson, my wise-and-all-knowing trainer instructed me to push Wassachusetts forward and into the bridle, therefore preventing his ability to bolt or carry-on like a semi-wild orangutan, but as I laid my leg on his side and felt him tighten his back muscles and surge forward, I decided I'd had it with this horse.  I pulled him up and announced that I was not going to be run away with today.  No way, no how!

I was more frustrated and angry with myself than with the horse.  Quite frankly, I was downright pissed at myself for not having the stones to ride through his tantrums and nonsense.  Wasn't I a better rider than that?  Apparently not.

By the end of the day, I convinced myself of a lot of things like: I need a smaller horse since my 5'3" frame seems lost and overwhelmed on a 16.2-hand horse; I need a quieter horse that would be less of a challenge; I need to sell this horse. It was this last thought that really stuck.

I filled my trainer's daughter in on my concerns and had her agree to do a few training rides on Wassachusetts.  Much to my ego's relief, she agreed that he was not a particularly easy horse to ride.  This sentiment was echoed by my trainer that not everyone could ride my sometimes fiery beast and that, in short, she had every confidence that I possessed the necessary skills to manage his training highs and lows.  While I still have my doubts, I caved on my decision to sell and - literally- got back on the horse.

It's hard to tell what will happen over the next few months, but thanks to the 90 degree heat and humidity, Wassachusetts has been that quiet, responsive horse I was pining for.  Will he stay this way?  Of course not.  But I can't help but wonder, if I slog through these tough times, will I have that nice, well-trained, quiet horse in a few years?  I guess I'll just have to take it one chapter at a time.

He's A Hot Mess

Have I mentioned that Wassachusetts was once employed as a race horse?  His less than illustrious career began and ended at Suffolk Downs in Massachusetts.  With 8 starts, which included 1 win, 1 place and 1 lousy show to his credit, Wassachusetts retired in 2007 with earnings teetering on $10,000.  And while he may not have been fast enough to make it on the race track, he's more than fast enough for me.

Wassachusetts

As recently as last week, Wassachusetts reverted back to some of his old ways, but I can hardly blame him.  With the introduction of the beautiful spring weather and riding outdoors, Wassachusetts is nearly beside himself with joy and, quite frankly, a little anxiety.  There's nothing like trying to ride a fresh, young thoroughbred in a big outdoor arena on a cool and slightly windy spring day.  Boy, it seems like there have been a lot of those days lately.

After two episodes of being run away with - which, by the way, simultaneously invokes feelings of terror and exhilaration - my trainer suggested that her daughter do a training ride on my wild pony.   Now, my trainer's daughter is not only a gifted rider, but she also loves the challenge of a hot horse and more often than not, can pin point issues and either fix the problem or give the animal's rider insight into how to approach  and ride through various issues.  I also love the fact that she's empathetic to the rider's concerns and reactions to certain behaviors exhibited by their horses or ponies.  Case in point, I absolutely do not have one ounce of appreciation for Wassachusett's running off with me like a naughty pony taking advantage of a small child.  

A day or two later, I sat with my trainer's daughter to discuss her findings and recommendations.  Apparently, Wassachusetts took it upon himself to bolt during their ride leaving me feeling a slightly relieved because I no longer felt it was something I was or wasn't doing to insight his bad behavior and frustrated because here we were revisiting a vice that I was certain he had outgrown.

So, like any other problem or tribulation in life, you just have to push through it, and, in this case, I mean it quite literally.  When Wassachusetts digs in and takes flight, I need to fight my natural urge to clutch on the reins, trying to muscle him into stopping and opt, instead, to urge him forward with the hope that it will eventually click in his brain that this is not a fun exercise for him, rather it's exhausting and ultimately unsatisfying because sprinting off doesn't allow him to be in control of what we're doing.

Hopefully, Wassachusetts and I will remain patient with one another and quickly nix this bolting issue because it sure would be nice to start horse showing again sometime soon!

Dang it!

For weeks and months on end, Wassachusetts has been a superstar.  Everything from his ground manners to his ability under saddle have improved tenfold since I bought him in October of 2009.  I haven't been run away with for at least nine months and it's a rare occasion that my lovely pony decides to crow hop or throw a buck after a fence.  In my mind, Wassachusetts had made great strides and  had become a horse of a different color.  Maybe, just maybe, he had outgrown the title of Green Horse.

Alas, that all changed during our lesson yesterday morning.  Our flat work was fine, but when the jumping portion of our session started...well, let's just say, Wassachusetts had a fine case of Spring Fever.

His head went up like a periscope and he felt like a live wire under the saddle with a lump in his back that would rival any camel's hump.  It was bad news.   Here's a little visual of what it felt like to me:

After whispering a long list of four-lettered sweet nothings into my darling horse's ear, I apologized to my trainer for letting her down and massaged my aching pride.  Not to be completely undone by our performance, Wassachusetts and I will try again today with a lesson at 4pm.  Here's hoping for less drama and better results!

One Last Gift

I won't lie. It's been a long, dark, cold winter that has left me feeling down.  I find that the older I get, the more I need the light and warmth of that bright, fiery star in our sky.  Without the sun, I sink into a funk so deep and thick that after a few weeks, I skulk away from the living to mope around, drink a lot of red wine and hibernate until the winter thaw.

At the barn, it's all about layering for people and horses.  My standard dress is long underwear, fleece breeches, two cotton shirts, a wool sweater and my Horseware down jacket. Wassachusetts opts for his heavy Rambo blanket and on really cold days, a sheet under the blanket.  But even then, sometimes it's not enough.  A gray sky and biting wind isn't conducive to enjoying the outdoor experience and there was more than one day when Wassachusetts and I just gave up and didn't bother working too hard in the freezing cold indoor arena.

Beyond the barn, there were other factors contributing to my serious case of the winter doledrums.  Generally speaking, I live in a decent, upper middle to upper class area of the world.  I have a nice home and a comfortable lifestyle in a suburban residential area where the schools are good and a few conscientious people have had the common sense to preserve huge tracts of rolling landscape for those of us with a propensity for open spaces to enjoy for generations to come.

But while the landscape is breathtaking, I found myself feeling suffocated and trapped by my surroundings.  As I've mentioned, my children are very young and the shuttling between schools and activities narrowed my world to a 10 mile radius where I saw the same people and practiced the same routine day after day, month after month.

Then there are the pustulent pockets of queen bees and wannabes who slither around gossiping and criticizing everything from the hem of your jean to the shade of your lipgloss (as if a busy mom has time to slather lipgloss on her face just to go to the grocery store!).   Thankfully, I have a small group of intelligent, funny and balanced friends who help me muddle through some of the more trying times but, like me, they have small children and busy lives which leaves us very little time to spend together.

A few weeks ago, the father of one of my husband's childhood friends passed away.  My husband and I arranged for childcare and - after picking another of my husband's high school friends up from the local train station - made the seven and a half hour drive to the funeral in West Virginia.

I noticed that the further we got from the Pennsylvania boarder, the clearer my thoughts became and the more I felt like myself again.  I surrounded myself in the backseat with a stack of The New Yorker magazines that I never seem to be able to get to during the week and carried on conversations that ranged from parenting, music and books to career choices and current events.

The next morning, we arrived at the church to mourn with and lend comfort to a tight knit family of special people who had lost their father, a quiet, educated man who was a respected doctor and surgeon.  Friends and family spoke with love and gentle revery of this remarkable man who dedicated himself to  family and country, to healing people, to feeding an insatiable desire for knowledge and to sharing that knowledge in a egoless way with whomever seemed interested.

It was a day filled with tears, friendship, love and wonderful storytelling, of grandmothers recounting their days of attending formal dances in one breath and revealing wild days of piloting small airplanes over the great plains in the next breath.  Old friends clustered together recalling the lost secrets of young adulthood when they smoked pot, went on first dates, drove dangerously and took their first tentative swigs of alcohol.  The reception room, filled with artists, war veterans, doctors, lawyers, educators, and travelers, vibrated with life and powerful, positive energy.  It was as if someone had opened a window and let a blast of fresh air and light into my existence.

Returning home early the next morning, I felt at peace and was grateful for the little bit of distance and enormous amount of perspective I gained from having 48 hours away from the stagnant clutter of my life.  I've vowed to cut the crap and scale back on my intake of negative thoughts and to fill my life with people who care about more than the color of someone's eye make up or who got caught wearing sweatpants in public.  I'm once again inspired to be creative and adventure seeking, even if that adventure takes place in my own backyard.