On an unseasonably warm day in mid-October, I hauled JEF Anna Rose to beautiful Linden Woods Farm in Durham, N.H., for one final educational outing of the season—a clinic with Jeremy Steinberg. Anna and I rode with Jeremy earlier this summer, and the experience was both positive and helpful. But this fall, most of my arena sets with Anna had left me frustrated. We have a decade-long partnership, but yet it feels as if we are always dealing with the same fundamental issue, namely, generating positive forward energy. This fall, every ride was a struggle, and I found myself losing enthusiasm for doing much in the arena with her at all. I think she felt exactly the same way.
As I attempted to get the earpiece sorted out at the start of my ride, I told Jeremy a bit of what I had been experiencing with her: The lackluster response to any forward driving aid. The blocked right jaw. The dull and non-adjustable feeling in the contact, because without energy and thrust from the hindquarters, there wasn’t anything to actually adjust. I told him that I didn’t feel like very much of a horse trainer, that Anna didn’t even feel like a Training Level horse (never mind a Third Level horse) and that I really hated having to ride so aggressively for such a minimal response. He nodded along with my comments, listening thoughtfully before he replied.
“Remove your emotion from this—it is not you. Some horses are this way. It is just the soul of this horse,” Jeremy said kindly.
As I blinked away unexpected tears, Jeremy proceeded to tell me about several horses from his past, horses who like Anna had many wonderful qualities—temperament, genetics, beauty— but who didn’t have much ‘get up and go’, who lacked the inner fire that would allow them to easily climb the ladder in dressage.
The thing of it is, to the external viewer, it looks as if these horses should be able to do the work. The viewer concludes it is the rider who is simply not doing enough, or perhaps not riding well enough, to get the horse to perform to his full potential.
Jeremy recalled a time when he was working with one of these horses under the tutelage of his mentor. His mentor kept offering feedback but nothing seemed to be improving the horse’s performance. Not wanting to be disrespectful but also becoming increasingly frustrated, Jeremy finally asked the mentor to get on and feel for himself.
“And then he understood it!” Jeremy explained triumphantly. Even the mentor couldn’t get the horse to perform.
At the clinic that day, we spent the entire ride simply focused on sending Anna forward. It was not pretty, and it was not fun. Jeremy advised that I establish in my own mind a ‘minimum tempo’, and if she dropped below that pace even a whisker, I was to firmly, forcefully, apply all of my driving aids. Hard. Even if we ended up in a gallop (which admittedly still took a few solid kicks with the spur and a strong whack with the wand). The emphasis was all on the upward transition.
In the moments where the energy was better, I tried to stay quiet and still while maintaining a steady contact, even if only for one stride. The perpetual issues I experience with Anna’s poll and jaw stem from her stalled engine; get the engine moving again, and the connection issues usually take care of themselves.
“Leave your brain out of the ring—be instinctive,” Jeremy offered by way of explaining the reaction time required. “When she dies in the tempo, then she must go, even if it is up to the gallop.”
For forty-five minutes or so, this is what we did. Me, kicking and using the dressage whip assertively, until I felt as if I were back on a cross country course desperately trying to make time. Anna, offering a few strides of a positive gait. The inevitable slow down. And repeat. Over and over and over.
Eventually, when Anna did offer a few consistent strides in minimum tempo, we added in a little shoulder in or a ten meter circle. Inevitably, I had to ride out of the movement with assertive aids yet again. There were a few nicer moments, but mostly it felt like one of us was working a whole lot harder than the other. And also, as if I had taken this exact lesson so very many times before.
While I rode, I kept hearing Jeremy’s voice on repeat: Some horses are just this way. It is the soul of this horse.
After our lesson, I stayed to watch a few more riders. In particular I wanted to see Leslie Ann McGowan, Linden Wood’s resident trainer, schooling the warmblood gelding Belfast, because this horse just makes me smile. I first saw this talented duo at a clinic with Jan Ebeling in 2017; the gelding was perhaps 6 years old then, new to Leslie Ann and quite green, yet everything he did looked easy. Effortless. Joyful. Now showing at the FEI levels, Belfast and Leslie Ann spent the day’s set working on canter pirouettes. Even when the pressure increased and the work became a little more demanding, the horse never quit or backed down.
The difference between his effort and Anna’s hit me like a fist. The soul of this horse was dancing. He was happy being an elite dressage horse. She is not.
I bought Anna from her breeder as a green broke 6-year-old who had never even been cantered under saddle. The breeder described the mare’s personality by saying she “was pretty content to just watch”. Over the years, I have repeatedly been reminded of her breeder’s insight whenever I have challenged Anna to increase her performance level. Anna has always done whatever it is I have asked of her. But I have often had to ask with emphasis.
As a team, we have done and seen and accomplished a lot. She took me around my first (and only) Groton House Horse Trials and to two double clean cross country trips at the Fitch’s Corner Area I Eventing championships. She spent three months with me at Denny Emerson’s Tamarack Hill Farm, where we solidified our partnership over fences and hacked in the Vermont countryside. She received my first (and only) high score of the day at a dressage competition (back at Training Level) and she has earned scores over 60% all the way to Third Level Test 3. This fall, she and I completed the Ranger 100 Mile Challenge, tackling those miles in bite sized pieces along the trails in our backyard.
When I started concentrating on dressage with her, I had hoped that maybe she would make it to FEI. Perhaps that was too lofty of a goal; I knew she would never be a high scorer there but I hoped to finally have a chance to canter down centerline in tails, on a horse I trained myself. A few years ago, I could imagine riding Anna to what would be a pinnacle in my equestrian career.
But more recently, I have downgraded my goals for her—from FEI to Fourth. From Fourth to really solid Third. Most recently, I hoped to collect the last two scores I need for the USDF Bronze Bar in the Third Level Musical Freestyle. We spent a whole season chasing them. The closest we came was still two points too low.
It would mean so much to me to finish that long-term project with this horse, and then call it a day for her dressage career. But not if the cost is having to ride Anna so hard that she is completely miserable, and all the joy has left her. Not at the cost of her soul.
When we got home from the clinic, I put up her dressage saddle and haven’t taken it off the rack since. Instead, we have hit the trails, and I have let her mane grow long and coat thick and fuzzy. Anna will stay home this winter and once the weather turns, for the first time since the age of 6, she will have a few months off to just be a horse.
It is a fine line we tread sometimes, as stewards of these magnificent animals, to know when to push them through resistance in their training and when they have given us enough. It is equally difficult to come so close to your destination and then choose to turn back. But ultimately riding requires a partnership; two hearts working together as a team.
I do not know what is next for Anna and I. But whatever comes, I must honor the soul of this special horse, and not force her to be someone she is not.
Without a doubt, 2020 has not turned out to be the year that anyone anticipated. Since March 11, when the World Health Organization declared the COVID-19 outbreak to be a worldwide pandemic, most of the structures, routines and patterns of our day to day lives came crashing to a halt. Seven months later, we are still riding the tide of changes effected as a result. Although change is inevitable, forced change, particularly when it occurs so swiftly, can be difficult to process.
Here in the U.S., the pandemic has only highlighted the gross inequities in our society, and the stress it has induced has brought many citizens to the breaking point. I am deeply grateful to have some sense of security in these challenging times, but I grow increasingly aware that my situation comes from a place of privilege, and that I work in an industry still uncomfortable with this subject. Recent dialogue on the questions of diversity, accessibility and disparity within both the equine industry and society as a whole is essential and ongoing.
When I read news stories about current events, I am gripped with a feeling of helplessness. If I think too deeply about the pandemic and its wide-reaching implications, about how it has exposed the inherent weaknesses in even supposedly “developed” societies, I feel a sense of panic about what is yet to come. Individually, we have so little control over what will happen next; collectively, we are on the same ride whether we like it or not.
What I can control, in uncertain times, is my own attitude and my own choices. Small acts of kindness, compassion and empathy do matter, and many small acts taken as a whole become something greater, a power that can overcome hatred, prejudice, self-centeredness and adversity.
With all that is going on in the world right now, it feels trite to discuss my personal goals in riding. But I also believe that despite everything, it is critical to keep moving forward when and where we can, and spending time with my horses is something that brings me a sense of fulfillment. I know this is a sentiment that many of my readers can identify with. Like many of you, I am a goal-oriented person; having something concrete that I am working toward helps to provide focus to my rides and a structure to my routine.
Early in the pandemic, I was scrolling through Facebook, where I saw that a friend had posted that she was participating in a 1,900 mile equestrian challenge along the Pony Express route. Intrigued, I clicked on the post (as one does) to learn more. This led me to the website of WARHORSE Endurance, the brainchild of Christina Hyke, an avid endurance rider, organizer and photographer based in Wisconsin. The mission of WARHORSE Endurance, according to its website, is “to provide riders, carriage drivers, runners, hikers, cyclists and walkers with a goal to aim for, an online community to cheer each other on and a completion award to commemorate their amazing journey.” Through this program, Hyke created a series of virtual challenges conceived to keep riders motivated and on track in their conditioning plans, despite the cancellation of most formal distance rides. But perhaps more importantly, she also established an international community that (via social media) could celebrate in our uniqueness while sharing in each other’s progress, offering support during setbacks and celebrating success.
To me, this sounded like just the tonic to neutralize the pandemic blues.
The WARHORSE Endurance “virtual ride” concept is rather simple. Mileage reporting is done on the honor system; entrants track the miles they spend leading, riding or driving their horse using their preferred app, then upload their progress to the website. There is also the option to include human “conditioning” miles spent hiking, running or bicycling to the mileage total. You can include miles logged all on one horse or on multiple horses. You can drive your horse. You can handwalk your rehabbing veteran, longline your green bean, or any and all combinations of the preceding options. Each challenge is what you make of it, so long as the miles are spent purposefully.
By the time I learned about WARHORSE, Hyke had already filled enrollment in two 100 mile virtual challenges and was working on filling a third. She donates a portion of each entry to charity, and when entrants reach the 100 mile threshold, they receive a medal, a patch, and/or a lapel pin, depending on the specific event.
The Pony Express 1,900 Mile Challenge that had caught my eye was Hyke’s newest venture. In what might be the longest virtual equestrian challenge in the world, entrants log their miles and track their progress along the approximate route of the Pony Express. The Pony Express ran for just eighteen months between April 1860 and October 1861, with riders starting in St. Joseph, Missouri (today commemorated by the National Pony Express Museum) and ending in Sacramento, California (now marked by the Pony Express Memorial). Back then, riders covered the route in only ten days. Virtual riders have seven years.
Time has eroded many of the specific locations of the route’s 100 +/- stops, and according to the National Park Service, “the trail’s actual route and exact length are matters of conjecture.” Therefore, the virtual route is approximated based on Hyke’s research, and an online map lets riders learn about known points of interest along the way.
Now, 100 miles is a long way to ride, run, hike or bike. 1,900 miles—from Missouri to California—is almost unfathomable. But with seven years to finish, that’s just 271 miles per year. Less than one mile a day. And if you are riding in some of Hyke’s 100 Mile Virtual Challenges, those miles can also count toward the Pony Express.
Broken down into smaller pieces, this is do-able.
In early June, I signed up for the Pony Express Virtual Challenge. Within about a week, I decided that the medal for the Valkyrie 100 Mile Challenge was pretty cool (a winged Pegasus), so I signed up for that too. Then I added the Ranger 100 Mile Challenge to my agenda when it opened in early July. And I am not ashamed to admit that on September 1, I signed up for the Journey 100 Mile Challenge too.
For me, each of these challenges is a unique opportunity and a motivation get out there with my horses, even if the world is feeling heavy. I am able to customize each Challenge, pushing me to spend more time on trail with all of my horses. It has provided a necessary and refreshing break to the routine of schooling in the arena. It has motivated me to visit new to me public trail networks. It has reminded me that while conventional competition can be fun, it has never been the end all be all for me when it comes to riding and horsemanship.
You might be thinking, I could never ride my horse 100 miles. That is so far! But yet….
Horses walk at about 3 miles per hour. Most of my rides have only been forty-five minutes to an hour, two or three miles in length. Since June, I have logged nearly 300 miles, mostly walking along the powerlines in my backyard. All of these small rides, over time, add up to something much larger.
And along the way, so many beautiful moments.
Such as– my retired distance mare Lee completing all 100 miles of the Valkyrie Challenge by late August, the final ride a 2+ mile hack squeezed in between thunderstorms on a Sunday evening that I probably would not have taken otherwise.
Or this–my Third Level dressage pony Anna completing 95 miles toward the Ranger 100 Mile Challenge. One evening, we were followed by a doe deer; on another, we came face to face with a surprised barred owl. Dividing our time between ringwork and trails, I hoped to complete the Challenge by the end of October. Weather willing, it looks like we are on track to do just that. Where our dressage training has felt less than stellar lately, here is a goal that we can attain.
With former lesson horse Marquesa, I have carved out a special route now dubbed the “Queso Loop” in her honor. Just over a mile and half in length, it is the perfect outing for a 24-year-old veteran mare when I am short on time. This past week, we found fresh moose tracks right near our farm.
And on the Pony Express route, their collective efforts have taken me out of Missouri, through Kansas and into Nebraska.
But for the Journey 100 Mile Challenge, I decided to do something a little different. The Journey Medal design incorporates the running Warhorse logo, the flying Valkyrie and the Pony Express rider into one piece of art, and the Challenge is dedicated to “enjoying the journey”. Instead of only using miles ridden on one specific horse, I decided that the only logical way to tackle this final 100 mile challenge of 2020 would be to divide the miles among each of my five mares, twenty miles each. It seemed such a beautiful symbol of the journey I have been on and continue to travel with each horse, as unique individuals.
As of October 15, I have 60.6 miles toward Journey’s completion. Lee handily finished her twenty mile contribution early on; Queso has posted just over thirteen miles and young Izzy, who is just learning how to go out on trail, has added 10.5. Once she has finished Ranger, Anna will start working on her twenty mile segment. And with three-year-old Nori, who is not yet backed, I have handwalked just over eighteen miles, often in the dark of a mid-autumn evening. I hope to complete each mare’s segment before autumn’s breeze turns to winter’s chill, but even if I don’t, every stride my horses take brings us one step closer to attaining the goal.
And in reality, this is how we collectively must get through these unstable times. The outcome is uncertain, the path twisting and forward progress at times practically impossible to measure. We must always remember that the bigger goal is achieved through smaller steps and day to day victories. But each time we make the choice to stay positive, to have faith that events will resolve, to believe that light will always prevail over darkness, we move one step closer to resolution.
On what was possibly the hottest and most humid weekend of July, Anna and I visited the lovely Linden Woods Farm in Durham, N.H., to clinic with USEF High Performance rider and former Dressage Youth Coach Jeremy Steinberg.
I enjoy reading Steinberg’s column in The Chronicle of the Horse and have the impression that, although a successful competitor, he also truly enjoys training horses to become the best version of themselves. To me, this is an important distinction, because I have found that when you simply enjoy being around horses, taking the time to solve their riddles is handled with a great deal more compassion than when their resistance is perceived as an impediment to reaching a goal. It also challenges you to be more creative in finding solutions, rather than insisting that each horse conform to a set formula. Steinberg’s mentors, Dietrich von Hopffgarten and Paul Belasik, are both regarded as dressage philosophers and advocates for humane, classical dressage training. Finally, Steinberg’s first Grand Prix horse was an OTTB whom he developed himself. As someone who favors riding non-traditional breeds in the dressage arena, I was excited for the opportunity to work with him directly.
For me, the pandemic has been an important period of resetting, reassessing and simply improving the bond with my horses. I wasn’t sure that Anna and I were truly ready for a clinic, particularly with someone of Steinberg’s caliber, but I assumed that if he was as horse-friendly in practice as he seemed to be in his writing, we would get something positive out of the ride.
I wasn’t disappointed!
Steinberg spends a good chunk of his time on the road—his website says that he gives an average of 48 clinics per year—and he explained that the first thing he always considers while watching a horse warm up is their conformation, and how it will impact their work.
Anna is flat in the poll, making it easy for her to lock both there and in her lower jaw when asked to connect. Steinberg’s (simple but not so simple) solution? Transitions. So many transitions.
After a basic warm up (during which Steinberg encouraged me to use my fingers and wrists quite actively to massage the bit but to keep Anna’s neck completely still), we started riding trot-halt-trot transitions. Steinberg had me hold my elbows to my sides to stabilize the contact into and out of the transition, and to ride a bit of medium trot into the halt. This is not your show ring halt, but instead a training tool to help encourage the horse to start rounding their back, while yielding the poll and croup. These trot-halt-trot transitions are, intentionally, a bit abrupt.
“Resist the urge in the halt to supple her,” Steinberg coached. “Make the hand and elbow more fixed, so that the contact is less negotiable, and when she comes to the halt the contact is solid.”
Not shockingly, at first Anna braced in her poll and jaw, particularly into the downward transition. Overall, the transitions were somewhat…ugly.
“You are trying to get the horse’s lower back to tip in the hip and pelvis,” says Steinberg. “Think more like a sliding stop. You want the horse to tuck under a bit.”
It was important to not allow walk steps in or out of the transitions (as this will cause the horse to avoid tucking the hip), and for a horse such as Anna (who is not always the most prompt to the driving aids), you cannot be afraid to really pop the whip if she is not responsive.
“Let the horse make mistakes,” says Steinberg. “Let them learn that you are not going to carry them along, and if they make a mistake, be corrective.”
The more transitions I did, focusing on promptness and really rooting my elbows to my sides, the hotter Anna became to my leg and the softer and rounder she became in the connection. By staying steady and tolerating Anna’s tendency to brace (for now), I was increasing the pressure on her to become rounder. The idea is that you are giving the horse a choice—they can continue to resist, which is uncomfortable, or they can choose to become rounder in their back and relieve the pressure.
“Do fifteen of them,” says Steinberg of the transitions. “If the horse braces, do three more.”
This work is meant to be done in many short bursts; we worked trot-halt-trot transitions on each rein, and then moved on to canter-walk-canter. I applied the same concepts to these latter transitions, with the aim of taking no more than one or two steps of walk in between each stretch of canter.
“Almost as soon as you walk, you want to go back to the canter,” says Steinberg. “It is the difference between doing a sit up and a crunch.”
The canter-walk-canter transitions help the horse to lower the croup and lighten the forehand. Steinberg compared the horse to an imperfectly balanced teeter totter—one that has a boulder (the forehand) in front of its fulcrum (the withers), with a rider sitting behind them both.
“As soon as you get on, you can feel this weight,” says Steinberg. “If you can raise the front end, the boulder will roll back. But if the forehand goes down, you have to pull on the reins to stop the boulder from rolling forward more.”
All of these prompt transitions help to create greater activity in the hindquarters, by putting a certain degree of pressure on the horse’s body and not giving them much choice in how to respond to that pressure. In Anna’s case, she needed to hit the wall of the rider’s hand. The true origin of her bracing is not in her jaw, it is in her back– but because I feel the weight in my hands, I (like most riders on similar horses) try to manipulate her back by positioning her neck.
“I want to manipulate the back with transition work,” says Steinberg. “The bracing is [the horse] wanting to stay tight in the back. But if I give in to the brace or try to soften the brace, I never give the horse the opportunity to soften the back.”
What I found quite remarkable was that despite the heat, the humidity, and the pressure, Anna really stepped up to the exercise. The sets were short but intense; Steinberg counseled to ignore the things which were not perfect, and after one or two quality transitions, give the horse a break. Many times throughout the day, after a period of increased pressure for the horse, I heard Steinberg tell the rider to reassure the horse that “mom still loves them”. During a walk break in a later set, Steinberg had this to say about adding pressure for the horse:
“When you are fairly confident that the horse is capable of doing the work—they are a correct mover, appropriate conformation, etcetera—you can put the pressure on,” says Steinberg. “You will sometimes need to be intentional like this, to help the horse really understand how to use their body.”
As the horse begins to understand stepping into the downward transitions with roundness and softness, Steinberg will add a driving aid—perhaps just a tap of the whip—to teach the horse that the roundness comes from the hind end.
“You must take a leap of faith and know that you will have some of those bad transitions,” says Steinberg. “This is how you can offer a correction, and how they can learn. There is a consequence for making the mistake, and this consequence can be just the feeling of the horse hitting the rider’s aids.”
This was by far one of the most productive and positive clinics I have had with Anna, and I have incorporated this exercise into my regular routine with great success. I am so grateful to facility owner Karen Bishop and her daughter Leslie Ann McGowan for coordinating the clinic and opening their property to outside riders despite the pandemic, and to Steinberg for making the trip up from Aiken, S.C.! Thanks, too, to Fay Morrison for coming by to help me with Anna and taking such great pictures of our ride.
While most equestrians living in temperate regions of the U.S. look forward to the pleasant weather of late spring and summer, the humidity and warm-but-not-scorching temperatures are also ideal conditions for grain mites. These tiny members of the Acaridae family are only between 100th to 300th of an inch in length and are relatives of spiders and ticks. When conditions are ideal, these common pests can occur in large numbers in grain, hay and straw, happily eating their way through your horse’s dinner.
“Grain mites eat the germ out of any kind of stored grain products and proteins,” explains Jessica Starcevich, M.S., staff entomologist with Spalding Labs. “They thrive in high humidity. Depending on the species, this means relative humidity over 70%.”
But a mite infestation is more than just a nuisance—exposure to grain mites can cause allergic reactions in several species. Grain mites are known human allergens, and ingestion of large quantities has caused lesions in the stomach lining of cattle. While more research is needed, there is increasing evidence that grain mites, which also feed on molds and fungus and spread fungal spores throughout their environment, may play a role in triggering equine respiratory syndromes.
Because mites are so small, managers might not notice their presence—at first. But with a fairly long lifespan (mites can live up to fifty-five days) and prolific reproductive capacity (a female will lay 600-800 eggs during her lifetime), it won’t take long for their numbers to compound. An active mite infestation looks as if the grain bin (or bag) has been coated in a light brown dust. The grain itself may appear dusty, and if you begin moving bags around, the mites’ crushed exoskeletons can give off a “minty” odor.
“They are most common in regular whole grains, like oats, corn and barely,” says Starcevich. “But they can infest pelleted feed and certainly sweet feed that has oats and things mixed into it.”
When it comes to grain mites, the best defense is a good offense. Many mite-prevention techniques should already be best practices in terms of grain storage. Strategies such as never pouring new grain over old, thoroughly cleaning out and scrubbing bins in between fill ups, storing grain in airtight containers and religiously cleaning up hay chaff, mold and dust, can all help eliminate the conditions that favor grain mites.
Additionally, take steps to reduce the humidity in your grain storage area. Consider installing a fan, using a dehumidifier or even desiccant packets (keep these away from farm pets). Grain moisture meters can be purchased from agricultural supply companies; stored grain should absolutely not read at more than 16%, and ideally will be much lower than that.
“Make sure there is no place hospitable for them,” says Starcevich. “If you can dry them out, they will die very quickly.”
During humid months, consider getting smaller quantities of grain delivered more frequently, so fewer bags are stored. With each delivery, do a careful inspection of each bag before opening it. If there is any evidence of mite activity, get that bag out of your storage area immediately—and contact your supplier.
“Suppliers get anxious about mites, but it’s usually not their fault, as mites could have been picked up anywhere along the process,” says Starcevich. “Suppliers actively watch for mites and try to avoid getting them. But if they do, they likely have an action plan for how to take care of it.”
If, despite your best efforts, grain mites appear, don’t panic—but do act efficiently, as it is far easier to control an outbreak when the numbers are small. The most important step is to remove the infested grain from your bin, and if possible, remove the bin itself from your storage area. Contaminated grain should be thrown out, buried in an active compost pile or spread in an extremely thin layer where it will be exposed to the sun. Removable bins should be left in the sun for several days, then treated with an acaricide such as pyrethrin. If possible, do not return grain to the bin for several weeks.
“The biggest thing is to get things dry,” says Starcevich. “And keep food sources away from the mites.”
If removing the bin is not possible, thoroughly clean the entire area, paying close attention to corners, cracks and crevices, then treat it with an acaricide. Wait a week, then treat again, then wait another week before use. While this may seem like overkill (if you will forgive the pun), juvenile grain mites living in high concentrations can morph into a phase called the hypopus, which has a sucker that they attach to animals to help them disperse to new areas. During this stage, they are highly resistant to pesticides.
Finally, reach out to your county extension agent if you have further questions. Usually, consultation and even testings are free, and they will know if there is a specific outbreak of any pests going on in your area.
On a crisp sunny morning in January 2018, I cautiously stepped out of my friend’s car into an icy parking lot and pulled the collar of my faux sheepskin lined corduroy jacket more tightly closed over my yellow knit scarf. Three or four inches of snow had fallen some 24 hours before my own arrival in Lexington, Kentucky a day earlier, and the state seemed to be hoping that the offensive accumulation might just disappear on its own. But with temps hovering in the mid-thirties, so far this strategy had proven ineffective.
I had worried that the weather might interfere with today’s visit to Old Friends Thoroughbred Retirement Farm in Georgetown, Kentucky, home to nearly 200 pensioned former racehorses. I recruited my friend Rachel, a New England transplant to Lexington, to tag along with me on this frosty day; the cheerful voice on the phone had assured me that our reservations for the morning tour were still in play, but looking around the mostly empty parking lot I wondered if anyone else would be joining us.
Old Friends was founded in 2003 by former racetrack groom (and retired Boston Globe film critic) Michael Blowen. During his years working at tracks like Suffolk Downs in Boston and Rockingham Park in New Hampshire, Blowen had seen what often happened to racehorses at the end of their careers, especially at low end tracks and fairgrounds—a trip directly to the slaughterhouse. It was an accepted reality in a sport which often saw fortunes rise and fall with the clang of a starter’s bell.
“Everybody in racing says this—‘do what is best for the horse and everything else will fall into place’,” Blowen told me on the phone one day. “But people don’t follow this.”
During his years at the Globe, Blowen witnessed firsthand the magnetic effect that celebrities had on those around them— and it occurred to Blowen that he felt the same way when he witnessed a truly great race horse. And that gave him an idea.
“I thought others would feel that way, too, and thought people might be willing to pay money to see them,” says Blowen. “The idea was that these horses from Rockingham could mix with the celebrities.”
The concept was deceptively simple yet completely radical– take a big name horse that no one wanted anymore, and charge racing fans to come see them. The money raised would then offset the cost of lifetime care for racehorses with less illustrious backgrounds. Using this model, Old Friends has grown from one small leased paddock and a single horse to its current principal facility, the 236 acre Dream Chase Farm in Georgetown, and a satellite facility Old Friends at Cabin Creek in Greenfield Center, New York.
From April to October, nearly 1,000 visitors per week tour the Georgetown property hoping to see their favorite winners, including the farm’s undisputed marquee resident, Kentucky Derby and Preakness winner Silver Charm. But lounging in paddocks across the sprawling property are Thoroughbreds of all types; those with no pedigree to speak of, those with old injuries or arthritis from their days on the track, those horses which time forgot. Archie’s Echo was one of these, a cheap claimer who earned just $32,000 during his track career; at 26 years old he was purchased by a sympathetic soul at the notorious New Holland auction in Pennsylvania, certainly bound for slaughter. Archie was blind in one eye and in rough shape at first, but enjoyed five years of care and attention at Old Friends before passing away in May 2020.
Old Friends is a member of the Thoroughbred Aftercare Alliance (TAA), a non-profit arm of The Jockey Club that offers accreditation and grant funding for sixty four groups providing care and rehoming services for off track Thoroughbreds. While many of these programs have been overwhelmingly successful and certainly should be celebrated, most are geared towards placing OTTBs in a new career as a riding horse. For those animals that are not suitable for riding, homes are harder to come by.
I was researching options for these types of OTTBs— often young but permanently unrideable—when I first learned of Old Friends. I was intrigued by the model and impressed by Blowen’s charisma. In our interview, he told me that he “felt like the village idiot” when he first started the project, but that didn’t stop him from moving forward. And if I am honest, though I am no longer Thoroughbred racing’s biggest fan, I completely understood him when he talked about being starstruck in the presence of a great racehorse. I remember standing by the rail at Saratoga as a young girl, gripping the chain link fence while screaming my throat raw, urging Alysheba down the stretch of the 1987 Travers Stakes (he lost), or recognizing Crème Fraiche, the 1985 Belmont winner, running there in his later career. I will always admire the grit and heart of a Thoroughbred, and believe in the tangible thrill that comes with witnessing a powerful, purpose-bred animal do exactly what he is bred to—run.
The visitor’s center at Old Friends is a rather nondescript ranch, its pale yellow paint chosen no doubt to offset the bountiful black fencing and rolling fields that surround it. Two holiday wreaths still flanked the entrance door, and four woven sunchairs, in shades of green and yellow, lined the concrete porch. Upon entering, we are immediately greeted by a pair of thoroughly well-fed cats—a tortoiseshell named Lucy, who we later learn weighs 25 pounds, and an orange and white male named Buddy, who is the designated “official greeter.” They lounge on the hardwood floor, lying half in the gift shop, half in the reception area. They leave little doubt as to who is truly in charge of this office space.
Our guide’s name is Charlie Brown, and as he shrugs into a heavy down jacket and pulls a green knit cap with “Old Friends” embroidered in gold script over his snow white hair, he nonchalantly asks where we are from. We are, in fact, the only scheduled guests to actually arrive for the morning’s tour, and he looks dressed for an arctic expedition.
“New Hampshire,” I say brightly.
Charlie nods grimly.
“Oh, that explains it then. This snow is nothing for you.”
Resignedly, he picks up a green two quart bucket filled with carrots, cubed and shredded, and leads us back out the door we had just entered. Neither cat makes a move.
We are clearly here in the off-season, in off weather, and have ended up with a particularly personal tour of the property. Most groups follow a fairly set route, stopping at specific paddocks in which the resident has become carrot-conditioned to come visit when guests arrive. Occasionally, guides will make detours by special request to allow guests to meet other residents. We quickly learn that today, Charlie will let us go (almost) anywhere we wish. Rachel and I follow him out into the snow.
Our first stop is Sarava, who is perhaps best known for his amazing upset win in the 2002 Belmont Stakes. Sarava was the biggest longshot winner in race history, going off at 70-1 odds and paying out $142.50 to win, spoiling his now neighbor War Emblem’s quest for the Triple Crown in the process. When Sarava arrived at Old Friends in 2012, he became their first resident winner of a Triple Crown race. Today, the stallion’s black mane is long and his dark bay coat fluffed out for winter; he looks more like someone’s backyard pet than a classic stakes winner. Sarava clearly knew the drill, overenthusiastically reaching for the treat bucket. Charlie affectionately scratched the aging campaigner on his forehead and popped a few carrots in his mouth.
In the next paddock lives the turf champion, Little Mike, whose rich bay coat gleams beneath his heavy blanket; his pasture mate, Game On Dude, is happily cribbing on the fence and ignoring us completely. Trained by Triple Crown winning trainer Bob Baffert (who has become one of Old Friend’s greatest supporters) and a favorite of Baffert’s wife Jill, Game on Dude is the only horse to ever win the Santa Anita Handicap three times during a career in which he brought home nearly $6.5 million. Little Mike is Game on Dude’s fourth pasture buddy, and farm managers hope the two are well matched in age and energy.
Sarava is eight years older than both Little Mike and Game On Dude; in racing years, they are almost two generations apart. As Charlie tells us about each horse, there is a sparkle in his eye, as if he remembers seeing their greatest races. But while I recognize the names of the races these three have won, I know none of the animals themselves. To me, they are just…horses. And at Old Friends, that is kind of the point.
The truth is that without a guide to tell you otherwise, the average visitor would no sooner be able to discern the elite champions from the workaday claimers. At Old Friends, horses are cared for with an egalitarian philosophy, and for the most part they are allowed to simply be horses. Most live outside with run in shelters, alone or in pairs or small groups. Their manes have grown shaggy, some are barefoot, and all have ample space to move or mingle as they choose. In better weather, they graze the Kentucky bluegrass and eat carrots several times a day. Really, these horses are living their best lives.
One pair of geldings we met seemed symbolic of the greater Old Friends mission. Arson Squad and I’m Charismatic were an unlikely duo– Arson is a stakes winner who earned $1.1 million; I’m Charismatic, a well-bred gelding who never lived up to his pedigree in 92 starts. In retirement, I’m Charismatic had become completely blind, but Arson stayed by his side constantly, leading his “brother” to water, to shelter, to the fence line to receive our carrots. The crew at the Lexington Fire Department Fire Station No 5 was so inspired by Arson’s “leave no brother behind” attitude that they became the gelding’s official sponsor. I’m Charismatic passed away just six months after my visit, but Arson remains a resident today. The celebrity helping the common man—what Old Friends is all about.
Charlie brings us to a large paddock with a double fence. Its sole occupant is a nearly black horse with a crooked blaze; even from a distance, he pins his ears and flips his head in our direction, the equine equivalent of “bugger off”. Charlie slips under the first perimeter and stands in the gap, so we follow him. As it turns out, we weren’t supposed to, but Charlie has apparently deemed us horse savvy enough to stay out of harm’s way. Suddenly the horse trots straight up to the fence line and arches his neck over the perimeter towards Charlie. It is hard to tell if it is a threat or a demand. Charlie reaches out a flat palm holding a carrot, but keeps his body well away.
War Emblem, whose quest for the 2002 Triple Crown was spoiled by his now-neighbor Sarava, has made his presence known.
Charlie tells us the horse’s grumpiness is nothing new; War Emblem’s difficult disposition was well known during his racing years. Once retired, the colt’s temperamental behavior continued, and he showed virtually no interest in breeding mares, despite extensive efforts to convince him otherwise. In 2015, his Japanese owners agreed to return War Emblem to the U.S. and donated him to Old Friends. Though War Emblem was gelded before arrival and his demeanor softened somewhat as a result, the double fenced paddock was constructed specifically to help ensure everyone’s safety.
With his challenging personality and lackluster stud career, War Emblem was lucky indeed to find a soft landing at Old Friends. Few other facilities would have been inclined to take on such a quirky and potentially dangerous charge, and in Japan, land is at a premium. Unwanted animals are shipped to slaughter.
When I later heard news of this great horse’s unexpected death on March 11, 2020 at the age of 21, I flipped through the photos I had taken on this snowy January day. In several, his ears are flat back but in one, they are pricked forward as he looks into the distance, the clear blue sky a vibrant backdrop, the rays of the sun shining above him like a spotlight. In his five years at Old Friends, this enigmatic horse seemed to have found some sort of comfort.
In a statement released by Old Friends on the day of War Emblem’s death, Blowen said:
“I know we’re supposed to appreciate all of our retirees the same but he was one of the very special ones. He was tough, narcissistic, bold, and handsome. I adored him. I proudly count among a very meager number of accomplishments the day he allowed me to put his halter on without biting me. What more could I ask for? The farm will recover from his loss over time, but it’ll never be the same.”
Over the next forty-five minutes, we visit perhaps another dozen or so horses, mostly stallions and geldings (Old Friends also provides a home to a small but mighty mare herd, who are not included on the typical tour route). We meet Alphabet Soup, a wizened gray whose resume includes winning the 1996 Breeder’s Cup Classic, surviving a barn fire and contributing to science through participation in cutting edge treatments for equine melanoma. Popcorn Deelites, who played Seabiscuit in the movie of the same name. The aging Silver Ray, purchased from a livestock auction in 2013 for just $30, was a successful sire and graded stakes winner in his younger years. In 2019, he passed away at the age of 30, but during our visit he enjoyed the shredded carrots Charlie scooped from the bottom of his pail.
Charlie takes us through an elegant, airy ten stall barn. There is an office and storage and wash stall; each stall has a large outside window, and one row of stalls is connected to paddocks that allow residents to come and go at will. Not quite two years earlier, a fire had swept through a smaller medical barn located on this site, destroying it in minutes. Thankfully, only two horses were inside, and staff were able to coax them out in time, but the barn was a total loss.
It turned out that after thirteen years of providing lifetime sanctuary to hundreds of former racehorses, Old Friends had acquired a few friends of their own, and the John Hettinger Memorial Barn (where we now stood) was christened just barely six months after the fire. Fasig-Tipton’s Blue Horse Charities donated $50,000 towards its construction, along with several other generous contributions from industry supporters and fans. It was built with state-of-the-art materials and high attention to fire safety.
As we strolled through the sliding barn doors at the end of the aisle, I start to understand the depth of the connections which make Old Friends possible, and the utter enormity yet absolute necessity of its mission. The early endorsement of top trainers like Baffert helped to earn Old Friends the support of other leaders across the racing industry, enabling Blowen’s “crazy idea” to come to fruition. The successful repatriation of nine retired stallions from overseas has forged networks that may help ensure the successful return of other beloved champions in the future. Finally, many of the horses with celebrity status come with endowments or generous annual contributions from their former connections that more than sustain their upkeep. These funds, plus donations and visitor fees, help to ensure the safety and well-being of all the others, those horses whose previous work left them unfit, unsound or otherwise unsuitable for life as anything other than “just a horse”.
On a raw, damp day in late 2014, a flea-bitten grey stallion unloaded from a horse van to the reception of a crowd of nearly 100. Despite the weather, the energy was palpable; by all accounts Blowen himself was grinning like a kid in a candy store, eager to welcome the legendary Silver Charm to his new home at Old Friends. The stallion was installed in a place of prominence on the property, within view from the back porch of the main horse, where Blowen now lives. Like War Emblem, Silver Charm captured the first two legs of the Triple Crown before losing in the Belmont; unlike War Emblem, the stallion is calm and personable, and seems to take his role as farm ambassador to heart.
Charlie brings us right up to the fence, where Silver Charm is already waiting. He is bundled in a cozy Rambo rug, eyes half closed as he absorbs what little warmth might come from the day’s rays. But as soon as he perceives our approach, he snaps to attention, eye calm, ears pricked forward. He possessed the calm dignity worthy of an elder statesman, one who appreciates the responsibility that comes with fame and success.
It is easy to see why Silver Charm is a favorite of nearly everyone affiliated with Old Friends. But he had been special to Blowen for over twenty years; in an interview with Rick Capone, Blowen credits Silver Charm with being the “salvation of racing the late 1990s”. Silver Charm’s striking grey color and dramatic wins at the wire in both the Derby and Preakness made him not just a fan favorite, but wrote a story that drew new people to the sport. His quest to capture the Triple Crown nearly tripled Belmont attendance that year, and though he lost by three quarters of a length to Touch Gold (also an Old Friends resident) after a dramatic run down the stretch, Silver Charm’s grit and determination left an indelible mark upon the sport. In many ways, the horse and Blowen have much in common.
“Racing is a great sport,” Blowen told me on the phone before my visit. “People would be more into it if they know that the horses were better taken care of.”
As our visit drew to a close, I took one last look across the miles of fence line and the horses contentedly resting in their paddocks, and it occurred to me that taking care of unsound retired racehorses isn’t that hard. They can live outside, go barefoot and grow heavy coats in winter. What is hard is convincing the entire racing industry that everyone involved with the sport has a lifelong obligation to the athlete—not just for the duration of their track years.
Thanks to the efforts of programs like Old Friends, we are starting to see evidence of that change.
I learned most of my essential equine conformation concepts through the progressive curriculum of the United States Pony Club, and have added to it over the years through judge’s forums, clinics, magazine articles and books. As a result, I felt that I had a pretty good handle on concepts ranging from using basic terminology to assessing plumb lines to identifying where deviations originate. I believed that I had a solid understanding of equine conformation.
Wardrope has written extensively for magazines published around the world, as well as produced ten books, and it was through one of her articles that I first became aware of her work. I was thrilled when Debbie Place, owner of the beautiful Peppergrass Farm in Dixmont, Maine, invited Wardrope for a two day clinic in November 2019.
Wardrope’s overarching message is that if we think about our horse’s workload in mechanical terms (i.e., what does he actually have to be able to do physically to be successful), and if we understand how structurally (un)suitable our horse is for his job, we can appropriately adjust our expectations to match the biomechanics of the horse. Doing so not only protects the horse’s physical well-being, but ensures that they will be happier in their work.
Wardrope is understandably protective of her materials and content, and I don’t want to infringe in any way upon her proprietary ideas through this blog. Instead of providing a deeply detailed discussion of her presentation, I will instead touch upon the highlights of Wardrope’s conformational assessment system, and how it contrasts with some of what we are traditionally taught.
A functional conformation analysis looks at seven specific areas of the horse (the lumbosacral gap, the rear triangle, stifle placement, the pillar of support, the humerus, the elbow placement, and the base of the neck), and then considers the overall package that these pieces present.
Hind End: Key Concepts
When analyzing functional conformation, start at the hindquarters and work your way forward. Wardrope compares the hindquarters to the engine of a car; it is where the power comes from, and what propels it forward. The lumbo-sacral joint (LS) serves to transmit that power to the front end, much like a car’s transmission. A conformationally correct hindquarter is of little use if the horse’s LS placement does not allow its power to transfer forward.
The LS joint is an important one in the horse’s spine. It is located just in front of the high point of the croup, and marks a point of change in the vertebra. In front of the LS, the horse’s spine is more flexible, lifting up and down as well as bending left and right. Behind the LS, the vertebrae are less mobile. A horse with good LS placement can compensate for other deficiencies far better than a horse with poor LS placement. Poor LS placement leads to negative physical effects on the animal, including incorrect muscling and the formation of a “hunter’s bump.” An equine athlete’s LS gap is ideally not more than 1.5” behind an imaginary line connecting hip to hip.
The “rear triangle” is likely a familiar concept to students of conformation; the triangle is formed by drawing a line from the top of the point of hip to the point of buttock to the visible protrusion of the tip of the stifle. The hip to buttock side reveals the position of a horse’s ilium, while the buttock to stifle line shows his femur. The shape of a horse’s triangle (which can range from equilateral to quite sloping) has a direct effect on his ability to both sit (collect) and extend (lengthen or reach forward). Depending on your sport, the “ideal” triangle varies, but I was always taught that a sport horse’s triangle should trend more towards equilateral.
Wardrope presented several photos of elite horses from popular disciplines, and analyzed their rear triangle. She quickly showed that upper level dressage and endurance athletes tended to be shorter on the ilium side compared to their femur, while elite jumpers tended to be more equal along both lines. Eventers split the difference, but those successful at upper levels had one other variable in common; the placement of their stifles was oriented towards jumping.
Stifle placement? What?
I will admit that in the past, I have perhaps not paid sufficient attention to this important joint, the physiological equivalent of the human knee. But after Wardrope’s presentation, I am certainly viewing the placement of the equine stifle in a new, appreciative way.
Watch your horse walk, focusing on the protrusion of the stifle. What is its range of motion? Does your horse move with long, swinging strides (low stifle) or a short, quick step (higher stifle)? Additionally, consider whether the stifle joint bumps into the horse’s barrel as he moves. Stifles that point outwards readily clear the ribcage and maximize the horse’s range of motion. Stifles that point straight ahead often limit the reach of the hind leg, as the joint actually hits the horse’s belly in movement.
Again, ideal stifle placement is somewhat dictated by discipline. Wardrope has worked extensively with the racing industry, and she categorizes stifle placements by running type: sprinter, miler, and distance. Ideal stifle placement for performance horses is split among these three groups, with dressage aligning with milers and all jumping disciplines and endurance favoring the distance placement. If you want to know more about these…you will need to buy one of Wardrope’s books!
Front End: Key Concepts
If the hind end is the engine and the LS the transmission, then the front end of the horse is his suspension and steering. Preserving overall soundness and promoting longevity in a horse’s career is all about lightening the forehand.
Consider again the name of Wardrope’s system: functional conformation, meaning that the horse’s structure has a function to perform. Therefore, it is perhaps no surprise that the most important conformational qualities in the front end of the horse all relate to their ability to be light on the forehand. Horses that can carry themselves towards level balance tend to stay sounder, longer, but not all horses are conformationally suited to do so.
One of Wardrope’s most important components in front end analysis is the pillar of support. This is an imaginary line that basically bisects the forelimb when the horse stands square. It allows us to see how much of the horse is out ahead of the skeletal support structure. Imagine a house with a porch overhang. A short overhang can be held up by the house itself, but the longer and wider the overhang, the more likely it is to sag without additional support. If the front limbs of the horse are part of his basic frame, they are only able to support so much mass suspended out ahead of them before the basic structures break down. In particular, look how far the pillar of support lands in front of the withers (more forward=lighter forehand), and how close it is to the horse’s elbow where it bisects the humerus (closer to elbow=heavier forehand). Ideally, the pillar ends in the rear quarter of the hoof.
Other indicators for the lightness of the forehand include the relationship of the base of neck to point of shoulder. The higher the base of neck, the lighter the forehand. If the point of shoulder is also high, even better. The longer and lower the point of shoulder (which is the external representation of the length and angle of the humerus), the heavier the horse is on his forehand.
The elbow joint is another one that I have never paid much attention to previously in conformational analysis. But if a horse’s elbows are too close to their body, the joint will hit the ribcage and the horse must compensate. Movement defects such as short strides or choppy gaits, and behavioral signs like girthiness, resistance to lateral work or refusing fences, can all be the result of tight elbows.
No horse is conformationally perfect, yet most are asked to do some sort of athletic work. Horses with deficiencies in key areas must compensate in others. We see evidence of this compensation in everything from windpuffs to under saddle resistance. Wardrope emphasized that most of the time, when horses have a performance issue, it is physically based.
“We need to listen and see if we can help the horse to overcome the issue, or change the horse’s job to suit their build,” says Wardrope.
Day two of this clinic featured demo horses, which we analyzed in hand and then watched perform under saddle. Wardrope offered various stretches and exercises which, if used routinely, can help horses to overcome some of their conformational deficiencies. While each horse’s maximum performance level will ultimately be limited by their underlying structure, practicing these basic exercises (which included elbow stretches, backing the horse up, and working over poles) can help a horse to compensate for common areas of structural weakness.
c 2017 W.W. Norton & Company, New York. 316 pages.
The American mustang has always been an enigma. He has been seen as a scourge, a resource, an icon and a symbol. He is simultaneously revered and despised. And unlike some other legendary figures of the American West, the Mustang is still living on those wild, rugged lands that have made him a study and tough creature. In his book, Wild Horse Country: the History, Myth and Future of the Mustang, Pulitzer Prize winning writer David Phillips takes us on a journey to better understand how the complex history of the American Mustang continues to shape his present and future.
The first time I saw American Mustangs was in the mid-2000’s, on a horse packing trip to the steep and rocky trails around Montgomery Pass, on the California/Nevada border. When I visited, the herd there was robust and numerous; they were arrayed across the rolling Adobe Valley Flats in family bands of two to five horses, but collectively there were well over one hundred. At the time, these mustangs were doing well, as evidenced by the numerous foals, and were valued by the local community as a source of tourism activity. I have no idea how time has treated these animals, which live on a land with no margin for error. But as I departed the region, bound for Las Vegas and my flight home, I encountered a smaller, solitary band. They were clearly not doing as well and looked as worn and wind blown as the rocks that surrounded them. Mustangs can look very different depending on the time and space in which you view them—a concept that Phillips drives home in this book.
Wild Horse Country takes the reader to Montgomery Pass and beyond, in Phillips’ search to understand what the American Mustang means to us today through an exploration of their history. He admits in the introduction that he is not a horse person, but is drawn to mustangs because he “loves the parts of the West that remain untamed” (Phillips, 2017, xxv). For Phillips, like many other Americans, mustangs are symbolic of the pioneer spirit that is synonymous with much of our frontier’s history. But he also connects the continued existence of Mustangs to a larger question: what does their legacy mean for the future of a land that is increasingly regulated and penned in?
Wild Horse Country is part history lesson, part first person narrative, and it is written to appeal to a broad audience. Phillips teaches readers about the horse’s first appearance in North America, as a tiny fox-sized creature called Hyracotherium and then its subsequent disappearance from the continent. He discovers how the horse helped change relations between Spanish explorers and our Native Americans, who took to training stolen animals with a grace and ease that made their partnership seem inevitable. Phillips looks at the mustang’s impact on art and culture, but also its effect on the lands and people of the West. He asks hard questions of the Bureau of Land Management, tasked with managing both mustangs and the land they exist upon. But he also interrogates those advocates working to preserve the mustang, and investigates the conflicts and overlaps between their agenda and those that might seem to be working in opposition.
This book is simply a fascinating read—the pacing is perfect, and Phillips brings his considerable investigative and research skills to the table in assembling each of these chapters. He artfully brings you to the lands he calls “Wild Horse Country”: “It’s not the land the horses chose. It is just the land that was left to choose. Hardscrabble islands of desiccated emptiness that herds were pushed into. Put together the patchwork where wild horses are found in the West and you have an area the size of Alabama” (Phillips, 2017, p. xvii). He deftly untangles the web of connection among the horses, the people and the land. And by the end, he even proposes a solution that might help to keep all of the pieces in balance.
This is perhaps the most even handed take I have ever read on the conflicts over mustangs that continue even now. If you are finding yourself running out of reading material during this pandemic, do yourself a favor and access a copy of this book. You won’t be disappointed.
If there is any silver lining to what has been a time of unprecedented uncertainly, fear and anxiety, it is this—
2020 will be the Year of the Trail.
COVID-19 has wreaked havoc on the equestrian competition season (First World Problem alert), cancelling everything from local schooling shows right on up to the 2020 Tokyo Olympics. This is a huge disappointment for riders that have been doing their homework all winter, especially those interscholastic and intercollegiate riders who saw their seasons abruptly end right when year end championships were scheduled to begin. Here in the northeast, our show season is pretty short anyway, so it won’t take much of a delay before it basically ends up not happening at all. And with more states enacting “stay at home” orders or lockdowns, those who board their animals are even being denied access to the companionship and comfort their horse provides.
On a more fundamental level, most equestrian organizations and facilities rely on monies garnered from their shows or clinics to help support operating costs; scores of trainers, grooms, braiders, exercise riders and more count on a busy summer season just to cover every day expenses. Losing horse shows may seem like only a superficial problem, but for a luxury industry like ours, the impacts are going to be even more wide reaching. Once this is over, horse and equine facility owners, particularly those who have faced a reduction in income, may have to make some hard choices.
Yet despite these uncertainties, I remain hopeful that positive change can and will come from these hard times. In particular, I believe that we will see more equestrians returning to their roots, focusing on simply enjoying their horses and hitting the trails rather than competing—and that puts those of us who have been advocating for stronger trail networks and a greater understanding of the positive economic, social and aesthetic benefits of maintaining healthy, multi-use trail systems in a unique position to recruit more support for our work.
In early February, over twenty New Hampshire area equestrian trails advocates gathered together for the first “Let’s Talk Trails” roundtable, organized by the New Hampshire Horse Council. We shared strengths and concerns and brainstormed solutions and ideas. Equestrian trail groups across the state are struggling with the same issues: declining membership, limited financial and human resources, increased encroachment on trails and loss of access. One theme became dominant through all the discussion—we need to do a better job networking not just with each other but with other trail users.
The work of protecting trails is not glamorous. It is joining local conservation commissions/trail committees and attending selectman’s meetings, keeping your ears open for opportunities to protect or grow equestrian use of public lands. It is joining land trusts, such as the Southeast Land Trust, the Monadnock Conservancy and the Society for the Protection of New Hampshire Forests, which are increasingly holding the easements on lands we once travelled. Land trusts and other conservation groups play an important role in protecting open space, but they often do not understand the needs or importance of allowing equestrian trail use, even on properties that have historically been used for this very purpose; as a member, we are poised to better advocate for equestrian access. It is taking the time, one on one, to speak with fellow equestrians about good trail etiquette, and also to reach out to our friends who bike, ride off road vehicles, hike or otherwise recreate on trails to educate them about safe interactions with our horses. It is talking to local landowners to hear out their concerns and ensure that equestrian use does not degrade the quality of their land. It is about looking at other trails groups as potential allies, not adversaries.
This past week I joined a webinar sponsored by American Trails, a thirty-two year old organization founded with the explicit purpose of “bridging the gap between different user types, across the whole spectrum”. American Trails is the group behind the formation of the Trails Move People Coalition (TMP), a consortium of ten different trail user groups ranging from the Back Country Horsemen of America to the National Off Highway Vehicle Conservation Council to the American Hiking Society, for the purpose of discussing and resolving those concerns affecting all groups using trails. Obviously, these diverse trail users will not agree on best practice for everything, but they are coming together with the hope of presenting a unified front for those topics where there is common ground. By becoming familiar with the needs of each type of trail user, the TMP is better able to advocate for a collective vision—one in which trail access is considered a critical part of the infrastructure of a community’s physical and economic health.
On the webinar, Mike Passo, Executive Director of American Trails, shared his thoughts on our unsettled times. “When coronavirus is all said and done, people are going to need to re-create themselves,” said Passo. “Taking away people’s ability to use their trails cuts at the core of a person.”
Through the Trails Move People project, Passo and other leaders hope to develop tools necessary to unify the greater trails community: gathering hard data on the value and impact of trail users, identifying funding and other resources that benefit the trails community as a group (especially to address the trails maintenance backlog) and advocating effectively for policy, legislation and funding decisions on behalf of the trails industry to Congress and other federal agencies.
Their goals are ambitious but essential. And even on this high level, the same theme came clear—there is a fundamental need for trail users to unite and to support each other in promoting our public and private trail networks as an essential bedrock to our local and regional communities.
The coronavirus/COVID-19 pandemic will change all of us in small and large ways. I fervently hope that for many Americans, this time of challenge will allow nearly everyone the opportunity to reset their compass and focus on those pieces of our lives that matter on a deep, fundamental level. I believe that most equestrians did not start riding to win ribbons; we started riding because we felt inexplicably drawn to these powerful and majestic animals. Those of us still lucky enough to have horses in our lives after the dust settles have a responsibility to remember that magic and to share it with others. It is the only way in which our industry will recover. Trail riding is equestrianism at the grassroots level.
It seems most likely that 2020 will not be the year of great competitive success. But it still can be a time in which we step towards other goals—goals which if they come to fruition will leave a long-lasting impact on our communities.
Are you willing to Hit the Trails with 2020 Vision?
If so, here are a few things you can do.
Join a trails group, and if you can afford it, join more than one. Advocacy starts at the grassroots, local level, so my personal opinion is that you start by supporting those groups that have the greatest impact on the trails/region where you ride the most. You can always expand from there.
Attend meetings or learn more about trails groups supporting different kinds of users. The more we as equestrians clearly understand what a snowmobiler, biker or ATV rider all need in their trail systems, the better poised we are to advocate for trail designs that can accommodate different users. Cooperation is a two-way street; equestrians are not the largest trail user group, and we are frequently misunderstood. It is up to us collectively to reach out and change that.
Introduce yourself to your town conservation commission. Find out what trail projects are already going on in the area, and start to look for ones that might be suitable for equestrian use.
VOLUNTEER! There will be plenty of grassroots work that needs to be done on trails networks across the county once we get the blessing to move freely again. Volunteering is free, gets you outside and is a wonderful way to meet other trail users.
GET OUT ON THE TRAILS. Take your horse somewhere you have never been. Explore a state park. Sign up for a hunter pace. Attend a meet up of a local riding club.
If living through the coronavirus/COVID-19 pandemic teaches us nothing else, hopefully it is a reminder that we are all deeply interconnected and must live and act in a way that considers the needs of both other people and the broader ecosystem to which we all belong. Working to preserve trails and protect equestrian access is important, and because most horse trails are shared trails, we will be serving to strengthen our ties to the local communities. And in a small way, we will be taking a step towards healing ourselves.
A few years ago, I founded an informal group called the Strafford County Equestrian Trail Riders. With just a small core group of volunteers, we have started chipping away at tasks including documenting and mapping existing trails/dirt roads in our country with the goal of creating a network, have helped to defeat a proposed “anti-manure” bill at the state level, and have represented equestrian interests to local land trusts and conservation commissions. Our total impact as of yet is not great but it is a start, a small step forward. And as everyone knows, a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.
Know Better to do Better: Mistakes I Made with Horses by Denny Emerson
c 2018 Trafalgar Square Books: North Pomfret, VT. 212 pages.
For the nearly 83,000 followers of Denny Emerson’s Tamarack Hill Facebook page, the themes in Know Better to do Better will hopefully sound fairly familiar. Because after over sixty years of learning from horses, Emerson has developed a clear philosophy and system of training—and he will be the first to admit that in learning his craft, there were plenty of wrong turns and mistakes made along the way. This book is part autobiography, part advice column and part training manual, all within the frame of creating a written tool box for readers based upon Emerson’s own expansive career within the equine world.
What makes Emerson so eminently qualified to speak on this subject? Well, for starters he has ridden to the highest levels in both eventing and endurance, stood stallions, bred and foaled mares, and developed more horses and riders than he could possibly recall. He has served on governing boards of several national equestrian organizations, supported local and regional equestrian facilities and organizations, and stood as a staunch advocate of the Morgan horse. If the subject is horses, he has something to say about it—and there is a good chance that you should listen, because his perspective is informed by both experience and education.
In Know Better to do Better, Emerson covers themes pertinent to the horse and those pertinent to the rider. Better understanding of subjects such as horse selection, management, training approaches, rider fitness and focus and rider education will all influence the future success of a given partnership.
How many of us look back at a horse we once rode and think, gosh, if I only knew then what I know now? In this book, Emerson has done just that for about a dozen of the horses which have most influenced his development as a horseman. For an equestrian of his experience to still have the humility to acknowledge that “I could have done better” is a call to all of us to constantly question whether we are truly giving our horses the best possibility of success.
In full disclosure, I had the opportunity to spend the summer of 2014 based at Tamarack Hill with two of my mares, and spent hours riding with Emerson in the Vermont “hills”. He is freely giving of his knowledge and experience and willing to share his perspective; he will dream bigger for you than you do for yourself. Now in his upper 70’s, he still puts in more tack time than most riders I know. If you have always wished to go for a ride with Emerson but it just hasn’t worked out…pick up this book instead. I promise it won’t disappoint.
About a year ago, I was feeling stressed and frazzled, like so many of us, overwhelmed by my “to-do” list and wondering how I was ever going to get it all moved into the “to-done” pile. Yet amid all this busy-ness, I left my farm, my agenda, and all of the millions of pressing “must do’s”, to go spend several days as a National Examiner at a United States Pony Club certification testing. These days, a certification is always a multi-level affair and requires considerable advance coordination of candidates, fellow examiners, parents and of course, the organizer. Oh—also, the facility and flight schedules and did I mention it all is supposed to be completed on a tight budget….?
A good friend looked at me as I was juggling these variables into a cohesive package and said–“Why do you still do this? Why do you still bother with Pony Club?”
I looked at her and blinked. I guess I had never really bothered to try to put it into words. So this—nearly a year later, as I am sitting in the Milwaukee airport waiting for pick up to participate in this year’s upper level certification—is my attempt to do just that.
By now, I have been a volunteer/clinician/National Examiner for USPC for nearly four times as long as I was ever a member. I belonged to the Old North Bridge Pony Club in Massachusetts from about 1992-1994, and then Squamscott Pony Club in New Hampshire from 1995 through 1997, when I aged out at 21. I started out as a 15 year old D3 who kept her semi-feral Thoroughbred mare in her English teacher’s backyard and finished as a 21 year old H-A who definitely thought she knew everything there was to know about horses (let’s admit it—what 21 year old isn’t that cocky?). I had participated in two National Championships and travelled to Delaware, California, Oklahoma, Kansas and Hawaii as a Visiting Instructor.
It was an action packed few years, to say the least.
This was all back in the “old days”, when you had to pass a National Testing all on one go, when the only option was to test in all four phases (flat, arena jumping, cross country jumping and horsemanship), when you aged out at 21 and had to try to somehow reach your goals before you ran out of time.
I have been a district commissioner and a regional instruction coordinator. I have organized, managed and taught at countless Pony Club camps. I have organized, judged and been the technical delegate at rallies. I have taught local mounted and unmounted meetings and run local club certifications. I have served on national committees.
I can’t even possibly guess the total number of hours I have spent involved with Pony Club. And I know that at its core, Pony Club is full of passionate horsemen who deeply want to see the organization and its members succeed.
As a National Examiner, I have been yelled at, threatened, physically intimidated and belittled by angry parents (never candidates). But I have also seen some of the very best—candidates who come forward and say that, even if unsuccessful, a testing was one of the most positive experiences that had had in Pony Club. One mother even brought a pie after we had told her son that he had not met standard, with a note thanking us for our compassion and saying, “It is always hard to so no to children and pie.”
But why? Why, out of all the countless equestrian organizations, have I chosen this one, specifically, to spend most of my extremely limited (read: non-existent) free time with?
I guess to understand that, you will have to know a little bit more about me.
When my family moved to Massachusetts in 1990, I was a pretty die-hard hunt seat equitation rider. I had had the opportunity to compete a fair amount for a kid who had never even leased a horse, because our facility hosted several “C” rated AHSA horse shows and held a series of in house schooling shows for all of their clients. There was also a local hunter/jumper association in our area which coordinated a school horse show series for the major lesson factory programs, so I had even competed some at other farms.
I knew nothing about dressage other than bending.
I thought cross country was terrifying.
I had no intention, ever, of competing in a horse trials or event.
I only knew what Pony Club was because of the Saddle Club books.
But when we left New York, I lost my barn family. There, I had been a certified “barn rat”, frequently hanging out after school and helping out around the barn, even though I only had my lesson once a week. I desperately wanted to find that family again in Massachusetts, but from the beginning it was a struggle. Though I found a great hunter/jumper lesson program, it quickly became apparent to both me and my instructor that my goals outstripped any of what her wonderful lesson horses could offer. She told me she was happy to keep teaching me, but unless something changed, horse wise, she wasn’t sure how much further I could go.
I was stuck.
And then something kind of amazing happened. A wonderful woman, Ann Sorvari, who was an English teacher at my high school and my neighbor, let me start riding her Thoroughbred mare Dilly. Dilly had stood around for several years. There was only a twenty meter grass circle to ride on. Dilly really preferred to stand around and look pretty over doing actual work. But I rode her all over the subdivision we lived in, up and down Olde Harvard Road, and once a week, all the way down Burroughs Road, across Route 111, to Wetherbee Stables for a riding lesson.
Dilly was difficult to ride, and I lacked the skills at the time to help her to be better than who she was. She spooked a lot, tried to go around jumps rather than over them, and could have full on Thoroughbred melt downs over really irrelevant stuff.
Kathy, my hunt seat coach, came out to see her one day. She chose her words carefully.
“Well, she is never going to be suitable for what we do,” Kathy said. “If you take her on, you will have to set different goals.”
But like any horse crazy kid, what I wanted more than anything was a horse of my own. So when Mrs. Sorvari offered to transfer ownership of the mare to me, I had already made a shift in my mind. Despite Dilly being rather ill suited for most riding goals, she met the one criterion that was most important—membership in the species Equus caballus.
And THAT was when I joined Pony Club. A few girls in my high school were members and they gave me their District Commissioner’s info. I knew Dilly would never make it as a hunter or an eq horse, but I figured that in eventing, it didn’t matter what you looked like so long as you made it to the other side of the jump.
Clearly, I had much to learn.
At this time in my life, there was one more major variable in the mix. Just before I started high school, my mother was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. The disease launched a full scale attack on her well-being, with an increase in symptoms that was almost quantifiable from month to month. When you are a teen with no control over something so terrifying, having a safe place to escape to is everything. The more intense her symptoms, the more I focused on studying horsemanship.
Pony Club is a volunteer organization, and parental involvement is key. But my mother was too ill to help, and my father too busy trying to take care of her and go to work and run to the grocery store. Though I didn’t know it then, perhaps the first lesson that Pony Club taught me was generosity—the many parents who picked my horse up to go to meetings or rally though it was out of their way, who spoke up for me at parent’s meetings when I didn’t have a voice, who loaned or gave me tack, equipment and other items which I couldn’t afford on my own. As an emotionally hurting teen, I was not always gracious enough in my acceptance of their support. I can only hope that they all know in their hearts what they did for me, and today I try to emulate their generosity and compassion in my interactions with others.
Here are some of the other lessons I took away from my five short years as a Pony Clubber:
The C1 examiner who complimented me on my ability to handle refusals during my show jumping course, saying, “I have met B’s who don’t know how to ride a stop like that.” This, after being told by so many that my horse (Dilly) was useless and wouldn’t teach me anything. Instead, I learned patience and tact, and developed a tool box of techniques to make things better.
The clinician who helped pull me up out of the water jump at my B prep clinic. After remounting in soggy britches and rejumping the fence, I tearfully asked if there was any point of continuing to plan on taking the test. “I absolutely think you should take the test,” she said. I learned that sometimes you have to land in the swamp and figure out how to pull yourself back up before you will get to where you want to be.
Laughing and chatting and eating Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream at 2 AM with my friend Becky while driving home from Nationals, only to realize that we had been following the wrong car and we had no idea where we were or where to go. We had to stop and wake up her mother in the back seat and admit that we hadn’t been paying enough attention. I learned that sometimes, you have to ask for help, even if it is your own fault you need help in the first place.
Trying Tetrathlon, a four-sport contest in which you run, swim, ride and shoot (add fencing and you have modern pentalthlon). I learned that I could make myself get up and run every day, and do a flip turn in the pool, and shoot a gun, and for the first time in my entire life, feel like a real athlete. I learned that though I was never going to be the fastest or the strongest, I was still capable and that being the best athlete I could be was its own victory.
The moment at my B testing when I burst into tears when I saw the “meets standard” box checked. I couldn’t quite believe it was real—I had found and paid for the lease on my testing horse, arranged for my trailer rides to the clinics and the test and arranged for the hotel all on my own. And though there were several generous, wonderful adults who helped me along the way (including the test organizer who loaned me a car to get to and from the B&B I was staying at when my ride ditched me), it was the single biggest thing I had ever accomplished mostly on my own at that point in my life. I couldn’t quite believe it was real. It was farther than I had ever dreamed I would go in Pony Club. I learned that I am possible.
And when the examiners handed me back my H-A test sheet, one asked, “when will you take your A?” –and I told her I knew that it was too much, that I didn’t have a horse and wasn’t ready. She replied, “that is another lesson from Pony Club—it teaches us to know our limits.”
Perhaps. But personally, I think the opposite is true. Pony Club challenged me to stretch my limits, to grow and try to do things I had never envisioned were possible for me as an equestrian and young adult.
And Pony Club gave me a community of support and love during a time in my life when I most needed one.
So I will remain #PonyClubProud, because I know that there are children and teens now who were like me then—the ones who just so badly want to show growth and move forward, who are learning to set goals and reach for them, who may not have the full support of people around them at home. Because if for just one member I can be that voice who says, “You can do it. Never give up, keep moving forward,” that is worth more than all the hours combined.
I owe Pony Club a debt I can never repay.
Celebrating the incurable addiction which is being an equestrian