Spring is blooming in Central Massachusetts. Rain has been minimal the past few weeks, allowing trails to dry out: perfect riding conditions.
Monday, we stayed local. Our 6.6 mile route crossed what we call the river. It’s slowly receding but still horse knee deep. There were a few iffy moments for me at the gas line. Jigs got “jiggy”, so I elected not to gallop up the hill. A little later we had to duck under a low branch while cantering, although it was a blast and quite funny.
Grafton Route
There was lots of laughter and conversation. Best line of the day: “I can’t hear you over your horse’s farts.” I was having so much fun, I did not take any photos.
Jigs and I trailered to Douglas State Forest (DSF) the next day to meet up with a friend and her mare. We hadn’t ridden together before so we weren’t sure how our horses would react to one another. No issue. They were fast friends, and after the ride her mare followed Jigs to our trailer. Jigs usually tries to lead or follow but he was willing to ride side by side with her. We even cantered together!
DSF has marvelous trails. Not all are horse friendly, like the hikers/bikers only Mid State Trail, but there are miles of horse trails. We rode off of Wallis Street, and stayed on that side of the forest. There are other parking areas to access more trails. The Southern New England Trunkline Trail runs through DSF, as does another rail trail, the Grand Truck Trail. Main trails are named and well marked. The Massachusetts Department of Conservation and Recreation maintains the forest and keeps the trails clear. They get support from local trail organizations like The Bay State Trail Riders (BSTRA.org).
DSF Ride
My knowledge of DSF is limited and yesterday’s 9 mile ride included trails I had not been on before. I learned about which to avoid and a short cut to bypass a rocky area. I am looking forward to exploring more DSF trails this summer.
The past two days of riding has left me grateful for the life I live! Thunderstorms are in today’s forecast, so Jigs will get a needed rest. Happy Trails!
Jigs came to me when he was 6. He is 21 this year. I don’t know his date of birth- he came without papers. His vet has been the same since he was 3, so his age estimate is accurate. She’s watched him grow into the stubborn pony he can be.
What I know of his history has been pieced together from different stories. A local sale barn rider bought then resold him to the woman I got him from, though I never met her (transacted the purchase through her barn manager). She bought him to be a hunter pony for her young daughter but it sounded like she was intimidated by him. He would give her a hard time and refuse to leave the barn when they would all go for a trail ride. My friends had ridden him without issue. One of the reasons I took him on trial.
He does test riders that way. I personally watched him do that with two different trainers.
While Jigs is the horse of a lifetime, I’ve found over the years if he refuses to do something, you can get him do it through negotiation. He needs to know why. Forcing him does not work. Someone remarked recently that he is like a mare in that way. Maybe.
Jigs’ split ear is his standout trait in a field of chestnuts. A while after I got him, the sale barn rider recognized him in the pasture when he was delivering hay. He remarked Chace (aka Jigs) “is a nice horse.” He added “there were papers the prior owner did not want to pay for,” but I’m skeptical. Papers can be swapped. He mentioned Jigs was well broke when he bought him.
None of it matters. He was sold to me as a green, grade quarter pony, although he sticks at 14.3. Despite lack of work, he looked fabulous the day he arrived. He holds his muscling.
Jigs February 8 2009 – First Day
Even at 21 he looks great!
Jigs April 2024
Although he enjoys napping in the sun more than he used to- then again, so do I!
Last week, I purchased a 15-minute reading at a psychic fair. Closer to 70 than 60, I figure knowing the future is somewhat irrelevant, but it was for fun and to support a local business.
The reader, who was younger than my daughters, told me my wish would come true in June or possibly October. I laughed and told her I hadn’t wished for anything.
“Not even when you blew out your birthday candles?” she asked.
“Nope. No birthday cake for me.” After awkward silence, I added “wishes are dangerous. Maybe they come true, but not as you expect… like the monkey’s paw.”
She turned over another card to change the subject.
The concept of a granted wish has rattled around my head since. What would I wish for?
World peace? But at what cost? Realistically, that likely would require a world without humans.
Live forever? I think of Sybil who asked Apollo for immortality but forgot to include eternal youth.
Immortality is overrated, but maybe fewer age-related aches and pains?
Should I wish for a new house with land for the pony and a friend for him? This close to 70, that could be a challenge. Who would help with the upkeep? I’d at least need a tractor and then learn to drive it. I can barely handle towing my trailer. This wish rolled down the alley and disappeared into the gutter.
What about winning the lottery? That requires good luck and I think it is best to have no luck at all, avoiding the flipside of the luck coin.
And of course there is the Scottish proverb, “If wishes were horses beggars would ride.” I can relate to that, but I already have my dream horse.
I am grateful for what I have. Circumstances of birth gave me family, home, food, education. I have eyes to see, ears to hear, mouth to speak, hands to do, feet to walk. I have the luxury of horses in my life.
Both the pony and I are seniors. I no longer dream of mad gallops across fields but hope for a beach lope now and then. We traverse trails, weather permitting, practice in the ring for local shows. That is enough.
I am conscious that the years in front of us are few and, like senior discounts, I intend to take advantage of them!
60 degrees at the beginning of March! Blue sky after gray rain.
I took Jigs on my daily walk.
Three miles walking strengthens partnership. Yes, I could have ridden but our usual trails are muddy from the crazy rain, and it felt good to be beside him for a change.
So, we headed down the street in a different direction than our usual route. My plan was to cut through the old pine grove, where we used to ride, to avoid backtracking.
Good idea that lacked execution; I took a wrong turn. I would say we got lost, but I suspect the red pony knew exactly where we were as he dramatically sighed a few times. The old trail was broken, and we had to bushwack to the highway to find where it picked up again. I knew these trails before loggers destroyed them. The local land trust is working to restore them.
Downed trees, mud, a brook, big trucks- Jigs didn’t hesitate. Trusty trail pony he is.
On the way back we ran into a horse and buggy. Jigs got snorty. Did he think it was Spoc? I let them go ahead of us; he wanted to follow them when we turned toward our barn. Silly boy.
We were sweating by the time we got back. Okay, maybe me more than him. He is starting to let go of winter, but his coat is still thick; he was warm- honest…
What a difference a year makes. Just because that is cliché doesn’t mean it is not true.
Last February at this time, like many of my co-workers, I was stressed about the upcoming round of “reorgs” spinning in the rumor mill. Every February, this annual event disrupted my head, my stomach, my sleep, my focus. For years, I made it to the other side.
Then last year I didn’t.
At 65, for the first time since I was a teenager, I was without a job. Dreading starting over again in a world created for youth and short term thinking, I decided to take the hit and retire early, despite being months from full retirement age.
It turned out to be the right decision.
This February is just another month, albeit with less days. My blood pressure is normal. I sleep, I eat well. I walk nearly every day. Dark winter afternoons don’t prevent me from riding.
In two months, Jigs and I have traveled 103 trail miles. Last year at this time, we only had 21; the year before, 27.
Our lifetime tracked miles are 3,731, 269 from 4,000! Fingers crossed we both stay healthy. If we do, we will crush that!
Retirement has slowed me down. This is good. My blood pressure is normal for the first time in years. There is no hurry to get things done. I get to choose what I do each day.
This morning I went to the barn to ride. The sun was warm and full. There were no clouds subduing it’s light or warmth. Ice was turning to mud. I had just cleaned my good winter riding booties, but what is a little mud when the weather is perfect?
And there was Jigs, in the field sunbathing, dozing in the February sun.
I assumed he would rise when he saw me but other than raising his head to look at me, he did not move.
I took a few photos and hung out with him. Still he didn’t get up. In fact, he closed his eyes, drooped his nose to the ground!
I decided to return his halter and lead line to the barn. When I looked back, he was stretched out flat, snoring loudly.
I am flattered he feels safe enough to sleep around me. Not long after I got him, we were at a cow clinic waiting for our run. He dozed with me on his back, left hind foot cocked. An elderly woman came up to me and said, a horse that will do that trusts you and is a treasure to own.
He is that and more.
When I was working, time was limited. I would have forced him to get up and go so I could get back to whatever task needed completion. We would both have been rushed. Now, I can be patient. There is time.
We did hit the trails later in the afternoon with some friends. It was a glorious day to ride. I am so blessed!
Several years ago, I had a panic attack in the middle of a snow ride with a large group of friends. When their horses exuberantly took off at a gallop through the wonderful snow-covered footing, I panicked and stopped Jigs from going, afraid he would buck or fall or bolt. It wasn’t rational. I can ride out a buck and a gallop. But at that moment I couldn’t.
I feel the same panic when I think a car is going to pull out in front of me or when there is an unexpected noise. I slam on the brakes, pull back the reins, jump in place. My body is constantly on high alert and my nervous system triggers without conscious thought.
That day, I let my friends continue their ride and Jigs and I went home a different way. I stopped riding in large groups. I even considered giving up riding all together.
Horses in a group are a herd and their instinct is to stay with their buddies. My intellectual brain knows that. My nervous system does not.
I spent a few years working on my fears, not just related to riding, but life in general. I learned exercises through therapy that slow my reactions. I took riding lessons to improve my seat, especially at the canter. I read books, like Crissy McDonald’s Continuing the Ride (https://www.amazon.com/Continuing-Ride-Rebuilding-Confidence-Ground/dp/1732825831), that helped me understand the brain and fear. I am on a journey to fill in my gaps, become a better rider for Jigs.
At 66 I don’t bounce like I did when I was younger.
This week I went on another snow ride. I chose again not to gallop off with the herd and despite Jigs’ desire to go, he stayed with me, albeit protesting a bit. We eventually caught up with our friends.
When we did canter off in the soft footing, I sat through an exuberant buck and we cantered some more. He is a horse after all and entitled to fun in the snow!
But this time I see it differently. He stayed with me, took care of me, and let me release my moment of fear.
What a wonderful pony and good friends I have. I am blessed.
November is when most organized horse events stop in New England. Jigs and I participated in our last judged ride on November 5th. We placed second in our division even though my brain fell apart at the second gate, and I messed up by overthinking.
Second Place
Overthinking is one of my fatal flaws. That and my noisy hands.
Winter is the time for slow trail rides and ring work. This week I set myself a challenge- to stop and turn off my seat and legs without using reins. I struggle with keeping my hands still and interfere with Jigs doing his job. I can use the frozen months to work on this.
And I will use Winter’s pause to continue sorting the stuff my parents left behind, like photos from the 50s and 60s. I don’t know the names of many people among them, probably friends of my parents. I did recognize an old car- a Chevy Impala my father loved. I recall riding in the back seat angry my parents were taking me from the solitude of my book to visit cousins.
As their only child, there are lots of photos of me. What strikes me is how even at two or three, my mannerisms were fully formed. Here’s one of me talking to Santa with my hands, something I do today. Noisy hands.
Talking to Santa
Snapshots of forgotten moments to digitize. It seems a shame to throw away the unrecognized ones. They are someone’s memory, someone’s treasure, but there’s no space to keep them, no one to look at them.
This pruning is part of the aging process. Keep only what matters and release the rest.
In my last post, I stated it’s not about collecting ribbons, but when you get them, it’s a rush and validation of all the practice hours and dollars spent in pursuit of improvement.
L2 Open Ride Champion – Photo Credit Mountain Lane Farm
Heccateisis's Blog 