Learning to Ride in the Snow

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.

Dawn

This last morning of 2023, I await the suns return. Already dark is graying; it is only minutes to sunrise.

December has been warm and watery. Trails are muddy. Jigs detests the footing. Riding has been limited, partly out of respect for Jigs’ age and for the trails themselves. Best to let both recover from the rain.

2023 has been a year of transition. My job of 32 plus years was eliminated. Rather than find a filler job to get me to full social security, I made the decision to retire.

Most of my adult life was consumed by work. I got caught in the web of the job is who I am. But when it was gone, I realized it was not.

Years of shuffling papers on a desk, typing into a computer, orchestrating others. This world gallops forward, there is no legacy in hoofprints. Nothing of significance is left behind except the people. I slipped away with little acknowledgement I was ever there.

Losing my job was in a way, a gift. I rode and played with the pony through Summer and Autumn. I walked miles, alone in the woods.  I discovered my old poems and wrote new ones.

I found a path patiently waiting for me to return and stepped forward into daylight.

Hibernation

November is when most organized horse events stop in New England. Jigs and I participated in our last judged ride on November 5^th. 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.

2023 Trail Challenge Update

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

Progress 2023

The final 2023 trail challenge at Mountain Lane Farm is behind us.  Last weekend, Jigs and I headed out of the barn at 6:15 in the rain. As we neared the New Hampshire state line, the rain stopped, but it stayed chilly most of the day.

We arrived in time for the walk through at 8. The two judges patiently explained what they expected at each obstacle and answered our questions. “Straightness” was the theme. Jigs and I compete in Level 2, in hand, adult ride, and open ride, so there was plenty of time after the walk through to groom and warm up as we waited for our classes.

As usual, in hand was a debacle.  I am clumsy and struggle with spatial awareness. A recent DNA trait update on Ancentry.com indicates I am “Least Likely to enjoy dancing.” True. I’ve never been comfortable in my body. This spills to hand classes where I get confused and tangled up in the lead rope. Poor Jigs. He’s so forgiving.  The judge noted on the scorecard how often I touched him and we finished near the bottom of the large class.

Rolling Bridge – Photo curtesy of Mountain Lane Farm

Adult ride was much better.  I was aware of my mistakes (all mine, not Jigs’) so my expectation of pinning was low. It was a large class with strong competitors. We completed the 360 degrees turn on the rolling bridge, but I had to back him up a few steps to avoid stepping off at 180 degrees.  It cost us a point.  Overall, our total score was 70.5, enough for second place! Much better than the first two challenges.

Trailhead – Photo curtesy of Mountain Lane Farm

Our scores in the open ride were lower, 68.5, but enough to place first. We lost points because of my sloppiness- a half point here and there adds up.

Box – Photo curtesy of Mountain Lane Farm

For me mountain trail is not about collecting points or ribbons- it’s about building communication with my horse. When I think back to where we were last year, I see improvement. And I FEEL when we are not in sync on the course. The judges’ scores mirrored what I felt on the obstacle. In the open class, I lost tempo coming down the trot hill and fumbled on the trail head turn; my scores reflected that.

Ribbons

The win for me is I recognized it on the course. A few years ago, I would have been blissfully aware. My horsemanship scores have improved. Even with my wobbles in the open class, we scored a 5!   

I am thrilled with how far Jigs and I have come and look forward to next year!

Stalled

The retirement honeymoon is fading. Even though fall is my favorite riding time, I’m a bit bored and worried. Stalled in prepping the house for sale, I’m at the point when I need to get a dumpster and hire someone to clean out the heavy stuff- old waterlogged wooden furniture and heavy trunks I cannot budge nor take to the town dump.  I’ve been hesitant to hire someone because of the cash drain.  

And then there is Jigs’ age. Like me he is slowing down. I want to think it is just the Lyme, but it is not. I’ve been blessed with him in my life. He will never be replaced and will be with me until the end, but I’m keeping an eye out for a second horse.

Buying a horse is risky- what you buy may not be what you get. The market is crazy high. I want a horse solid at walk, trot, canter, sane and brave over obstacles and trail, not too young, not too old.

A lot to ask? Yes, but that horse crazy girl in my head keeps asking….

Circumstances of birth gave me more than needed. I remind myself of this daily and am grateful.  Even so, there is:

Plenty to want, nothing wrong with that

But I’m happy with what I have

                           What I have – Kelsea Ballerini                                                      

Working Equitation Clinic

The first week of September was horribly humid and hot- mid July weather. It was also the week of the three-day Working Equitation Clinic I had signed up for in March. New England weather…. crap shoot.

A few weeks before the clinic, Jigs’ Lyme flared up for the second time this year.  Behavioral changes were the first symptom. He got angry and frustrated when he didn’t get his way. This triggered secondary symptoms- muscle twitches. Thankfully after four days on doxy he was back to himself and cleared for the clinic. 

Despite the heat, the clinic was great. We learned a lot and identified more things we need to learn.

I am still on the fence about entering a working equitation show next year. Jigs is 20 (though he doesn’t look it); perhaps like me, he needs to focus more on relaxing trail rides and chilling…..

We will see what fall and winter bring……

Learning Latin Names of Flowers

Awesome weekend for riding, which we did do.

I was going to write about it, but this morning, my eyes caught flashes of color- wild flowers.

In my late twenties I became obsessed with knowing all things wildflower. Horseless, I found myself walking, backroads, local trails. They were everywhere, alongside young trees in vacant lots, unworked fields, ditches. After all, New England is a forest waiting to return.

Weekends, armed with my Audubon Field Guide, I sought changing colors week to week, month to month. Ephemeral and exquisite, I was drawn to stunning sensuality.

And the poems came. I had the book title too:  Learning the Latin Names of Flowers.

But life, as it does, got in the way, and the poems stopped.

Why wildflowers? What drew me to them?                

Spiritual Healing

              Some have forgotten

              your name, but I see

              your many faces

              in the flowers

              strewn by roadsides

              and across fields.

              Like the hips of young girls,

              their petals sway in the breeze,

              calling to the bees,

              and they come.    

              Yet you are

              a cavern fringed with Winter

              and we are bears

              sleeping through long nights.

              In your wisdom,

              you leave us

              so we may come

              from your dark

              into your light.

              for like us

              you are a bear

              and we your nursing cubs.          

              This earth is brown and green,

              and when water breaks

              from the sky: blue.

              Like great thighs

              your mountains call us

              and we come.

Healing? Maybe. Or fixing failure?

As a high school freshman, I was given a September biology assignment due the last week of school. I was to collect, dry, and catalog local wildflowers throughout the year.

Too busy partying, I promptly forgot the assignment until two weeks before it was due.  I tried to capture remnants of May and early June flowers, but they were not dry, and I fooled no one. I flunked the assignment and the class.

Maybe that is where the poems came from.

Since that failure, I have learned not all local flowers are wild, some escaped from gardens and wreak havoc. Loosestrife is an invasive species.

Does it matter? Magnificent and magnetic, unbound flowers call to me. Tansy, Yarrow, Lady Slippers-

Hawkweed

Remnants of Rags

Yellow tatters left behind

by a careless woman

litter the road:

Kites bound to Earth

by green string.

And Black Eyed Susan-

Rudbeckia hirta

A name more violent

than spicy mustard,

implies barmaid brawls

or beaten wives,

and though rough leaved,

a field of suffragettes

marching toward the light.

Maybe that is what we are all doing…. marching toward the light.

(note all poems and quotations written by apaul)

Letting Go

As I clean out the house I live in, readying it for sale, it occurs to me that humans hold onto too much. Some of the things my father saved perplexes me. Boxes and boxes of screws, electrical plates, flux, wires, ancient tools I don’t know the purpose of. There are receipts from the 1960’s for wood, concrete, and other sundries. I recall my mother and me trying to get rid of this just before his health forced him to a nursing home. When we put something in the dumpster, he would rescue it. We gave up.

Those things were his unrealized intentions.

My dad worked hard his whole life. He owned several businesses of varying degrees of success and failure. He was kind, the first to offer help, taking control in times of grief. He saved a woman’s life by going back into a building filled with noxious gas and resuscitated her.

I think this selflessness was because he experienced so much loss at a young age. His father died in front of him when he was thirteen. Accepted by an ivy league school that he could not attend for lack of money, he married my mother. And then his younger, 17 year old brother, was killed in a car accident the month before I was born.

Like all humans, my father was imperfect. He drank too much. His health failed early. Cancer, blindness, and stroke left him in a wheelchair.

This stuff we accumulate, disappointment and grief, are hard to release.

The bags of stuff I carry out of the house are the letting go, for him, of him.

My plan, if it holds, is to sell this house and move somewhere less expensive, somewhere with land for the pony- maybe two. But as my father learned, intentions are just that. They don’t always workout the way you expect.

As I sort through remnants of his life, I confront my own desire for lightness of heft, illumination, and grace. 

Sharing a beer with the colt 1970s something….

2023 Mountain Trail Challenge 2

Saturday was the second trail challenge of the 2023 Mountain Lane series.  Not our best day, but we managed to pin first in Level 2 Open Riding.  I was happy even though our first two runs (in hand, and adult) were rough and scores too low to ribbon.

I intended to go to a Mountain Lane Play Day to practice the course before the show, but life and high humidity interfered.  Last weekend we attended a local versatility clinic. I received help with cueing the 180-degree tetter totter turn and though we didn’t get a wow in the competition, we didn’t lose points. I was a bit too handsy at the end. Rider’s fault, not horse.

There was a small Texas Two Step at the clinic. I wish I had spent more time stepping on and off from the side. I didn’t notice that nuance on the challenge course until competition day. Human error. 

Clinic

Hot and humid the day of the challenge, I was pleased when competitors were told the judges would keep an eye on the warmup ring to ensure riders respected the heat. Keeping horses safe (and riders) is first priority.

In hand was a throw away class for us.  My lack of body awareness created confusion for Jigs and I had to touch him with my hands, which is a big NO for competition. It did get him familiar with the idea of competing, which helped with the riding classes. I was happy we got the 360-degree turn on the rolling bridge, something we had never attempted before.

The adult riding class was rough.  We lost all our points on the downhill back up, even though we practiced it well on the trail, I could not keep him straight.  We lost our points on the cake box side pass too.  This requires the horse to put two feet on the first layer and side pass to the middle before stepping all the way on.  Losing points on these two obstacles put us out of the ribbon race.

Photo Credit: Mountain Lane Farm

Level two open was much better.  We got the downhill backup, though lost two points for lack of straightness.   Jigs’ side pass on the cake box was perfect! I was pleased with the run but painfully aware of our gaps.  I figured we would not ribbon. I was about to load Jigs on the trailer when I heard our names called for first place!

Photo Credit Mountain Lane Farm

I enjoy these trail challenges. I want to think Jigs does too but who knows what thoughts run through his equine brain? Maybe he’s just working toward the cookie he knows is at the end of the class.

Time to go…..

Navigating a trail course is a test of partnership between horse and rider. Asking a thousand-pound animal to climb on a moving obstacle and turn requires trust between two species, one a predator and the other a flight animal. The horse must trust the rider is not putting them in danger, and the rider must trust the horse does not flip to flight mode.  I feel like our partnership has grown because of these competitions. At the end, isn’t that what it is about?

Photo credit Mountain Lane Farm