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!
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…
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.
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.
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?
Jigs and I attended the Bay State Trail Riders Association’s (BSTRA) Goddard Brunch Ride yesterday at Goddard Memorial State Park in Warwick, Rhode Island. Riding along Greenwich Cove and Bay was a great way to escape the high humidity that settled over New England these past weeks. While not as hot as other parts of the country, thick humidity makes physical exertion nearly intolerable after 10 AM- at least for New Englanders anyway! I have been riding in the early morning when it is cooler but even then we return to the barn dripping.
The “metropolitan park” as it is labeled on their website, is a wonderful property that contains a beach, boat landing, picnic areas, a golf course, and old carousel building (no carousel) that can be used for events. For equestrians, there is a show ground with a huge grass ring, and 18 miles of groomed bridle trails, that run parallel to the cove and bay. There is also a public riding stable that provides guided trail rides through the park for the horseless. A little over an hour from Jigs’ barn, we try to get there several times a year. I’ve written about it in past posts.
Horses are not allowed on the beach proper after Memorial Day through Labor Day but even in July, there are places we can get to the water during low tide. Yesterday was one of those days and we rode 9 miles, many along the water.
BSTRA provided a delicious lunch after the ride, and we chatted with old and new friends while the ponies munched their hay.
If you ever get to Rhode Island, I highly recommend visiting Goddard Memorial State Park.
Vertigo kept me from riding the past few weeks. This episode lasted days and included a trip to the ER. I was finally able to hop on bare back and walk gingerly around the ring for about 25 minutes on Friday.
Initially on the fence about having my usual Sunday lesson, I decided to do it. Worse case- it would be time in good footing with someone watching me- safer than trying to regain my balance alone.
After walking around the indoor both directions, I tried trotting. Not bad. I was mostly balanced. So why not try for third gear? (What my instructor calls canter because Jigs knows verbal queues.) Surprisingly, it was the best cantering in a long time. Still leaning left going clockwise, but less so than usual. Not bad for two out of shape old coots.
With the memory of dizzy, I focused on ahead, not down. Repeat: I DID NOT LOOK DOWN! OR BACK
February has been warm, too warm. Last week I canceled my lesson because Saturday morning was -11 F and it was near 50 degrees the next day. I did not want my pony to get a belly ache. He is 20 this year after all!
Yesterday was not as warm, but perfect for an 8.5-mile jaunt through Douglas State Forest. Our route included a few scenic trails we had not ridden before.
The best part of the day: Jigs was so excited to go out with his friend Copper, he loaded himself on the trailer without me asking! I do think he enjoys these outings.
No resolutions for 2023. How can I know what my reality will be in three months, six, or eleven? What defines me today may not be relevant tomorrow.
The rational me counters, but without goals how do you get anywhere? Achieve anything? Fair point.
A local news commentator declared successful resolutions are “smart goals.” I’m left pondering if resolutions are goals? Goals map out a journey toward a larger vision.
Perhaps the relevant question is what is my vision for 2023 and beyond?
When I was “less old,” I used to play a game where I wrote a letter from my future self to my current self. In it, I described what I had done and was doing. It was an attempt to actualize success. At thirty-five, I thought I had time to meander along paths of distraction. So, I did. Nothing in those letters ever came true.
And now there is less time to “fulfill” a “vision.” But if each step, each moment in time, is a life lived, does it matter? My vision is to continue meandering along the paths of distraction and leave behind trails of joy.
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