Best Time of Your Life

Dark is dark unless you are trying to get a green broke unconfident buckskin mare to cross from a golden field barely distinguishable in the zero moon sky to a patch of inky black burn stubble. May Day said Uh uh, there is no way I am going to step into that abyss. OUCH!

I over and undered her with my romal, the long end of my Spanish braided reins .The knot and popper whistled and cracked.

She jumped, flinched, threatened to rear. My fear of impending capture was far greater than my fear of what the mare would do and I increased my effort until at long last, she finally extended her head and neck forward and took a hesitant step.

I glanced over my shoulder at the woods at the edge of the meadow. There was a road through there. We had come down several paths impassable to a motorized vehicle but if anyone could get a four wheel drive through that, my guardian Corky could.

I was running away from home. During one of our increasingly frequent screaming matches, I said something unforgivable and it escalated into them chasing me through the house. “Gonna teach you a lesson, this time.”

Now, before you go all off in horror, they were not as a rule physically abusive people. I grew up in my own form of nightmare and it absolutely paled at it’s very worst moments to what some kids go through every single day.

The details of the fight are not important, barely remembered.  Teen age drama complicated by being raised by people my grandparents’ generation with plenty of quirks of their own.

I fled the house at top speed no surrender in me. I grabbed the looped reins off the fence where I had left my mare, leapt onto her bare back and took off  into the woods. She bucked when she loped and I trotted her as fast as I dared. I couldn’t ride her buck in a saddle. Bareback I had no chance at all.

I cast my ears back listening for the pursuit I knew would be hot on our heels. I spun the mare off the dirt road onto a brushy trail urging her to dodge and weave the narrow deer path.

From there we spurred into a Manzanita thicket. My guardians were hella hunters and I knew unless I kept my trail well  hidden they would track us with no trouble at all. I gained a few bloody scratches for my trouble but had no idea til the next day.

The county road lay before us, a black top ribbon that could have a speeding Scout International on top of us before we knew it. I listened intently, my heart pounding in my throat. No sound. Hmm. Looking again both ways, we crossed, quietly at a walk. I did not need clacking hoof beats to give our location away.

Winding through the tightly forested path, I had to cross an open area visible to the road to avoid a fence line. I hoped the new owners of this land were not in residence, camping in the cabins they had built amongst the trees. They had seemed friendly enough to Lisa and I continuing to ride across property we had always thought of as ours but I didn’t want slowed by conversation or have people pointing, they went thattaway. Nope, no one home, good.

I skirted around my friend, Lisa’s place. Again, no time for parents to wonder why I was headed the wrong way when we all knew to be home by 5:30 for dinner and it was long past that.

Cutting north down a long grassy hill, I am closer to the road than I want to be. We cross the little stream at the bottom and I remember being half proud that May Day didn’t give me any trouble over it.

The part of Northern California that I grew up in, just outside a town called Laytonville, population 1001, was made up of rolling grassy hills that turned into towering mountains. They eventually about 10 miles over as the crow flies dive into a line of wild Pacific coastline. I was riding toward town with no clear plan whatsoever of what I was going to do, once I reached it. Ocean? Maybe.

More stretches of Madrone trees, oaks and piney woods. We rode mostly at a trot, putting distance between us and the chase I couldn’t hear coming. Sweat soaked into my jeans from her back and sides. Nothing I wasn’t used to.

Finally a large meadow stretched in front of us, last one before the trail went into another set of woods and I could come out behind the ballpark and rodeo grounds. I had ridden this route fairly often even though I was strictly forbidden to ride anywhere near town. There might be BOYS there you know and a 15 year old girl could never be simply wanting to practice a barrel pattern . . .

I scowled, thinking about how ridiculous my people were. Their thoughts, as I look back, were probably closer to the truth than I would have admitted then. Still, a person can wonder how things might have gone with parents who allowed a normal social life . . . Past is passed, though and not much use digging into except to learn from it and forgive . . . both self and others.

Suddenly May Day locked up underneath me and shrunk back, snorting in terror. Wha?? I grabbed around her neck to stay aboard shaken rudely out of my sulky reverie.

The ground in front of us disappeared into the invisible void at the beginning of this story. A wildfire had burned half the meadow and in the now complete dark of the night, there was not a single visible detail to assure either of us we would not fall straight through to Hell if we proceeded another inch.

I stared hard. No, there was a tree line on the other side. I had not somehow ridden us into a different dimension with different rules of time, space and earthly substance. We needed to go. Any minute now, people, vehicles, even someone on a horse could come charging from the wooded trail behind us . . .

It took an entire can of whoop ass. That was the only tool I had for a horse that refused back then. May Day unhappily decided what I was putting her through was worse than certain death in the abyss. She took a trembling step forward with all her senses telling her it was a horrible idea.

I could smell that it wasn’t likely still hot. The idea of her setting foot on an ember and what would happen next, I quickly banished in the interest of having no choices. I wasn’t going back.

We pick our way through the burn. I am watching sharp as I can for any sign of coals or a change of odor from old burn to newer. She brushed a twig that somehow survived. We both jumped. I was the kind of rider who melted my body into my horse in those days and I went with her easily but almost peed myself in the stress and fear of my deed.

On the other side, we are following a freshly dug up river bank. More newbies from the city buying land and immediately wanting to turn it into something else. Where we usually proceeded was blocked with an ugly pile of  dirt, torn up Manzanita, scrub brush and some perfectly good trees that had looked far better gracing the riverside.

I turn May Day and encourage her forward. She goes willingly enough. My lesson in go or else had sunk deep. It had worked out for her last time.

Suddenly I am aware that it is a different pitch black before us. Nothing but empty air would have greeted our next couple of steps. I haul back on the mechanical hackamore with all I had, startling the mare into a pained reverse. I patted and stroked her neck. I praised her for bravely going where I pointed and I cursed my stupidity that could have caused serious injury to my horse. She was the innocent bystander in this whole thing and the last thing I needed to do was break her leg for it.

Keeping my wits more about me I picked a way across a branch of the river which was  a small rocky stream with steep muddy banks. May Day was a total trooper, sure footed, able and again I was so proud of my horse. I didn’t like May Day very much.  She had bucked me off more times than I could count, was pale and unattractive to my eyes. I had wanted a palomino and I get this washed out buckskin looking thing?

Tired now, I am developing a plan. I will ride to my best friend, Claralee’s house. It was possible her parents who were close friends with Everett and Corky could talk them out of killing me or grounding me for the rest of my life.  That grounding would have to do with horses. I wasn’t allowed any other kind of freedom but it would have done me in to not be able to ride.  It was the only place I found any true peace of mind.

May Day was tired too now, and completely relaxed. We rode the silent back streets of our little town. I could see headlights for miles and there weren’t any. A house with a barking dog, and we angled down a couple blocks to avoid attention. The outskirts of town were occasional houses built on little meadows. There was the Lutheran Church I’d attended until I was 12 and then switched to the Baptist because cooler kids went to that one.

Claralee lived quite a ways north and west of the town proper and we made our way. There was a moon now, and if I hadn’t been in so very much trouble, I would have been having  the time of my life. Dread of consequences lived in front of my eyes. I’d bitten off quite a bit with this escapade. What to do . . . what to do  .  . .

As I approached Claralee’s house, I cannily went up the dirt road that ran behind it, thinking if my guardians were there, I would kick May Day into high gear bucking be damned (I didn’t think she would now and as a matter of fact, she never did again). We would still make our escape. Fences on either side troubled me but surely there would be a place to dive off into before we were trapped  . . .

An older boy, Jimmy who was like a brother to me had apparently been enlisted in the search and wisely was waiting for me at Claralee’s house.

“Terri? Is that you? Come on now, get down and come in the house. Everybody is worried about you and they just want to talk.”

It took awhile before he could persuade me to come in. I bargained for two weeks of being grounded and no other consequences.

I wonder now, if things hadn’t been so public how it would have gone? No matter. It was what it was. I was a pretty terribly spoiled manipulative teenager being raised by people who had no skills and thought that keeping me locked down as tight as possible was the only way any of us would get through it.

The real negative is I was left with a firm impression that consequences are mine to avoid if I can give the impression of bargaining from a place of strength.

The true positive was the bond I formed with my horse. My horsemanship was harsh, impatient and rude. I didn’t know any other way but she still gave me everything she had.

And we humans think we are the better specie.

Thankfully childhood with all of it’s ups and downs, had horses in it and has been very far from the best years of my life. A long life, well lived behind me and I can hope the best is yet to come.

 

 

It’s the Quality of the Journey

I took my time stepping up into the saddle. The little red mare eyed me placidly. I had every reason to believe things would be okay once I was up but I have had all those reasons fly south before in hot nano seconds of misjudgment and I had way too much going on to risk getting hurt.

I finally put my foot in the stirrup, bend her a little so if things do go bad I have an idea what direction they will head for and it’s cowgirl up. As I settle in, the mare shifts slightly under me.

I’ve been riding horses all my life. At this point I’d been a professional horse trader slash trainer for some 15 odd years. That first few seconds on a horse’s back can quite often tell me everything I need to know.   This mare shifted, settled and waited for me in a way that only the very brokest of the broke will know to do. I couldn’t believe what I was feeling. She didn’t lie, either, Penelope was a broke beast with a heart of gold.

Royal didn’t lie either. He leaped, spun, skittered and twirled but he did not lie. Every so often amidst all that, he would show me a stride or two of pure brilliance. Moments so sane and brave I’d almost get lost when he’d immediately become terrified again of an odd colored leaf or the wind whistling by a road sign.

In search of finding that sanity, those brilliant moments, I hauled him to a Peter Campbell clinic. Rather than ride Foundation with him, I took an offer from the NHS to start one of their rescue horses with Peter. What an opportunity!

That put Royal and I in the far more advanced class Horsemanship 1. A friend of mine noted us as being “high headed and unpredictable.” My first thought was, yeah and you should have seen my horse!

Point being, I know what broke feels like. I know broke and sane, and I’ve had my share of terribly troubled.

Peter is maybe not the first person I heard say that the mental change occurs in me before my horse even has a chance but he’s the first one that’s shown me how it matters not just in horsemanship but in life all over. You cannot be one person at the barn and someone else all those other places.

If I am scatter brained and inconsistent, what can I expect from my horse? If I have no discipline, no respect for myself or others, what are any of my results going to be, not to mention the ones reflected back in a 1000 lb mirror?

Riding with Peter has opened my mind to listening to my teachers even if I don’t understand where they are going or the point they are trying to make. I am a skeptic by nurture and I began as skeptical of Peter as I am everyone else.  Not that I hadn’t seen a lot of good things happen auditing his clinics but just because you can do it does not in any way guarantee I can. Special, you know.

I’ve gone down enough roads with Peter, and Trina, to have decided they are worth my trust and I am worth theirs. Taken the same risk with my corporate boss in my day world. Suddenly I am listening to people, taking instruction and my life has become fuller with people, new friends and family than it has been in a very long time.

A couple weekends ago, some of those new friends from the barn Royal lives at now and I ventured off to the Shaggy Horse Dressage Show in Lincoln, NE. This is the short term goal we’ve been working toward taking lessons with Becky Parker. 

Setting goals at the beginning of the year is nothing new for me. I set a lot of them and weed out, pare down as money and time allows. The show was important to me for a lot of reasons. A commitment, something to follow through a process, and a chance to get my horse and I out in the world and see how we measure up in our new discipline if we play for real.

If you follow us on Facebook you would think it was an Olympic try out as much as I have gone on about our weekend. Baby-ist of baby steps is what it was. Intro A and B.

Walk/trot only, not even a single canter transition. I asked Becky what she thought I should try for our first show and she said pick the one that looks so easy it’s boring.

When I first looked at the tests, that’s what I thought. Walk some, trot some, a couple circles, straight lines,  halts. What’s so tough about that? Hah! Try riding those with precision, geometry, rhythm, relaxation, proper position, posting on the correct diagonal with consistent elastic contact (on a horse who once went straight to funky town any time I put pressure on his face). As in all things horse and worthwhile, it’s not as easy as it looks.

All weekend a calm eyed happy horse greeted me when I arrived at his stall. The hydrated hay bales we were introduced to when I won one at the CTR last year have solved our drinking problem. Well, his anyway. He slurped up his bucket the first night and drank half his water.

In my overwrought nervous state, I reversed my Friday and Saturday ride times and missed my first ride, Intro A. My stomach sank and it was all I could do to not sit down and cry when I got the news. My horse, all braided and tacked up, me in my fancy duds  . . . and nowhere to go.

I’d just been busy telling a young friend of mine that sometimes life will hand you lumber and you just have to build a bridge and get over stuff.  Now it was my turn, once again, to practice what I preach. It was a throatful, let me tell you. I took some deep breaths, said, okay, that’s just the way it goes and moved on.

Thanks to Rachael and Becky, the show allowed me to ride the test later in the afternoon.

Warming up earlier that morning I had no idea what I would find in my horse in the busy arena. Lots going on, energy was high and I could hardly breathe. Thinking about it now, my shoulders are tight remembering. As he does these days, Royal cuddles up to the block and welcomes me aboard. No nerves from him until I share some of mine . . .

About 100 people told me to relax. Becky too. She told me to stop forcing a form that wasn’t natural, to just sit and ride my horse. I tried, I did. All that anxiety that I carry around anyway formed a tight band in my brain and descended into my body. What I thought was at least a little bit loose looks pretty tight in hindsight. Explains a lot.

The best moments of relaxation were found hanging with my barn friends. We parked our chairs in the aisle, and hung out. We cheered and encourage one another in our rides, and Kenzie braided manes, equine and human alike.

Our test went okay, I knew there were no really great moments like I have been catching glimpses of in our practice rides but nothing terrible happened either. I had a very decent score for a first time ride. Not that I knew it at the time as I am very novice at dressage and how they score is very different than anything I have previously encountered.

Rachael encourages me, telling me not to get discouraged at the feedback. “Mostly, they tell you what you do wrong,” she said and that was true to my first ride. I gave them plenty but it was a solid respectable try and I felt the pressure was off for the next one.

Day two, we enter the dressage ring. Just warm up until the bell rings. We practice a couple corners, important they are square not half circles and just broke into a trot and it’s the bell.

Kenzie, called my test for me (she and her dad, Gene and Jess got these great photos too!)  Her voice, clear and concise directed me from one exercise to the next. Coming into my circle to the right I am encouraging Royal to extend his stride and really move forward. He interprets it as a canter request and breaks gait.  I sit back, bend him slightly into the circle and he’s trotting again.

There were moments in that test where we felt completely united. Just like there were moments, standing with him in his stall, his neck happily curling around me, partners enjoying one another’s company on yet another grand adventure.

Those moments of brilliance from Royal are now so close to the surface, if I can be handy enough they are there to tap. That is what it is about,  me getting somewhere close to being able to accept what my horse has to offer instead of continually impeding and getting in the way behind my preconceived ideas of what might or should possibly happen.

It’s not about ribbons, test scores or even the wonderful comments I hear from my friends these days about how my horse has come such a very long way. He has, and I love that other people can now easily see what I used to feel for a split second at a time but that was enough to know it was in there.

Looking at the pictures and the videos, I can see how his fussiness comes directly from my stiff spine and iron shoulders. I’ll be better next time and so will he.

We  had a lovely score, that ride. Gave us a blue. Not a large class, again but the score would have stood on it’s own against quite a few.

My Riding Center friends that showed had a lot of success too. Greg Queal who operates the Riding Center now for his mom, Sally, came away with Training Level Reserve Champion. My friend Jess and her Jedi gathered up a colorful handful of ribbons as well.

The judges write notes on the score cards. They are invaluable aids and I plan to keep mine forever. Especially the second one.

It reads:

“Lovely horse with some very nice moments. Needs to soften over the back and steady into a soft contact (read TERRI needs to soften . . .) LOTS (underlined twice) of potential!”

Yep. I am completely stoked. The compliment is to my amazing horse, Peter, Trina, Becky, Colleen, and an incredibly long list of of dear friends, even my boss at work because without them, I would never have made the mental changes that’s given Royal a chance to make his.

Can’t wait to see where this goes but awful happy where it is!