Moon over my horsie

I've been sick, but keeping up on suzandtrav.blogspot.com, but had a nice moment to share with my horses this evening.

I try to remain aware of my horsemanship even if I am just going out to feed. Jake and Drifter were out today while I was home with this stupid cold. Hey, I am not used to being sick, so I get a little dramatic about it.

Anyway, the full moon is awaiting tomorrow's eclipse and Drifter decided it was playtime before dinner.

Playtime is fine, but I wanted to ensure that he finished "with me" instead of "with food". So I snapped some shots while he did his thing.

Full moon fever

He sought refuge from Jake, who wanted none of it. I love the next picture because it is quintessential Jake & Drifter. Jake (ears back) clearly irritated by the presence of his kid brother and Drifter (ears forward) obviously oblivious.

Jake, will you at least smile for the camera?

So I sent Drifter off to find the good place to be and when he found me, we were done. Jake knows the drill all too well and keeps close to me or just doesn't move. He just wanted his dinner.

But my cute little palomino is coming along nicely. I know it doesn't seem like much, but every moment with him means something to me. I can't believe he's the same horse that took hours to come to me when I first started working with him in April. Now, it takes minutes.

He is just so willing...

I am still here...

So Travis suggested I start a blog about his knee surgery. And then I thought there is so much more to write about in our lives besides my adventures in horsemanship.

So, I have started a second blog suzandtrav.blogspot.com for knee surgery, VW bug restoration, home improvements, travels, and all else Travis and Suzanne.

Please stay with onehorsemanship.blogspot.com as well, as this blog will remain live for all things horsemanship.

~Suzanne

A break from horsemanship.Here comes depression...

Old Man Winter has come to Big Bear early this year. Not only did we get snow in early October, but November 4 brought a few inches of fresh snow.

Think he's been chewing Orbit gum?

My little Drifter had apparently gone to Burlington Coat Factory in October and got himself some thick winter fleece that far surpassed the attempts Jake and Willow were making for coats. Regardless, in advance of the storm, I blanketed all three.

Blanketing was a terrifying thing for Drifter back in March when I brought him home from Angel's Camp. We were hit with 80 mph gusts the first night at "Brown Jail" (a nickname for my barn, since Drifter came from the Emerald Bliss of Central California). Those gusts would lift the blanket sideways like the flag on the moon and Drifter was certain I was going to strangle or suffocate him with it. But upon the third blanketing of his life (after a summer of lots of handling and about 10 rides), the little guy stood with all four hooves in cement while I wrapped his little body with a big warm blue Weatherbeeta hug.

Cold jail.

So it's cold. Darn cold. And it's dark before I pull into the driveway now. It's the beginning of what I call my winter depression.

Also, I have an upcoming marathon. A few months ago, before I knew better, I signed up for the Rock N Roll Marathon in Vegas on December 4 (with their enticing tagline: "The World’s Largest Nighttime Running Event"). I've made a valiant attempt to train 'barefoot' with the hopes of completing this marathon without running shoes. I hit the streets in my Vibram FiveFingers (they're kindof like gloves for your feet) in snow conditions. That was a unique experience. My feet ended up getting really wet. I was pummeled by heavy snowballs being chucked at my head by windblown tree limbs. And the hems of my pants got so soaked that I was running on them. Each step with wadded up cold cotton pantlegs around my feet got more and more annoying until I started to run holding up the waist, which really began to mess up my gait.

I had to hold up my pants to see my VFFs.

I endured this misery for about 7 miles until I had to drop-trou at Gino's Tires in Bear City. I had some slick running capris on so I wasn't completely bare, but the Old Man Winter was gnawing on my fishbelly white skin with his frosty teeth. And I still had three miles to go! 

This really doesn't look that bad, does it?

And that wasn't the worst of it. 

There's something that happens to a lot of runners when they are putting down some long, hard miles. Let's put it this way, if I was running a marathon, I was thinking about a cheerleader on the sidelines holding up a sign like this: 

She must run marathons...

I didn't. But I really thought about it. And I survived my first miserably cold, barefoot running experience. I'd like to tell you how "zen" it felt with giant snowflakes surrounding me as if the road was my snowglobe. And yeah, maybe there was a moment when the song Alice on my iPod told me "I will get by. I will survive." And I looked up and some snowflakes were floating approximately 5.8 miles per hour alongside me. But I was kindof having an emergency and couldn't enjoy it as much as I would have liked to.

It took hours for my core temperature to get back from the dead.

No, I am not much of a winter girl at all. 

A case of circles...

And it keeps coming back around to....

April 2011. North Phoenix. The last day of a four-day horsemanship clinic.

Buck Brannaman put the class to riding the line of a circle. There weren't any circles drawn in the arena, but the riders were instructed to work with their horse into a 10- to 12-foot circle, with the goal of getting tail to follow nose in an arc, using the reins to help the horse, but ultimately working toward using your legs more and using your reins less or no reins at all. After a bit of working at this, a pretty clear circle would be imprinted in the footing.

Photo courtesy of Mike Thomas

I was riding Kathy's young gelding, Junior. I didn't realize at the time but the sensitivity in that horse, which frustrated me at first, ultimately took me to a place I never thought was accessible in this life.

In clinics past, we had worked on these circles. If you are on a horse with not much "go", it's an experience that can be likened to inner-thigh torture. The forward movement required to keep hind following front is much better achieved in a horse willing to move. I would have not survived 15 minutes on Jake. But Junior is willing to move, which left me with working on guiding him and working on my "feel".

I wasn't prepared for what Buck was setting up. I was one of 18-some-odd riders in a dizzying assembly of circling horses. Junior and I were matting down a pretty good imprint of a circle in the arena.

Every 10 minutes or so, Buck would instruct, "Walk a half figure-8 through the middle of your circle and change directions. Move on."

Again, thanks to Mike (the Horse Mumbler) for the pictures

At times during the exercise, Junior would look out of the arena. He'd pretend to spook at something. I'd bring his nose back into the arc.

Are those bees or yellowjackets? I wondered.
Why are we doing this?

The food staff was prepping for lunch. Junior took notice. So did I. Oh, yeah...get back to your circle, Suzanne....

At one point, I thought it interesting that I'd become possessive of my circle. If a neighboring rider would encroach, I would become a little agitated as if it were my painting that someone was about to mess up with their brush. But I would soon learn it wasn't about the circle.

After about 45 minutes, people around me were falling out of their pattern. Strange geometric shapes were imprinted in the dirt beneath their horses. Another 20 minutes or so went by and some students were chatting, but still going through the motions. A few dismounted to use the outhouse. Others were taking their jackets off or pausing at the side of the arena. I overheard a comment, "I feel like a human hot walker." Clearly, frustration was mounting in the class. But for some reason I kept working at it. Trying to figure it out, knowing Buck had to have a reason.

But what?

As I searched through avenues of my horsemanship that I hadn't been down before, deep in thought of the meaning behind it, trying to feel the horse's feet, Junior met me halfway (and if I hadn't been so aware of the present moment, I'd have missed the timing of the release and the "feel" that was there) something dreamlike happened... we were floating. We were in a perfect arc; my hands weren't on the reins; we had forward movement from the front and hind. It was harmony. Time seemed to slow. Buck's voice on the loudspeaker echoed in the background as he acknowledged something that an auditor was discussing with him. A dragonfly on a tiny jetstream slalomed around us and out into the desert. I was aware of each of Junior's feet landing in the dirt as if they were my own. Our breathing was the same...our movements were the same. This is what Buck wanted! As soon as I really became conscious of what was happening, I lost "it". Junior looked out. I panicked and searched for "it" but didn't get it again, but for a moment I felt what this is all about. I relished the moment and rubbed Junior's neck.

The rest of the class for me wasn't perfect. I felt tired after four days of horsemanship and maybe Junior was too. Or maybe I was trying too hard to make it happen again, and frustrated myself that I couldn't get there again. We didn't fall apart at the seams, but that last hour was my worst of the clinic.

In closing questions, I told Buck how I went from frustration with the circles to harmony. He smiled at me.... then spoke with the class about how if he had time he'd have us do hundreds of thousands of circles. A few groans could be heard.

It was only later when I was discussing with Kathy that I realized what truly happened to me. Paul Dietz had been talking for years about the ultimate goal: one mind, one body. But I never could comprehend exactly what that meant. I was overcome with hot tears and my body trembled at the enormity of what that was like. I had to hang up the phone because I felt as if I was hyperventilating. My knees buckled and I dropped to the dirt. I panicked that I wouldn't experience it again.

The next day, I tried to seek validity from Paul. Then he simply said, "You know what you felt. Why didn't you develop it?"

How is it that I have been "riding horses" for 20+ years and not known that this was there all along!? Perhaps trying to make things happen is not the answer after all. What got me here isn't good enough to get me where I am going. The more I learn, the more I understand that I received what I had asked for. And I've tried to surround myself with a circle of horsemen and horsewomen with the same goal in mind.

It's universal...

It is universal...and it changes you. In the past six months, I feel like I have become a different person. Maybe I have become more patient, tried to become less judgmental, and more open and accepting of what is out there to enhance my life. I try to see people as if they're doing the best they can with where they're at in life. Whether I agree with what they do is irrelevant, as theirs is not my life to judge. I'm only doing the best I can with where I am in mine.

"The tragedy of life is what dies inside a human while he is alive." ~Albert Schweitzer

As Paul Dietz says, "Enjoy the journey." He is right. Enjoy, indeed.

Keep learning with an open mind. It just keeps getting better...

Commitment and the Tango

I've told a few friends that I am starting this blog...and there's interest. So I  must make a commitment. Not only to myself, but to my horses and my continued learning.

The other day Moo and I were talking on the phone and she was telling me about this amazing book that a friend of hers had written. It was about her personal experience studying the tango: an open- or closed-embrace lead-and-follow dance that, at the highest levels, is a beautiful thing to behold. In tango, the "lead" is responsible for choosing the steps and for leading the "follow" by hand pressure and signals to complete the steps smoothly. She was explaining the author's role as a student and how learning to tango eventually crossed over into teaching her about life as well. Now, I haven't read the book but the concept piqued my interest, especially since I have been in a discipline of horsemanship that is constantly being compared to a dance...and crosses over into life.

In Acton last week, I got a taste of the dance. It was Sunday, the last day of Paul Dietz's horsemanship clinic. Jake and I had a nice day on Saturday...some of the best riding I had experienced on the big lug in a clinic setting. So, Sunday, I really felt that Jake and I were jiving (OK, bad comparison, since jive is a dance)....we were in sync with each other through the morning's riding.

Paul asked the class to pass by him doing a great drill in which the rider sends the horse's hindquarters to the left 180 degrees and then the front quarters the to right 180 degrees. This maneuver, when complete, results in the rider continuing down the arena in the same direction after completing what non-horse-savvy observers might think was just a "spin" or a 360 degree turn.

As Jake and I passed Paul, we completed our HQ to the left 180, FQ to the right 180 and Paul's comment was "good."

I beamed inside. I agreed...I thought it was good. It felt smooth...not forced. Jake was pretty responsive and I was happy with it.

On our second pass, I slid down my right rein, bent Jake's head toward my right knee, untracked his hindquarters to the left 180 degrees. I opened my right hand allowing room for Jake's right shoulder to open up to the right and he stepped about 90 degrees with his right front leg. Continuing with the movement, Jake took a small step from his left front leg to balance himself ahead of completing the last sweeping step to the right. But I had doubt. I quickly came in with my left leg to his side. This caused Jake's head to shoot up and he quickly stumbled across the front and we continued down the rail.

"You rushed it." Paul said.

"I know."

After the rest of the class completed their turns, Paul called us in for a meeting. He gave everyone in the class come critiques about what they could do to get it better.

When Paul got to me, he said "Suzanne."

(pause) .... what's he going to say??? (There was a moment of worry)

And as if he were a dance instructor, Paul rhythmically said:

"One. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight...." With each number, he tapped the palm of his hand to the horn cap of his saddle.

After another brief pause, he said, again tapping the horn cap, "One. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight...."

I nodded. Those eight words were crystal clear. I realized I tripped my dance partner by coming in with a swift leg kick to rush the maneuver. If I was leading properly, he would have followed. Looking back, if I had left it alone, trusting my lead, we would have been fine. But I came in with an unwarranted leg to push my dance partner along and we lost all rhythm with that simple mistake.

And we learn from our mistakes.

So the good news (who am I kidding, it is all good news!) is through all my trials and tribulations with Jake (and one very special moment with a very special Junior last spring), I am learning what I should be looking for...what I should be waiting for...what I should be feeling for...and what I should search for as I begin a new commitment with Drifter.

This evening, after an off day at work, I came home and saddled my little yellow horse. Drifter gave me a little bit of work at the start...but as I learned at the Ray Hunt Memorial Clinic: you go with your colt until he can go with you. And here I am at ride #6 and I have my patience and I have trust in what I have been learning. So I am going to work with Drifter until he can settle a bit and continue to allow me to reward the smallest change and the slightest try.

the next step should be deep to the left

not bad...not bad at all

A tango in its infancy...

I hope whoever is reading is as appreciative of every step of their journey as I am with mine.