Rockin' Kickers in Breeches Mecca

"You must be one of the western riders." A horse handler commented, raising her brows as she looked down at my boots.

I smiled.

It's been a long day. Sigh. We are now down to six, as one of the instructors-in-training decided to go back to her ESL studies. She still believes that therapeutic horsemanship is the best form of physical therapy—she's a PT in her country and is passionate about her belief that the horse is the therapy—but she just needed to follow her dreams in a different order.

Her hours will be divvied up between the remaining students, and I am feeling anxious about this tonight. I am having a difficult time trying to find my center in a place of learning, where I am going to be teaching. The few things I have taught to other students and instructors—how to properly use a bosal, how to raise stirrups on a western saddle, how to cinch a girthy horse in a western saddle—have gone over pretty well. But I don't feel like I fit in yet. It's been more than two decades since I owned a pair of breeches. They are the jeans of the Northeast.

This morning I was up before the sun to meet with one of the school's directors. She has an 8 year old TB/Shire cross that needs a tune up. He's pushy and she gave me the freedom to "use a little Buck on him". I told her I could use the equipment she uses, but asked if she, by chance, had a rope halter. I was pleasantly surprised when she retrieved one from the tack room and, although it was a little bit crusty from age and had some dust and cobwebs on it, it was serviceable for me to introduce myself to Sir Robin. I quickly established my boundaries with him, when he indicated that he wanted to tell me how things were going to be done. He ended up quiet enough so we saddled up and I put my Ariats into the stirrups of an all-purpose English saddle and we headed out to a meadow with stonewall boundaries and sheep in the neighboring pasture. I worked on some bending (which was lacking) and softening (where he rooted), but found that he had a lot of try and I wanted to reward his efforts on my first ride. He has a lumbering trot and wasn't too bad in his serpentines. We headed on a short trail ride down to a tidal creek that connected to the Connecticut River. I learned that most of the stone walls that are prevalent in this area were built in the 1700s when landowners were clearing their properties to farm or build. The dew was thick in the grass and the air was crisp with the promise of the coming autumn.

In class today, we covered several physical disabilities and ended up a little off topic a few times because, in learning that vibration is helpful when used properly to relax spastic muscles, we needed to go into a little more into detail for our foreign students who needed an explanation for the word "dildo". It was good comic relief for a day dedicated to learning about some very sad, debilitating disabilities.

I met a girl with Cerebral Palsy tonight as I observed a class I will soon be teaching. She seemed thrilled to meet me...she wears cowboy boots too. She asked me how long I had been riding western and what kind of shows I've done. I provided input on riding two handed in the snaffle bit, but she wants to ride one-handed. It's going to take a bit of convincing her that it's ok to ride two handed, even if you ride western.

All the students in the class seemed great. Most of them rode independently at least some of the time during the class. Despite the great impression they gave me, I am struggling with self-confidence. Some of these students are great riders, they just don't fit into a "traditional" lesson.

I am going to try to get some sleep, despite my scheduling anxieties. 6:15am will be here sooner than I want, but I am looking forward to another morning with Sir Robin, so sweet dreams....