Mary's House Nostalgia

Rabbits...

Five years ago, I was still in Connecticut. I was getting ready to graduate with certification from a top-notch course in therapeutic riding after having met some of the most influential people in my mid-life career. It was here the first time I scribbled the word equu8 in a scrapbook, but had no idea where it would take me.

I was living in a house built in 1895. Mary's House was the kind of New England dream home sitting atop a knoll a short walk from the Connecticut River, surrounded by stone walls and a 9-mile equestrian cross country course through the woods on 500 acres of paradise. I would awaken in the mornings to gaze through blown glass windows out onto low lying fog blanketed pastures and wild turkeys gathering. My housemates (Katie from New York and Noem from Israel) and I avoided the basement of Mary's House, convinced that those stairs were meant for "don't go down there" scenes in horror movies. The creaks and groans of this old house was spooky enough.

Mary's House, Old Lyme CT

Um, no.

Stonewall heaven

Autumn is one of my favorite times of year and watching a New England summer transition through fall in to winter is an unforgettable check off my bucket list. It inspired me to read Thoreau's "Walden" and get my own words onto digital paper.

As Halloween 2018 came to a close, I was reminded of something I wrote while staying at Mary's House one restless night when I was certain I was being visited by a specter from Mary's heyday. Perhaps a levitating witch outside my window? As it turned out, my nightmare had a simple explanation.

Rasping window slapping, scratching
Sounds as if the door's unlatching
My heart pounds, can't say a word
Until I saw the midnight bird

All Hallows' eve is drawing near
New England's saints will soon appear
Startled awake and eyes are blurred
Awakened by the midnight bird

Turn on the lamp and catch my breath
This fear will certainly bring death
Go back to sleep, this is absurd
But then returns the midnight bird

Lying awake with shadows curving
The evening has been quite unnerving
In the dark again I heard
The flapping of the midnight bird

As much as I like to scare people, I'm not much for being scared myself. However, a little pounding heart is good for creativity...

Fears and Mirrors

It takes as long as it takes.

I've frequently ridden the lakebed this month, following the best winter in six years which has left the northern part of the lake still under a sludge of water. The south side of the lake is cracked like an arid desert, with the kind of footing on which you can let your horse stretch its legs far more than he could in an arena. The feeling of letting a horse loose brings back high school memories of racing my arab for uninhibited miles in the Murrieta Creek.

As opposed to the sandy wash of the dry creek, the lakebed can be a bit tricky, because the footing changes with the landscape. There are gopher holes in the areas with sage and meadowgrass, and there is some debris out there, so confidence in your ability to slow down is imperative. It can be a bit unnerving if your horse is in a dead bolt and you've got nothing by way of control at the end of the reins.

But before you go grabbing a bigger bit to leverage control over your horse, you might consider preparation before you go. Let's be fair, it should be fun for rider and horse.

It's a no brainer for me to take my numero uno to the lakebed. It's hard to explain with Drifter, but a silent mutual agreement has been formed. I can just about bet my life that those feet might as well be mine. There's just about nothing like having a horse you "made" on your own from the very first ride: you can't blame anyone but yourself for the bad things, but you can find a heck of a lot of peace in the good things. Trust is mirrored infinitely with Drifter. We've got each other covered.

So if your horse is light and responsive through all gaits in the arena, you shouldn't have any trouble in the great wide open. There's ample room to circle if you need to downshift, but you gotta bet on that too.

For those of you who haven't heard about my journey with Bravo, I've had a few falls. None of them were bucks (which he didn't do in the four rides before he came into my life). All of them were lateral launchpad escapes which left me so far out of balance, when my only choice was to hit the dirt. All of them were directly related to my decisions to climb on Bravo without proper preparation. Each fall left a stinging doubt...forcing me to question myself and take deep into my heart criticisms that aren't worthy of breaking it.

Stupid fear has lingered for years so I rode in fits and starts...but Bravo never asked for any of my baggage. He is quick and athletic, maybe even a bit insightful. He can move lightning quick and he's even more sensitive and touchy than Drifter, which in turn has given me some of the greatest gifts under saddle. At Paul's in December 2015. At the beach August 2016. Buck's 2017 clinic. Unforgettable presents.

Like today.

Drifter was the lucky guy to go on the past two days' trail rides. It was Bravo's turn, and I wanted to run far, fast, forever....

Yet the chicken within me already pecking away at all the reasons why I shouldn't. As soon as he was saddled, the wind kicked it up a notch.

Groundwork went well with the rope and the flag, so we rode over to Shay Meadow Ranch to check on our WTC transitions and ease the anxiety we both felt from Drifter's voice carrying across the valley (yes, it literally echoes). As Bravo's body quivered to respond to his brother's cries, I'd rub his neck, musing, "Drifter's bummed, Bravito!" Arenawork felt so darn good and it was far too tempting to head home.

Looking to the northeast at the brilliant white monolith peeking above the trees, I envisioned the accomplishment of reaching The Eye of the God. So we made our way across the ranch past a tractor, a giant scary tarp, and vocal horses, opened the gate and removed the barriers that held us within the safety of the property lines. It's wide open from here.

We carefully passed the fenceline toward the open lakebottom, where a few walk-trot transitions proved to be totally reliable. Bravo shifted gears into a lovely canter.

Sweet surrender.

There was no reason to stop at this point so we crossed Baldwin Lake Road and navigated through barking dogs, wind-whipped tarps, and dirt bikers on a Sunday ride to the trailhead. Comforting Bravo encouraged him to keep forging ahead until we reached the spectacular quartz rock.

It could have been too easy to stay there the rest of the afternoon, daydreaming that this day would be marked in history as the day Bravo helped me release self-limiting beliefs. But I've concluded that, too, will take as long as it takes.

After a few selfies and some deep breaths, we traced our steps back home.

Synchronicity — A true story

A flock of ravens nearly darkened the eastern twilight sky, their wingbeats thumping through my chest as a horse whirled along a round corral. 

An omen? I thought, never noticing so many in the same place and time…certainly not here. 

Whiskey objected to the loop of rope around his hocks and double-barrel fired his hind feet in protest. The last day of summer emblazoned the sky with the most spectacular post-rain sunset that evolved with each passing moment into vivid violet and electric pink clouds framing the sun and its white spotlight beams reaching for the heavens. 

And that sky was last most most beautiful thing to behold before I made a rash decision and quickly found myself in the middle of the wreck of a galloping horse and a lariat wrapping tighter around my torso, twisting around my legs like a serpent. Realizing my trouble, I began making decisions so quickly that I didn't have to think about it and found words to announce, "This is bad."

"Suzanne!" squealed one of two bystanders.

"This is not good!" I said bending and yielding to the maze of tightening coils rasping across my coat, dangerously squeezing my waist. That is going to burn if this gets worse, I thought while urgently seeking release from the horse's panicked retreat around the pen. Visions of being dragged, explaining what happened from a hospital bed, and worse clouded my mind, until Death's mysterious silhouette stepped in to take me to that dramatic sunset—yet I only relinquished the part of me that succumbed to my mistake. 

With no time to fear, I spun across the silty footing and slipping rope, and found the path to slow Whiskey's spiraling deathtrap, while staying upright and relatively balanced. And as the dizzying frenzy died down, I was guided through lightness and releasing ropes fully aware that there would be no hospital or funeral...not even a bruise. Without troubling the horse more than he was already troubled, I finally stepped out of the binding rope and found myself safe enough to ask Whiskey to move out again, this time adjusting what I was doing to support him better. We continued working with renewed attention toward a unified goal, while the sun slipped below the horizon for an equally reflective night.

Now that enough time has passed, the muscles in my back feel like granite, but I'm breathing and my heart is beating…and I feel so blessed for all of the messengers and universal lessons that have manifested before this fall, as well as the renewed opportunities to stay present and eternally grateful. 

A good day for groundwork.

A Tom Dorrance quote popped up on Facebook this morning. I read the words before coffee, before getting out of bed, before my eyes were really open.

"It's when a person rushes a horse's progress that people are inclined to make comments about that horse being what they'd call, 'a problem'."

This quote really made me think.

EQUU8's little trial horse, Malibu, is not afraid of much, but she is very easily distracted and is quite opinionated —in a negative sort of way — about picking up a trot. She'd much rather walk on her own terms and be allowed to look at the scenery. Her big goals for becoming an EQUU8 horse are getting soft, straight, and willing to move through walk/trot transitions. She has already exhibited complete acceptance and curiosity of all kinds of therapeutic riding equipment.

In the two weeks she's been at EQUU8, she's been exposed to groundwork and leading. She's been ridden three times, with the first two walk-only rides emphasizing softness and moving off leg pressure...which involved lots of one rein-stops. She was more spritely in her third ride, so deep ribbon candy serpentines were utilized, giving me lots of time to practice lifting a foot with the reins. It was during that ride that she offered to trot with little resistance (after maybe three walking strides) and maintained a fairly good attitude about it.

Which brings us to today. After a good groundwork session with an elusive pony and a nice ride with Kathy and Sis, I returned home to a setting sun and Malibu.

When being ridden, she's heavy on the bit and resists left flexions and moving off a left leg. But to be completely honest with myself, I'm aware that she's also heavy from the ground, so today was a good day for groundwork rather than pushing her to progress from the saddle.

A few key points of focus for today were getting her to follow a feel through the change of directions by tipping her nose, moving her hindquarters and then her frontquarters with a drape in the leadrope. In order for this to get pretty reliable, my focus was placed on releasing when she moved her feet. After some progress in the halter, I released her to move freely around the arena ended up directing her with the flag. By the end of the groundwork session, there was a change in her attitude and attention. Looking forward to carrying it back into the saddle.

Balance.

Horsemanship.

This is the path that led to my healing. The turning point that changed my life.

I am who I am today because of it.

So that brings us to the fun story of yesterday.

One of my teachers once quipped, "bareback riding is for children and porn stars."

Well, dangit, there's a child still inside my heart and I used to ride my old arab bareback all over the hills of Murrieta when I was a teen.

So yesterday, I rode in the shadow of mockery and found that it is sometimes utterly worth it to hop on my horse in his leather (bosal) hackamore, and dink around riding without a saddle.

In riding Drifter around cones placed in close proximity to one another (maybe 3 or 4 feet), I found an exercise that will be fun to try to accomplish with a little more feel, timing, and balance.

While carrying a soft feel, with accurate flexion,
can you jog a tight circle around the cones in both directions? 

If you can, then can you change directions 

through the cones while maintaining a jog? 

I couldn't do it. Not today. But I'm going to keep trying and plan to slow down first and get an arc going to the left. Drifter is slightly straight or even bent to the right while making a left circle. His ribcage bulges left. The good news is, the right arc feels nice and it will tighten up to make the turn before the change of directions.

Balance. I am currently lacking. But awareness is a good start.

And the herd gets bigger

The incredible, incomparable Bob

EQUU8's beloved 38-year-old therapy horse Bob is recovering from yet another proud-flesh-infested sore. As much as we all are hoping and praying that Bob will live another 38 years, his semi-retirement is precious and we cannot take his generosity for granted. So Scotty will be heading down to Murrieta to fill in for Bob, which might be better for him this winter with the forecasted killer El Niño season.

Introducing Malibu. She will be on trial for about 90 days, and we are hoping that life as a walk/trot therapeutic riding horse will best suit her needs.

Malibu: EQUU8's new horse on trial

The little rescue transfer has a few stories and a few scars in her short life. She's estimated to be about 6 years old. She's been treated for a tapeworm and has a splint on her front right leg and a scar above her hind right coronet band (potentially from a rope or wire). 

When I rode her last week, she was content to walk on a fairly loose rein and made a big deal when asked to trot. As pressure to accelerate increased, her complaints increased...where I assume most people might have relinquished their requests and she has learned to get her way. However, I slowly built on my request and she finally complied with a cute little crooked trot before quickly requesting that we walk again. 

This is why she has flunked out of being a barrel racer and why she came to us.

On my drive to pick her up, I made a phone call to a city councilman who was less interested about lies in the name of charity and more interested in motivating me on how EQUU8 can get better about getting our message out there, turning that message into donations, and finding alternative ways to make money for our charity.

He's probably right.

Yet I'm sad that the thousands of volunteer teaching hours, thousands of dollars in gas, thousands of dedicated volunteer hours, a dedicated board member who has donated her property, and hundreds of driving hours from one county to the next—all for an incredible group of individuals at EQUU8 Murrieta—doesn't equate to a grant. And it might never. It's hard to hear because that means we might need to make some new business decisions.

I suppose there's something to learn from Malibu. Just because you complain doesn't mean you're going to get your way. And maybe your way isn't the only way.

A Blogger's Journey...A Journal

The writer in me needs to write more. Hennybird is 400 pages into a book about her personal journey through kidney transplants and addiction. "Every Pill Has A Story".

So does every day. 

I'm not sure if anyone comes around here anymore, but my intention is to let my heart empty itself here. It could be a good place for self reflections as an instructor and as a student. The writer in me says I could be prolific. The sloth in me says it will be months before my next blog entry.

This journey with EQUU8 has been challenging to say the least. My inner Pollyanna wishes to share only the good things, while secretly hoping the bad things and near misses disappear in the darkness at the end of each day.

Tuesday was our fourth grant rejection and second rejection from the city of Murrieta. It's not because what EQUU8 is doing isn't worthwhile or worthy of a grant. There was only $40,000 to distribute between charities. $15,000 goes to the food pantry every year. City Council is pretty stuck on keeping monies going to the same charities year after year. Last year, we were too new. This year, we lost to a newer program. It's a very good program. We are all deserving of funding. But stretching the truth really scrambles my brain. 

Maybe EQUU8 is a hard sell. It's not easy to explain how healing horses are (except maybe to our participants who experience this healing), or how to convince city councilmembers that our relatively small program can double or triple in size in the next year and how their grant could help us achieve accreditation and apply for grants elsewhere. But maybe we were meant to stay small a little longer. I've always valued quality over quantity. 

Either way, it's challenging for me to abide by one of my mantras: everything happens for a reason.

Which brings me to the fall of the day. A talented pair of pre-teens take occasional lessons and I'll just call them Bema and Hapa. 

Bema fell off her own horse today while my back was turned. My attention was on Hapa riding Cherry, as my focus was on building confidence with her since she'd been spooked by a runaway horse. Bema has plenty of confidence and has never fallen off, but Tiny took to bucking and by the time I looked over my shoulder, her horse leapt over her body after it hit the sand. I called to Hapa to put Cherry into a one-rein stop as Tiny barreled across the arena.  You just never get over seeing a student fall off a horse. 

Once we'd determined that Bema was OK, other than a sore finger, and Hapa had handled the scary situation with full control over Cherry, we redirected the lesson to a roundpen session, where we were going to get back to the basics with Tiny. He's a pretty broke horse, meaning he gets along pretty well in the bridle and knows his job. However, he's a little rude and disrespectful and doesn't follow much of a feel. Foundation work, it is for these girls. 

As an instructor, each fall leaves a whipmark. This year, I've had a few falls and so have my students...and they never feel good. Most of the time, the falls come from doing too much too fast. A couple of times, reins are too long or the rider forgot the one-rein stop that could have saved them...even though my voice is straining for them to hear me. Sometimes, there are just plain accidents. And sometimes fear takes over. 

Every time, there is something to learn. 

And learning leads to healing.