EQUU8: A journey

So, I've decided on calling my new venture EQUU8.

For equine enthusiasts, they may immediately recognize the word "EQUUS." But, instead, here, the S is closed, forming an 8. Consider "equate."

The first time I heard my mentor, Paul Dietz, say "horsemanship is lifemanship", it "felt" right to me, but I didn't understand exactly what he meant. I focused on the word lifemanship. What is that? Why did he use that word.

But as I look back on my journey from a horse-loving kid, to a horsechick, to a student of horsemanship, to a therapeutic riding instructor, I think about what it all means to me.

I knew as a child, there was something special about horses for me. When they helped me find healing, I wanted to learn more about how and why. And I start to realize what this lifemanship is. And I want to share it.

I am waiting at the county offices to register my fbn. 

Doors are slowly opening. I am passing my time trying to put one foot in front of the other. I have picked up a cute little rescue, on trial and ready to take on her first lesson, and I am starting an Arab filly who is reminding me that every moment of true horsemanship is important. She is impressionable and teaching me to teach her. 

I believe that horsemanship is therapeutic in nature...so able bodied or not, I want to help people and horses begin to heal. 

So begins this journey... 

I never finished my story...

Reminiscing on experiences that should have been blogged.

On November 17, nearly 2000 visitors came to the school for their annual Holiday Market fundraiser. It was a good opportunity for me to say my goodbyes: to the volunteers, instructors, students, and family members that I had met in Connecticut.

One of my most challenging students was there with her husband. Knowing her lesson was approaching each week caused anxiety and restless nights. Each week was progressively worse, until I gave her a choice: today you can ride a perfect circle or I can teach you to turn on the haunches. She huffed and then asked me about the perfect circle. We created a measurable way to calculate how accurate her circle was and it challenged her. The next week, she took the time to give me a henna bracelet as a going-away gift.

JD was there with his mom and sister. His regular instructor walked up and chatted with us for a while, mentioning that she knew I've ridden with Buck.

"No way! You know Buck!" JD exclaimed.

Smiling, I explained to JD that bits and pieces of his lessons had a little bit of Buck in them, like feeling the horse's feet. I always wondered what JD thought about that, because he doesn't have his own feet to feel, but he always seemed to enjoy that part of the lesson.

So my last day teaching at school—Monday, November 18—was a memorable one.

I drove in cold wet morning weather to pick up my friend, Erin, who flew in on a red eye from Seattle to see where I'd been spending the fall of 2013. On the way to the airport, I slid through some wet leaves on a roundabout and crashed into a guardrail, bending the left front rim of my dad's car. Seriously!? On my last day in Connecticut!? After months of careful driving all over New England, including deer near misses (one went in front of the car, the other came straight at the driver's side door in a miraculous game of "chicken"). Sigh.

After Erin and I put on the spare tire and located a junkyard with a replacement, she joined me for a tour of the school and to observe one of my favorite classes...JD's class.

Several weeks prior, JD told me that his big goal was to trot around the arena once. It became my personal goal to get him as close to his goal as I could in the time I was there. For weeks, we had been practicing keeping him balanced in the saddle without leaning into the turns, keeping his horse moving with his energy (difficult because JD does not have use of his legs), and looking in the direction that he wants to go. The morning rain cleared and we were able to go outside, where we thought his Percheron mount might not get so stuck in the corners. The horse was also weary of his leaders in recent weeks, tossing his head and being generally uncooperative. It can be a hard job for these horses. We were really hopeful that the outdoor arena would be what he needed. After some warm up trotting and volunteer rearranging, we were ready to ride into the corner. And then it happened, sitting tall and with forward movement, JD rounded one corner as I cheered him on to keep going, where he rounded another corner before settling his horse to a walk. JD bent forward and wrapped his arms around his horse's neck (again, something you just didn't see him do because of his physical limitations). Tears welled up in my eyes. I cheered so much I went hoarse.

It was my pleasure to see him progress halfway to his goal.

He gave me a gift—a Christmas ornament—a gray horse like his Percheron and a thank you card. I cherish that card maybe more than the certificate I received.

My last class was also a success. Mondays were always my favorite day at school. The students were incredible, the volunteers were so invested in their jobs, and the instructors were incredible supportive and helpful in their evaluations.

We paid a last visit to the Rustic Cafe, and the server, Jen, who had for the past few months been entertaining us with pumpkin pie martinis and the best sweet potato fries on the planet. A couple of the other ITCs joined me and Erin where we shared stories about following your passion, even if it doesn't make you wealthy. I am certain you can be rich beyond your dreams when you are making a living doing what you love and giving back.

I haven't made a living yet...I'm still in the hole with my husband footing the bills. But I have taught a few lessons to a 5-year-old on a little rescue horse named Cherry who just earned her place at EQUU8...thanks to an anonymous sponsor from Seattle who wants to help keep me going.

Gravity

Gravity... it causes acorns to rain down on unsuspecting victims. It brings leaves floating to the earth like red and yellow snowflakes. It brings the body of a trotting horse to its feet moving in diagonal pairs. It's a stressful season blockbuster starring Sandra Bullock. It draws an enormous amount of fluid from one's runny nose to anything below said nose. And it grounds one flying Instructor in Training who just passed her Registered-level instructor evaluation.

I'm coming home soon.

What I leave Connecticut with is a different perspective of myself and of others.

When I came here, I wanted to let everyone know about where I had been and who I'd been riding with and learning from. Virtually no one cared. You can name drop some pretty great names, but it's still name dropping. So I dropped that idea and just became me, here to learn about therapeutic riding. As the course is wrapping up, a few volunteers have approached me who are followers of Ray Hunt's method. One volunteer even rode with Ray twice. 

It has been nice to find good company in people who are trying to make a difference for another population who could use a bit of help from horses. 

Through the horse you can learn a lot about yourself and when you learn about yourself you can, in turn, look back to the horse. In the last couple of months, I've gotten feedback from horses, volunteers, instructors, students, housemates, new friends, the earth, my husband, and myself.

After all the doubt, fear, and worry, the gravity of this experience is becoming apparent after all. 

Where's my horse?

Seeing improvement...

Since my last post, I passed an exam and officially became an Instructor in Training. I still believe that I can make something of combining my passion for good horsemanship with therapeutic riding; yet I still worry about the hows, whens, and wheres...

My lesson with J.D. this week gave me a glimpse of why. He's the one who gave me a C last week. While I was lowering the lift to get him out of his wheelchair, I learned that he's gone skydiving, twice. We got to share stories about that since I went once upon a time. I was more cautious this week so as to avoid hitting him in the helmet with the lift. He needs to ride around the arena a while before we begin the lesson. His atrophied legs are too spastic to reach for the stirrups when he first gets on. The rhythm of the horse's movement slowly relaxes tightened muscles. When I approached him to help get his feet into the stirrups, I asked him to talk me through it. He said, "You can't hurt me. I can tell you're worried about it." This kid lives in a wheelchair and he's helping me understand how much he wants to be here and how much he can do. So I set up a lesson that allowed him to affect a measurable change with his horse. He became infectiously engaged in the activity. He seemed to really enjoy seeing the changes he could make in his horse using just his body.

After the lesson, I told him I wanted to start writing lesson plans that take into account what he wants to get out of his lessons. I told him to dream as big as he wanted to. His goal: to be able to trot all the way around the arena. Once.

That's a lofty goal for him. Puts things into perspective, doesn't it. I am talking to me. And you.

Travis and I FaceTime regularly and they are bittersweet moments. The other morning, he answered my call with his face still buried in the pillow. I think he was on my side of the bed. He has put the animals on the screen for me from time to time. Drifter's body language tells me that he misses me as much as I miss him. Travis says he acts like Eeyore. No matter. What's good about it?

When I can start to look at what's good about it...every day, every ride, every time, everything...then I will be making some real improvement within myself.

What's good about your life today? What are your goals? Dream big...

C is for balance

Last year, I had a strange dream. I don't normally remember my dreams but this one was quite visual. I was standing on a cliff looking across a ravine to another cliff, with a rope bridge connecting the two sides. On the other side of the ravine, looking back at me was me. For many reasons, I was afraid to cross the bridge. I stood frozen still until I woke.

***

Sunday afternoon, I wanted out of Old Lyme, but had committed to volunteering a few hours at a hunter pace, where I saw, wait for it, a few western saddles.

This wasn't one of them.

As a "western" rider rode past, it was hard to ignore seasawing hands direct-reining a shanked mouthpiece in an attempt to obtain the almighty headset from her horse.

Sigh.

"Someday I want to learn to ride western." Someone commented, admiring the horse's overo markings.

I bit my cheek. People's riding reveals where they're at in life. I've been there. It's hard to watch, but I've been there and no one judged me. They just showed me a different path.

***

By the time we were done with our duties, we only had the afternoon to explore, so we decided on the nearby town of Mystic, CT, the home of Mystic Pizza...

Movie tourist Pizza Heaven

and a drawbridge (bascule bridge) that spans the Mystic River.

Marveled by "simple" engineering. 

Enormous concrete filled counterweights intimidate the roadbed of the southwest side of U.S. Route 1 (Main Street). Nearly 600 tons of road is counterbalanced when the bridge is raised.

***

I had my first lesson on Monday, and was evaluated while teaching. Oh boy, was it hard to walk into the arena and look past the obstacles (staff, clipboards, riders, horses, handlers, sidewalkers) in order to focus on teaching a measurable skill to riders who might rather be taught by their regular instructor.

It wasn't a complete disaster, but it wasn't a cake walk either. The mounts were all full-assist, including one—we'll call him JD—who needed to use a lift. Three instructors and a sidewalker all had input on whether or not JD was aligned properly above the saddle, as he hung suspended over his horse's back. I had the controls of the lift and, with input coming from all directions, I lost concentration of the location of the lift as I lowered JD onto the horse, knocking him in the helmet with the top of the rigging. Ooops. Thankfully, he was forgiving about it. My lesson in the arena had varying results (owning one moment, sinking the next) before we headed out on the sensory trail to make turn after turn through the trees. I fumbled a few times, but tried to roll with the punches.

At the end of the lesson, as I was lifting JD from the saddle, his mother asked him how I did for my first lesson.

"Ehhh." He commented.

"Oh, great." I said.

"I give you a C."

That's about what I'd give me, I thought.

"If I gave you an A, you wouldn't have anything to shoot for."

Touché.

***

There was something about the Mystic River Bascule Bridge that reminds me to balance and quit trying to be perfect on the first try. It's one of those things I do but don't realize I'm doing it. When it's brought to my attention, I get defensive.

But just because you are offended doesn't mean you are right.

My fear vs. my ability ended up perfectly balanced in the lesson and—according to JD—was measurable in the middle of the grading scale at C.

I've been seeking more balance. Tonight, a C feels just right.

Phase 1 Done

I am hoping to become a more well-rounded rider.

Since 2006, when I started attending clinics with my mentor and his mentors, it has been my understanding that when you pick up on the reins and make contact with a horse, he should soften...to give to the bit.

This is where things get a bit confusing for a cowgirl in Connecticut. 

I drove in the morning rain last week to ride Sir Robin and wondered what kind of connection I might make with him. I only spent a few minutes on groundwork and got about as much from him as I was putting into it...which wasn't much. 

A short warm up at the walk and a few lateral flexions later, I was long trotting him and working up the energy to pick up the canter. While I normally work in a snaffle, this horse wears something that looks like a triple barrel mullen (anyone with experience with this bit is welcome to comment). I've done a little reading about this bit and it seems to be forgiving with relaxed reins, but a more rigid when the reins are engaged (the barrels actually lock in place) and is supposedly a good bit for horses that are behind the bit. Unfortunately, Sir is above the bit. And it could just be me, but I was trying to err on the side of lightness. As soon as I pick up the reins to make contact, he noses out and braces heavy. Holding and waiting for a tuneup-needing Shire/TB cross to give to the pressure is a good gym workout. I was having much better luck waiting laterally than I had when picking up the reins evenly.  

Initially, I had luck getting him to pick up his right lead with a fairly loose rein, but only got a few strides before he dropped out. He wouldn't pick it up again and I was working really hard with my legs, as I wanted to avoid using the whip that was given to me. It was suggested that I ride him on the bit a little more in order to "support" him. Conundrum. If a horse doesn't soften when rein pressure is applied, how does one get a horse to get on the bit...without force.

I managed to end the ride with the horse making contact through the bit and carrying his head in the desired "frame" that was clearly in spite of me. I was just a passenger who couldn't feel what I am supposed to be feeling for. I want to learn something from this experience but I am not understanding the lesson.

Our lectures have evolved into more practicum hours in the arena to observe lessons and go through files. We got a tiny taste of therapeutic vaulting on a Percheron cross, which is where one of the instructors-in-training (ITCs, they call us) felt right at home. However, a highlight of my trip was driving an off-track standardbred at a fully extended trot through a cone slalom course in a 6-man/wheelchair accessible carriage. He drives in a mild, bitless bridle and without blinders. My cheeks still hurt from smiling. He may not have earned much money on the track but he is priceless here. What a blessing he is for the school. 

Unfortunately I have no pictures from vaulting or driving.

Thursday night, under the glowing light of the full moon, I cat-cowed, downward-dogged, 5-pointed-starred my way to semi-zen oblivion in a late-night poolside yoga session. Holding doubt in cupped palms, I released it to the universe. But gravity pulled it right back down on top of me. Who did I think I was kidding? I knew it wasn't ready to leave.

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....