NEVER ABOUT RIDING, ALWAYS ABOUT THE HORSE PART 1

NEVER ABOUT RIDING, ALWAYS ABOUT THE HORSE

(This is the first in a four-part series of essays about my horse life, which began when I was fifty years old. Three horses, Fire, Jack, and Luke, have been such an important part of my life that I decided to write them into my novel, Josie and Vic. I wanted to convey the special bond I’ve experienced with each of them, as well as share their distinct personalities. So they became Josie’s beloved horses. After meeting Fire, Jack, and Luke in the novel, my readers can now learn about their real life stories.)

Part 1: FIRST SPARKS

I really don’t know where my adult love of horses came from beyond my childhood imagination, but apparently it took root at an early age, lay dormant for decades, and then emerged—like a vampire at dusk, literally taking over my life.

I’m not one of those women who grew up with horses. As a child, my only riding experience involved a carousel horse, since my hometown of Binghamton, NY is known as “the carousel capital of the world.” They have six! (Yep, that’s me in the photo with my dad.)

The three of us are retired—I no longer ride Jack or drive Luke who was trained to pull a cart in his younger days. I could say the main reason is because we each have minor medical issues, which is true, and it’s best if we lead a life of leisure. But the truth is, it’s never been about riding for me. Never. It’s always been about the horse. That unique connection—those deep-souled moments-of-being when in their presence.

That’s why I will never rehome them, no matter how costly or physically difficult their care may become. They will be in my loving hands forever because they give me something priceless in return.

I do marvel at this mystery, this love of horses that emerged in mid-life.

 The Beginning

My interest as an adult was first piqued when, in my forties, I moved to a town in Southern California called Chatsworth, which sits beneath the stunning rock formations of the Santa Susanna Mountains in the northwest corner of the San Fernando Valley. In earlier days, Chatsworth was an active horse town with bridle paths, backyard stables, and mountain trails—but this was slowly disappearing. When I lived there in the mid 1990s, a few stables remained, so as I took evening walks in the neighborhood, I was sometimes greeted by curious horses who would sidle up to their fences and allow a gentle stroke. I became enthralled, planning my walks around these meetings. There was something irresistible about these large, powerful, yet gentle creatures. One minute they would calmly stand beside the fence with a soulful look in their eyes, but in a flash, they could suddenly swing away, run and buck, or snap at another horse. The thought of actually riding seemed thrilling—and terrifying—at the same time.

One day while walking, I met Joleen, the owner of one of the properties I frequented. A former horse trainer, she now ran a small boarding facility with eight horses. She was in her seventies, with weathered skin and long white hair knotted in an unkempt bun. Gruff was the first word that came to mind. A woman of few words and little warmth. But her knowledge and experience —and maybe even that hard edge—gave me the confidence to ask for my first ride. For $25.00 I got to spend 45 minutes on the back of a horse. The most I did, besides walking in circles, was briefly pick up a bouncy trot in a very small round pen. The horn of the saddle got a good workout that day. But I was definitely bit by the horse bug. I wanted to learn more.

A few blocks away was a place called Sleepy Stables, where I signed up for six weeks of bona fide lessons that began with learning to groom, saddle, and bridle, before moving on to the basics of riding. I fell in love with my lesson horse, Luna, an 18-year-old slope-backed mare, who needed special pads under the saddle. Looking back now, I wonder if she was such a good candidate to be a lesson horse. I’m not sure what her physical ailment was, but she was a smooth ride. I remember the first time I cantered, I was so excited, I shouted, “Whoa!” meaning “Wow! Cool! Awesome!” but, of course, Luna heard “Whoa,” and stopped immediately. I managed to stay on despite the jolt.

During the week, I would visit Luna, bringing carrots and trying to establish a deeper bond. In fact, when my six weeks of lessons ended, being a struggling single-mother of two, I couldn’t afford to continue—but I did still visit Luna every week with carrots, until a year later when I moved away. Looking back now, I can see that even then it was more about the connection to an individual horse than the experience of riding.

By the age of fifty, I was remarried and teaching full time at a high school in Los Angeles. My son and daughter were off to college. I hadn’t thought about horses in a while, until the movie Seabiscuit brought back vivid memories—that unique horse smell, those soulful eyes, the velvety softness under the mane. I was at a point in my life where I could afford to pursue my dream. But was I too old? Was this a silly pursuit? There was only one way to find out. I looked into taking lessons again.

The closest stable was in the gated-community of Bel Canyon, and to my utter surprise, one of the lesson horses was Luna. Sleepy Stables had closed when the land was sold for an upscale housing development, so the trainers had moved their horses to Bel Canyon. Luna added a personal aspect to my riding experience, which meant a great deal to me, but the problem was I couldn’t always ride Luna. Sometimes I had to take my turn on one of the moody, no-I-don’t-want-to-ride-today lesson horses, which was frustrating. And unlike my previous experience, I couldn’t visit Luna, since I only had access to the gated-community on lesson days.

After a couple of months, I realized that this wasn’t working for me. Riding once a week for one hour was notsatisfying whatever was driving me in the first place. I wasn’t exactly sure what was, but two things I did know for certain: I wanted to learn all about horses from nose to tail, and I preferred to ride Western style, not English, so I could sit solidly in a secure saddle and enjoy both horse and nature. I didn’t want to jump or do fancy dressage movements, and I didn’t want to compete or show. I just wanted to become comfortable and competent, so that one day I could responsibly ride and care for a horse on my own.

With this in mind, I began shopping around for a horse to lease and a stable where I could hang out, help out, and learn. I found part of what I was looking for in Chatsworth at a place called Sterling Oaks, one of only a few remaining stables in the area. Here I met a Western-style trainer named Lisa, who said she’d be happy to have me shadow her and learn what I could. Unfortunately, there were no horses for lease, just an old, former lesson horse that was about to be moved to someone’s home as soon as the corral was completed. But I could take a few lessons on him until then.

My first lesson, I fell in love. This older Arabian was lovely to look at—reddish-orange in color, with an off-centered white stripe from forelock to nose, four white socks, and luscious red mane and tail. I could see where he got his name, Fire Mountain, for especially in the sunlight, he looked ablaze.

His ground manners were sweet and gentle. When saddled, he was a dream to ride. In younger days, he’d been a show horse, taking first place in Western Pleasure and Ladies’ Side Saddle. This was evident as soon as he stepped into the arena. He’d strike a pose, tail held high as Arabs do, so regal, even though we were just walking. Though almost 22 years old, Fire was still spirited and full of life. I remember wishing he could be mine and wondered if I’d ever find a horse like him.

I couldn’t wait for my second lesson with Fire. I was afraid to ask how much longer it would be until he was moved. A part of me wished I’d never met him, for the thought of not seeing him again broke my heart—not to mention that no other horse could ever measure up. Then, as our lesson began, Lisa paused and, to my breath-catching surprise, asked me if I might like to lease Fire. Before I could answer, she added that, in fact, his owner would be happy to give him to me if we kept Fire there at Sterling Oaks.

Apparently, Lisa saw how good we were together and passed this on to Fire’s owner, who felt I might be a better choice than the current corral builder. I was stunned. I think I floated on air throughout the whole second lesson, after which I hurried home to figure out all the expenses involved in maintaining a horse: monthly board, feed, supplements, vet, farrier, worming, not to mention a saddle and tack, and then my much-needed lessons. I didn’t figure in the cost of carrots and treats, which would be at the top of every grocery list in the years to come.

That night I discussed it with my husband, Bruce, who didn’t hesitate to support me. He said this was a dream I couldn’t pass up, there was no question—do it. (Words I would hear again and again in relation to my love of horses.) I spoke to my son and daughter, both in their twenties, adding that I’d no longer have extra cash to hand out for a weekend of snowboarding or a shopping spree. They wholeheartedly encouraged me to take Fire.

So with that, I became the owner of a spectacular Arabian horse. My life would never be the same.

Next—Part 2: My Journey with Fire Mountain