For Flash

When I was in fourth grade, I was your typical horse-crazy girl. I think nearly every little girl goes through the phase, even if somewhat briefly. I would gallop around the playground during PE, shake my mane in the wind, and (only when playing alone in my backyard) I would whinny with joy. I loved horses so much that I thought I was one.

Each week, our class would walk the 30 feet down the school hallway to the library to check out books for the week's report. Every time we would make that walk, I would arrive at the doorway of the library breathless, not because the walk was so long, but out of desperation. I was so afraid that someone would get to the horse section before me and get the book I wanted. I knew I couldn't break line or run (those were against the rules, after all), so I would hyperventilate in place until we were released to find a book. While most students would gravitate to the thinnest books possible on the kiddie shelves, I'd make a bee line to the shelves in the center of the back of the library - the shelves that had the magical books that could sweep me away from galloping around in my tennis shoes or pretending my bike would jump with mane flying over the cracks in our driveway. In those books, I was always mounted on the most intelligent horses possible - I rode Marguerite Henry's Misty of Chincoteague and Sham from The King of the Wind. I understood and could ride Will James' Smoky the Cow Horse. But my favorite horse from my imaginary, paper-based stable was The Black Stallion. I loved the feel of the library-edition, hard-bound, pimply cover that had a black horse silhouetted on the front.

 I had read Walter Farley's The Black Stallion and the second book in the series, The Black Stallion Returns, several times by the time I started my own collection of the books. When I bought my own copy, it came in paperback, and this time, The Black stood tall and windswept in full color - his inky black coat dappled and his intelligent eyes glinting.

Later in the series, one of The Black's colts is a blood bay - a deep red coat with a shiny black mane and tail. I dreamed of these black and bay horses that seemed to loom larger than life to me.

It may be surprising, then, that when I was 13 years old and got my first horse, I fell in love with a scrawny little chestnut whose coat was dull and shaggy and whose breeding was a complete unknown. He was only a year old, but I wasn't intimidated by the prospect of training him. After all, I'd read all those books in the library! I could train a baby horse!

Thank goodness someone bigger than me was watching out for me. My parents and I got lucky with Flash, the ambitious name I'd given the little horse; he didn't have a mean bone in his body, and he put up with my pseudo-training despite the hours I spent crying because I thought he'd just NEVER get it! He'd never learn to jump. He'd never learn to canter on his left lead. He'd never be as smart as The Black.

Over the years, though, Flash grew into a large red horse with an exclamation mark on his face (Flash!) and one tall white sock on his right hind (that in later years, my future hubby and a friend would use to nickname Flash Tubesock). By the time I was in high school, everything revolved around him. The first time I ever drove alone the morning after getting my driver's license, I dropped my Mom off at work and headed to the barn. The freedom of driving was great, but I couldn't wait to get to Flash and drown myself in the intoxicating freedom of riding him. And...he learned.

I loved coming home smelling of horse hair and sweat. I loved stepping out of my car at the barn to hear horses moving around in their stalls, munching hay, or calling out in soft whinnies. Flash's stall was in the back of the barn where I boarded him (pictured in the background above), and I'd walk through the front barn (which was MUCH nicer) and all its purebred Thoroughbreds and riders with expensive custom chaps and the newest in riding clothes. Much like that fourth grader in the library, I'd make a beeline for the center back, knowing what awaited me in that stall. He was the red horse that now loomed large in my dreams.

Time did what it does best - it continued on. As I grew older, Flash couldn't follow me everywhere. I graduated from college and moved to Honduras - I moved to Wheaton, Illinois, for graduate school. Flash was always in my thoughts (and I'm sure my students in Honduras got tired of hearing about him...one student, though, painted a picture of him for me that I have in my office to this day), and my heart broke every time I'd have to leave him.

Then, I moved to my dream job in Montana, working in the horsemanship program at a therapeutic boarding school for girls. It was there that I had the chance to finally have Flash come follow me - and I had him shipped from Virginia to Montana. He had been diagnosed with ringbone in his left front, a progressive joint disease where calcification builds up around the joint just above his hoof - the pain of that extra bone scraping and moving made him almost always lame and limping. My farrier in Montana, though, could help him out. I couldn't believe my luck...my heart horse was coming out to be with me, and I was going to be able to make him healthy again.

He came out, got his ringbone stabilized, and I was able to use him to help the students learn how to be compassionate leaders. It was in Montana that I spent hours riding him in the woods, in the arenas, around the school property - blissfully unaware that those would be my last years riding my big red horse.

When we finally moved back to Virginia (now with a husband in our little family), Flash was put into a well deserved retirement after arthritis developed in his remaining good front leg (from standing on it extra heavily to compensate for when the ringbone hurt him). He lived the good life in a large pasture that was half trees and half open. The last part of his life he lived on the farm of a dear friend who had designed the whole property and the barn to cater to the old horses' needs. He had good buddies and a good place to live. I'd visit to groom or bathe him and feed him treats - his favorite apples or carrots.

The day Flash died (on Wednesday the 24th, it will be exactly six years ago), I wasn't there for his burial. However, that dear friend, Danielle, who owned the farm told me of the amazingly kind gentleman who used his fork lift to slowly and carefully lift Flash's body and take him to his grave by the pond. As he carried my boy high above the ground past the crepe myrtles in bloom, Danielle told me that Flash's red coat glinted in the sun from where I'd groomed him that morning to a high sheen as I said goodbye. It was a procession fit for a king - fit for Flash.

Flash still lives in my dreams from time to time - and he always looms larger than life. His sweet face and his big red shoulder where I could lay my head have taken the place of the imaginary horses I'd only read about. No, the dreams I have now are based in a reality, sparked by more than just words on a page. This dream is rooted what was real for over half of my life - in a tangled mane, hours of roaming together and singing songs to him, learning to fly over jumps together, and the deep scent of horse hair and dust.

Thank you, Flash, for being everything I ever wanted in a horse - I miss you all the time.

Accepting the good

This is a post that I've contemplated for a long time - actually, I know exactly how long. I first outlined this post in my head last November, when the Cy Young Awards for baseball were handed out. (That will make sense in a few minutes...keep reading). I guess it's fitting that I've put off this post for so long, because it's all about not putting off things - especially joy.

It all started last Spring when the school year was over and we were headed full-bore into summer. I decided that I wanted to start a tradition where I would read literature over the summer that shared a theme. Last summer, I chose baseball, a sport that I've loved since I was kid. In fact, some of my earliest memories are of baseball on the TV. It was always the Braves on TBS, so some of the players I grew up with were Dale Murphy and Bob Horner.

Last summer's reading included novels like The Art of Fielding and The Girl Who Threw Butterflies. But I also dove into some non-fiction as well. And that's when I found R.A. Dickey's book, Wherever I Wind Up. I had heard about Dickey and his skill as a knuckleball pitcher. The knuckleball has a bit of mystique around it in the baseball world. It's a bizarre pitch that only a few men have ever really mastered - even then, I'm not sure one can "master" it as much as "appease the gods" when throwing it. It's a pitch that has a mind of its own. It's a pitch that flutters and dips and side-passes. When it's good, it's impossible to hit. When it's bad, everybody and their brother can homer off you. The problem is, the pitcher doesn't really have much say as to whether it's good or bad.

RA Dickey throwing the knuckleball - notice how he has his fingernails dug into the ball

A pitcher throwing a knuckleball doesn't hold onto the ball tightly. Instead, he grips with his fingernails on top of the ball, and then he sort of "shoves" the ball at the plate. The resulting pitch has little or no rotation (unlike all other pitches in baseball), so the aerodynamics/physics of it are impossible to predict.

So, purely from a baseball point of view, I was interested in Dickey. And then I read his autobiography. Wow. I can't fathom the courage it must have taken for him to write about sexual abuse that he had hidden for years - and his honesty in looking at his baseball career was simultaneously heart-warming and frightening. Dickey came out of college (at the University of Tennessee where he was an English major...yay!) as a top pitching prospect. He had been offered a lot of money to pitch for the Rangers...until a routine physical showed that he didn't have the collateral ulnar ligament in his throwing arm. This is the ligament that literally holds the elbow together. Doctors couldn't believe he could turn a doorknob, let alone throw a fastball in the low 90mph range. Needless to say, the high-dollar deals vanished and Dickey ended up bouncing around the minor leagues for nearly a decade.

Last year, as I was reading all this and researching the knuckleball and watching YouTube videos of its strangeness (you can watch one by clicking here), Dickey just happened to be having the season of his life. He was in the big leagues, pitching for the Mets. And he officially became my favorite baseball player. I know I just committed some sort of sin, being a Cubs fan (we're supposed to hate all things Mets, especially since the disastrous 1969 season). But I couldn't help but root for him. And it seems like a lot of other folks liked what he did, too, because he ended up with the highest honor a pitcher can win, the Cy Young Award.

I was thrilled for him! I felt somehow connected to him, and I watched every interview with him that I could. I was struck by the way he reacted to winning the Cy Young, and it echoed the closing of his book. He said that he was learning how to enjoy the happiness, how to feel comfortable being successful. He had always felt like everything good was only a few moments away from being taken away from him (looking at his life story, it's not hard to see why he felt this way), so he was working hard on "staying present" and just enjoying this success.

Wow. That rings so true in my head and my heart. Even though I don't have the same horrible events in my past that Dickey does, I still entertain that kind of "catastrophic thinking." I still lay awake at night and get physically scared (increased heartrate and breathing, sweaty palms, the whole nine yards) at what MIGHT be - I'll lose my job; my horse will get hurt and die; Jim may die; everything I have and love will disappear.

In the past, I've translated that fear into drive. I am relentlessly driven to succeed at whatever I do. I don't just want to do something - I want to be the best at it. And yet, when success comes, it's so hard for me to accept and be happy with. Instead, I get scared that it'll disappear, or that I won't be "good enough" to maintain it. And then, everyone around me will know it was just by chance that I was successful in the first place - that I was just a flash in the pan - that I'm truly a fraud.

I know none of that last sentence is true. I know that those who love me would never think or believe such things. And so, like R.A. Dickey, I'm learning how to be present in success and in happiness. Life ISN'T something we can control (much like that fluttering knuckleball Dickey throws), but I can still rest in what I have right now.

And what I have right now is pretty darn special. I have an amazing husband who loves me and whom I love. I have great friends, some of whom I've known for decades and still feel comfortable and real around. I have a home and a job that I love. I have pets that I've wanted since I was a little girl - a dog and a horse. And....speaking of the horse....just look at her!

 

This was us about six years ago

And this is us last fall

She's so cool. What a good mare!  

Almost summer

The spring semester is winding down, and because Jim and I both teach in the second summer session, we'll have about six weeks of down time. I'm so excited to get things done around the house. And I know of two animals who simply can't wait for more time outside in the sunshine...

The spotted one above will DO ANYTHING for her tennis ball. On sunny days, she practically dances and sings by the back door to get us to go out and play.

The brown one loves to roll in the dirtiest spot she can find in her pasture. It sure makes grooming a bit of a task for me. I half wonder if she does it just to get me to groom her longer.

Here's to sunny summer days.

I am still alive....

No, I haven't dropped off the face of the earth or fallen in a hole.  I've simply neglected to blog in the past seven months!  While this blog has been in suspended animation, life has not.  It's been busy 'round these parts!  It's no surprise that my last post was just before school started up in the fall and it has been nothing but crickets around here since then.  School has been crazy this year - it feels more busy than normal, but I'm sure that's just me.  Nevertheless, I still feel a bit breathless by the time we get to the end of each week. 

Obe has been amazing the last few months.  Last year's show season was so good for her simply because we traveled quite a bit.  Discovering that she's better travelling alone made a world of difference, and I actually felt relaxed and confident at the last two shows of the season.  This winter, we've done several lessons with Debra, and those are always revolutionary for me.  I've also been doing quite a bit of riding without stirrups, which has been an eye-opener on so many levels.  First, I'm a weakling overall, especially in my core!  Second, I collapse my left ribcage (which I knew) because I tip my right hip/seatbone down off the side of the saddle.  When I have a right stirrup, I don't feel that part of the equation...I only feel the left ribcage shorten.  Without stirrups, though, the slipping right seatbone is abundantly clear!  Nearly everything about my position goes back to my wonky left leg.  If I'm able to sit down into my left thigh and keep my left hamstring engaged, it keeps my thigh flat on the saddle, my knee against the saddle flap, and my foot somewhat parallel to my horse's side.  My natural tendency is to turn my toe out and shorten my leg up the saddle with my knee turned out with my toe.  Hideous....

All that to say that the fall and winter have been great for me and Obe.  She is growing up, and I am getting stronger and addressing the finesse pieces that I've needed to put in place for a while.  I'm hoping to get to a schooling show at the end of this month...but I haven't planned my show season beyond that.  We'll see what comes my way. 

Humbled

Humility isn't a topic that we like to talk about much, at least not in our individualistic, do-it-yourself, pursue-the-American-Dream society.  Being humble isn't something that is readily sought after.  But, if God in man's body humbled Himself even to the point of death on a cross, I certainly believe that I should be seeking after humility. 

But...have you ever heard the maxim, "Be careful what you wish for"?  Praying for humility is borderline insane.  After all, you learn humility by being....humbled.  Another word built on that same root is "humiliated."  It's certainly not the same in meaning, but the words are definitely related - and they frequently FEEL the same in the heat of the moment. 

We can be humbled in many ways, though, and in the past month, I've experienced this from two separate events. 

First, on June 23, I took Obe to the second recognized show of the season.  Fortunately, my ride times were both in the morning, because the weekend temperatures hovered in the 90s, and Tryon always feel hotter than Asheville - the sun just seems to BLAZE down there.  Remember last year's schooling show?  My first ride was at 9:20 in the covered arena.  After getting to the barn at 6 AM, catching Obe, cleaning her up, and braiding her (in 30 minutes...a personal record), we were off.  She came off the trailer like a rock star, totally chill, just taking in her surroundings.  I had about an hour until my ride time, so we prepped slowly, giving myself about 30 minutes of warm up time.  She warmed up beatifully, but the test in the covered was a tough question to ask her first thing.  Weird shadows popped around; you could see the legs of the horses walking up on the steeplechase track up the bank; there are barns nearby with the hustle and bustle of the show going on.  Needless to say, she was a bit distracted.  We had a few bobbles in our canter work, and we didn't quite get the 60% that I wanted (and need for my Bronze).  I had enough time between rides to go back to the trailer, untack for about 25 minutes, and prep for the second ride.

See how calm she is?  ;)

My second ride was at 10:37 in one of the outdoor arenas.  Thankfully, coats had been waived, so I wore a neat blue Oxford shirt with sleeves.  Again, she warmed up amazingly well, and this time the test went beautifully!  There were a few places where she was tighter than I wanted, and our lengthenings are a work in progress, but that's the very definition of First Level.  Her walk work was spot on (always is), and her canter was balanced, ground covering, and willing.  I couldn't wipe the smile off my face after the ride...

Note ridiculous smile on face....Obe was too embarassed by my foolishness to even be photographed

....until I got my score.  It was actually TWO POINTS LOWER than the first ride that had major mistakes!!  I couldn't believe my eyes.  I had scored a 5 on our free walk, a move that Obe does in her sleep...and looking back at the video, I have no clue what the judge was seeing.  I was frustrated...and humbled. 

See, dressage - despite it's seemingly "objective" scoring system - is actually a pretty subjective sport.  This particular judge had a "pet peeve," which happened to be suppleness.  So, any time that Obe showed any amount of questioning or tension, she penalized us HARD.  All I could do was take her feedback to heart, realize that there's a kernel of truth in it all, and get to work. 

This past Wednesday (the 4th of July), I had a lesson with Debra to talk about it all.  She admitted that the scoring was harsh, but she basically said, "Here's the approach to take with this.  Assume that you'll show under this judge all the time, and aim to make her love you."  So that's what the past week has been - a lot of hard work on getting Obe pushing, using her hocks, and being supple all the time.  We'll see if it's working...it's a bit too soon to tell.

The second event happened just under an hour ago.  I have this amazing friend, Koryn, whom I haven't seen in way too long.  We became friends as we both worked for a less-than-scrupulous trainer in Virginia, and that rough experience helped to bond us deeply together.  Even though she's quite a bit younger than me, she's certainly my peer in her maturity, her work ethic, and her love for friends, family, horses, and God.  She's amazing...did I mention that? (and it makes me sad that I don't have any pictures with her!)

We keep in touch regularly through Facebook and through text messages, and it's fun to see what she's working on as she works with one of the best dressage riders and trainers our country has had in the recent past.  I miss her - her wonderful sense of humor, the way she talks to the horses, the way she's already ready with a hug when I need it most.  Today, though, she surprised and, yes, humbled me.  She emailed me, giving me a gift that not only did I not expect, but I also don't really deserve!  She says I do - she says my hard work inspires her.  That only humbles me more, because I know deep down how hard it is to keep going and how much I question the work I do. 

But I'm humbled...I'm blessed beyond anything that I could ask or imagine...and I'm humbled. 

My turn...

This Saturday...it's MY turn.  It's my turn to be the one getting dressed, getting packed, bathing MY horse and braiding MY horse's mane.  After years of watching others....after years of HELPING others so that they could be successful...now I get to do it!!!

When I pause in all the craziness of getting ready for a show, I can't help but be grateful for where I am.  I've worked hard over the past couple of years to be in a place both in my riding and in my finances so that I can afford to show.  I'm proud of that work...and now I get to see it come to fruition.  Sure, it freaks me out a bit to think that I'm getting what I want.  But, I'm not letting that be at the forefront of my mind.  When I swing up on Obe at that show on Saturday, and we march off towards the warm up, I'm going to smile up into the shining sun and be GRATEFUL. 

It brings tears to my eyes just typing it.  I may be a slobbery mess at the show!  That'll make for some great photos!  ;)

Moving right along...

On March 24, I went down to Tryon to Harmon Field with Michele and her young OTTB Timber.  Normally, if I trailer Obe with another horse anywhere, she is SUDDENLY best friends with that horse and cannot stand to be separated from him.  She'll pitch insane fits...like "airs above the ground" kind of fits.  That's why all our trailer this year has been solo, and she's done amazingly well!  I have definitely hit on a strategy that works for us, so I was a little concerned that this most recent show would be with another horse AND we'd be attempting to ride a test. 

When we got down there, we unloaded the horses and tied them to the sides of the trailer.  Obe couldn't really see Timber too well even though we had both escape doors open on each side (and the horses were tied on opposite sides of the trailer...right next to the escape doors).  I ran to the office to check in and get my number.  When I came back, Michele told me that Obe had climbed up into the escape door (the person-sized door on the side of the trailer) and tried to get across the trailer to Timber's side....she did this THREE times.  I rolled my eyes and tried to groom my prancing, dancing, shifting around horse.  She kept craning around to try to see Timber around the trailer's front.  I just knew this was going to be a wasted day.

I finally got her tacked up (it's a little more difficult to tack up a moving target), and had Michele hold her while I got on.  Timber was still tied to his side of the trailer (sweet boy...he didn't care where Obe was, but he loves to know where Michele is.  She's HIS girl).  I swung up, and Obe marched right off towards warm-up. She didn't even whinny for Timber!  We walked straight over to warm-up, checked in with the ring steward, and started doing our thing!  I was a bit blown away to say the least. 

The warm-up was tiny, and I kept swerving around to miss horses that weren't exactly being steered.  At one point, one lady was bent WAY over her horse's side tightening her girth, and her horse was just roaming around aimlessly....RIGHT into my pathway as I cantered around.  I swerved and shot her a look, but she wasn't even paying enough attention to notice that.  Oh well...welcome to warm up. 

I think I warmed up a bit too long.  I got on about 30 minutes before my ride time since I wasn't sure what kind of horse I'd have once I was on.  However, at the 15 minute mark, she was perfect.  She wasn't tired, she was on my aids and responsive in a non-blowing-up kind of way.  The final 15 minutes kind of pushed her over the edge and she got a bit more dull to my leg and a tad more pissy about things in general.

We went to the show arena and rode our test.  I didn't have a reader, and after I crossed the first diagonal (First Level Test 2), I got a little lost.  The test is bizarre at that point, I must say, because you're supposed to just trot all the way around to S....which is a long way away.  I was lost for the entire short side...not sure if I should leg yield or canter or what.  Then, I remembered the trot marathon and continued on down the long side.  We had some good moments after that...we also had a few "uh oh" moments, like when Obe kicked out on our canter transition and when she broke while coming back from our canter lengthening.  But, she held it together, we rode the whole test, and we succeeded at not rearing/sucking back/acting like a lunatic at any point!  Yay, Obe!

Last night, I had a lesson with Debra (and I have another next Wednesday evening) to work on a few issues before the big show on the 14th.  Obe definitely needs work on her trot lengthenings, not dying in the lateral work, and staying soft coming back from canter lengthenings.  We worked on ALL of that last night in creative ways (of course...Debra is amazing).  First, we worked on a 20m circle doing renvers with energy.  Then, I'd slide my inside leg back up to the girth and ask for her to PUSH and lengthen out of it.  I went back and forth between the longer stride and the renvers until I had her on my aids...completely soft to my leg...fluid through her loin.  That sets us up well for the leg yield/ten meter circle figure 8/leg yield part of the trot work in First 3. 

We then moved to canter work.  I started on the right lead (her easier) on a 20m circle on true canter, then an adjoining 20m circle in canter counter.  Basically, a figure 8 without changing lead.  That proved difficult for her, especially the counter canter, so I had to play with letting my inside rein open and soften to allow her shoulders to raise and come through.  What I loved about it was that my outside rein became the main communication with her so that when I came back onto the 20m true canter circle, I was able to ask for a lengthening in her canter stride and bring her back softly without her breaking.  It was all in that connection on the outside rein/seatbone/leg.  Wow...seriously, wow.  The left lead (the one we broke on in the test) was even softer, especially after I got brave and LET GO of my left rein and fully connected onto my right rein.  It was awesome! 

So...moving right along.  I feel like she's in a good place right now and, given that I have over a week before the big show, I think we'll be exactly where we need to be when the 14th rolls around.  I'm excited to have one more lesson with Debra next week...good stuff, that.