Equine Escape Into Isolation

Beyond binging on comfort food during this pandemic, today I need a comfort horseback ride after yet another zoom meeting and another masked supermarket trip. My ride begins with a meditation of sorts—grooming the horse. Big Bea loves to roll in the manure pile, I believe to spite me so I will groom her more. When I give her this “spa treatment” her pendulous lower lip quivers. Before I sling my saddle on her back, I clean the savage beast of dirt and debris. Each flick of the brush dispatches dust and dung. A final pull of the comb through her mane and tail finishes the routine. 

            When I settle into my buff-colored saddle and pick up the reins to her gleaming copper bit, Big Bea perks up, ears prick forward. This 18-year-old, mighty Percheron “flea-bitten” gray draft, sparkles brilliantly white in the dark landscape. She is covered in tiny smudge marks, like someone took a charcoal pencil and drew dashes all over her coat. Her round, powerful rump devoid of this artistry, propels us deeper into the woods. 

            Astride I scan for flora and fauna. I spot a cacophony of chipmunks, and fortunately, I don’t see the brown bear spotted in the neighborhood last week. As we advance, Bea breathing heavy as she moves her 1,800 pounds up a steep incline, I spot the flora I’ve been waiting years to see—Mountain Laurel in bloom. 

Tiny white cups perched on shiny, dark green, almond-shaped leaves, precariously dangling off twisted, woody branches. I reach out to touch the delicate blooms, its insides filled with fine lines of pink and red dots dancing inside the pentagonal design. My gloved hand prevents the tactile thrill of petal touching I yearn for. We move along the ferns, a deep, lacy carpet Big Bea’s legs gingerly move out of the way as she trots along. Swish, swish, swish, like an equine metronome keeping the rhythm of exploration. 

            Riding alone in the dense forest through thick underbrush, across clear streams, and into lush meadows comforts me, ironically, from the isolation of staying home. There are no sounds of humanity, or email alerts, just nature. I see not a traffic sign nor hear a car, the stillness only broken by the screech of an owl, the caw of a crow, or the lyrics of songbirds. 

When we exit the woods into an acres-wide great meadow on my way home, I am thrust into a riot of sunshine, vibrating grasses, and scattering red-winged blackbirds. If I am lucky, I see the jet-black Swifts darting across a blue sky in a feeding frenzy. It’s here Big Bea stops to graze. She lowers her head to snatch long clumps of moist grass, her comfort food. Her molars grinding the stalks root me in a horse’s purpose in the landscape. Eat grass, poop to fertilize, grow more grass. A shifting wind gathers across the field, tall grasses sashaying, waving to us. I inhale the scenery of calm.  

           

Happy Birthday Washington Irving

America’s first author, Washington Irving who penned The Legend of Sleepy Hollow— celebrating its 200th anniversary this year—was born on April 3, 1783. Born in Sleepy Hollow myself, this legendary writer came into focus for me early, not only because of where I was born, but because he visited my childhood home. I grew up in the 1735 Dutch tenant farmhouse frequented by Irving, located at 740 South Broadway in Tarrytown, New York. This home survived the Revolutionary War, and holds a dark secret that Irving took advantage of for his literary pleasure.

Washington Irving America’s First Writer

With the serialized publication of The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. in 1819-1820, which included the short stories “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” and “Rip Van Winkle,” Irving began to make a name for himself as an America-born writer while living in England. Born in New York City in 1783, six-year-old Irving met his namesake George Washington at his presidential inauguration in 1789. Despite being a lawyer, working the family merchant business, and dabbling in local politics, Irving desperately wanted to support himself as a writer. His first literary success came with letters and short articles for local publications before he moved to England after the war of 1812. While abroad his commercial successes grew but after seventeen years he came back to America in 1832 to settle at his new cottage on the Hudson River later dubbed Sunnyside.

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Early in Irving’s career he wrote, “If the American public wish to have literature of their own they must consent to pay for the support of authors…For my part if I can succeed in writing so as deservedly to please the public and gain the good will of my countrymen it is all I care about—I only want money enough to enable me to keep on my own way and follow my own taste and inclination.”

But the story everyone remembers him for is that of Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” was one of the last and the longest of his tales in the Sketch Book. There is an epigraph as introduction with four lines from Scottish poet James Thompson’s 1748 “The Castle of Indolence.”

            A pleasing land of drowsy head it was,

            Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;

            And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,

            For ever flushing round a summer sky.

Irving Biographer and Author Andrew Burstein claims, “Thompson’s poem speaks to Irving’s partiality for the malleable nature, lazy times, pastoral slumbers, and enchantment.” Burstein points out that the two lines before the epigraph conjure a more sinister picture:

            A sable, silent, solemn forest stood;

            Where nought but shadowy forms were seen to move.

The woodlands in the poem, “sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood.”  Burstein writes, “all Irving had to do in his tale was make the “drowsy heads” headless. And so begins Irving’s romantic tale of how Ichabod wooed the lovely Katrina Van Tassel at the quilting frolic one Halloween night.

In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at the broad expansion of the river dominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always prudently shortened sail, and implored the protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small market town…

The Legend takes place around the same time Rip Van Winkle wakes up from his long slumber, about the time that George Washington becomes America’s first president and Washington Irving meets him. Burstein notes that according to Irving, this tale takes places in two locales, in “Tarry Town” a name set by “good housewives” because their husbands were prone to “linger about the village tavern on market days” and the “sequestered glen” of Sleepy Hollow where once again, a “drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land.” Irving knew that the early Dutch settlers still believed in the stories of ghosts and witches and by the American Revolution these cultural references were well known.

Early in the American revolution around 1775, the British government hired mercenaries from the Hesse region of Germany to supplement British troops. The patriots saw this as an act of terrorism by King George III who ruled the colonies. The German-speaking Hessians were known as Europe’s most blood thirsty army. According to a Revolutionary War diary the Hessians put their captors to immediate death while parents worried that Hessians would capture their children and eat them. With this kind of local lore still fresh in the minds of Americans, making the headless horseman a Hessian made perfect sense for Irving’s romantic ghost story.

An Historic Landmark

John Forkel was known to be a best friend of Irving. He was a cobbler and set up his shop in my childhood home in 1842. With the Forkel family the house gains an even greater historical significance beyond George Washington riding by during a parade on South Broadway, then the Albany Post Road, or Irving stopping by to get shirts made by his daughter.  

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There is a newspaper article which states that Forkel’s father was a Hessian solider who deserted and stayed in America during the Revolutionary War. It also stated that Forkel’s property contained five Hessians who were shot and killed by colonial militiamen. They were quickly buried beneath the apple orchard to the north of the house. This would be the same apple orchard where I once played as a toddler with my dog and cat. I like to believe that Irving frequented Forkel’s house not only for friendship, but to visit with his literary ghosts in person.

 

 

 

Horse Racing on the Radio ~ How Retro!

I just finished watching the live stream of The Whitney from Saratoga Race Course in Saratoga Springs, New York. I love that technology can connect you in real time with your passions no matter where you are.

Early this year I was driving home in the afternoon from a Pennsylvania dog show on Kentucky Derby Day. Most years I’m able to get back to Connecticut in time to tune in to the Derby, dubbed “The Most Exciting Two Minutes in Sports.” I knew I wouldn’t be able to watch the ultimate Thoroughbred race on TV for the first time in many years, because our showing time at the dog show was late in the afternoon. As post time approached I was heading up Interstate 287 in New Jersey towards the Tappan Zee Bridge when I thought, “Hey, I can listen to the race on the radio, how retro!”

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Fortunately, NBCSports radio came up easily on my car’s display screen. I heard the TV broadcasters analyzing the race until the official race announcer took over for the call. Since I couldn’t see the sleek dark coats of the Thoroughbreds or the brilliant colors of the jockey’s silks as they made there way to the starting gate, I began to listen, really listen. I could hear when the horses got to the gate, each one slamming shut, and when they were all loaded up, the crown roared just before the bell. “And they’re off in the Kentucky Derby,” proclaimed track announcer Larry Collmus.

My mind mesmerized for two minutes listening to the names of the horses trade places “in the early going” and “on the backstretch” as they approached “the crucial first turn” in the “run for the roses.”  Then the excitement began “at the far turn” it was Looking for Lee “digging down deep” but Always Dreaming “was holding on” and then down the final stretch “the dream comes true as Always Dreaming wins the 143rd Kentucky Derby.”

First Radio Broadcast

After the race I was curious as to when the first race was broadcast on radio and who called it. Churchill Downs didn’t hire its first track announcer until 1940, so on that first live broadcast back on May 16, 1925, most likely, the race was called by a radio broadcaster sitting in the grandstand. According to The New York Times: For the first time in history the Kentucky Derby will go “on the air,” three radio stations having announced their intention to broadcast the famous classic tomorrow afternoon, beginning shortly before post time, 4:45 o’clock, Central Standard Time. WGN, The Chicago Tribune station, will broadcast the race on a 370.2-meter wave length. WHAS, the Louisville Times and Courier Journal station, will broadcast on a wave length of 399.8 meters. WHT, Chicago, will pick up the signal from WHAS and rebroadcast them on a 238-meter wave length.”

But how the race unfolded on air during the 51st running of the Kentucky Derby in 1925, we’ll never know for sure. For one thing, the Preakness came first followed by the Derby in mid May.  According to the New York Times coverage of that race, it was listed as the second biggest piece of “Turf” news in the Week in Sports on May 18, 1925. The headline news was that the late Major August Belmont’s famous Nursery Stud of Thoroughbred racing broodmares and sires had recently been sold as a whole to Mr. Widener. That was big news back in 1925, more so than a single race.

From the Times: The Kentucky Derby, unique among American turf fixtures, was more brilliant, more colorful than ever before in the more than half century of its history. But at the end the brilliance was dimmed, the rain putting a damper on the enthusiasm which always characterized Derby Day. A field horse as an easy winner, with the favorite nowhere  – such was the result of the race. It was a triumph for the veteran trainer, William Duke, recently returned from a long sojourn abroad, and one that is begrudged to him by no horseman. That he should saddle the winners of the Preakness and Derby in less than a fortnight is most remarkable under the circumstances. Flying Ebony had never raced more than six furlongs, nor trained more than a mile. Duke was merely hopeful that Sande would be able to hold him together and stick it out. Flying Ebony was stopping at the end, as the last quarter in 0:28 shows. The 1925 Derby winner merely outlasted a lot of poorer horses. 

Radio listeners in 1925 already knew that the favorite, Coventry, who won the Preakness, earning $52,700, trained by William Duke, was not running in the Derby. I imagined they heard the same markers around the track, first turn, backstretch, and far turn in the call. But I wonder if all the horses got a mention on air or if the winning trainer got as much media attention back then. I suspect the owners were more in the limelight than the trainers or jockeys. But in 1925, it would be the last racing season for William Duke, the trainer for Cochran Stables, who not only won the Derby and Preakness, but the Travers Stakes at Saratoga with a horse named Dangerous. Just six months later on January 26, 1926, he died of pneumonia at his upstate New York estate. The inaugural Kentucky Derby radio broadcast was the first and last to have any announcer call a winner trained by William Duke.

What that first live radio broadcaster did was begin something eloquently echoed in a May 1, 2014 New Yorker article “The Voice of the Kentucky Derby” written by David Hill. The piece was about Larry Collmus, the current Churchill Downs track announcer, who said, “We’re not the story. The story is out there. The horses, the riders. We’re just the narrators.

Man o’ War’s 100th Birthday – Let’s Celebrate!

Today marks the 100th anniversary of the birthday of Man o’ War. Foaled March 29, 1917, this large chestnut horse was dubbed the Horse of the Century, that’s the 20th Century, with his incredible 20 wins out of 21 starts. Man o’ War was bred by August Belmont, Jr. and sold at auction as a yearling for $5,000 to Samuel D. Riddle. His name originally was My Man o’ War, named by Belmont’s wife since her husband had gone off to serve in World War I. The auctioneer dropped the “My” and his name became Man o’War.

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His two-year-old race year in 1919  started out with 6 consecutive wins. Here’s an example of the grueling pace race horses of the early 20th century faced. He started his career at Belmont Park with wins on June 6th, 9th, then another win on June 21st at Jamaica Racetrack followed by two wins at Aqueduct on June 23rd and July 5th. He had a short break before heading up to the Saratoga Race Course, then the premier racetrack in the nation, for four races on August 2nd, 13th, 20th and 23rd.

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Man O’ War’s only defeat  

It was during his Saratoga appearance that he met his only defeat by a horse named “Upset” during the Sanford Memorial on August 13th. In 1919, there were no starting gates. Horses lined up at a wide ribbon, they would turn around once to line up and then the ribbon would rise up. At this race, Man o’ War’s first jockey Johnny Loftus was late in turning the 16.2 hand horse around in time for the start. He was not off to a good start, back by four lengths. It was a short race, just 6 furlongs, and by the time Man o’ War caught up, he managed to pass every horse but one. He came in second only by a neck’s length. Had the race been another furlong, he would have won.

The 1920 race season was the start of his undefeated 3-year-old career. By now carrying 138 pounds, more than any other horse he competed against, and a new jockey Clarence Kummer, his first race was the Preakness Stakes. His owner did not enter him in the Kentucky Derby because he thought a mile and a quarter was too long a race to start off the season.  Back then the term “Triple Crown”  had not been formally coined or commercialized.  Big Red’s next win came at Belmont Park on May 29th in the one mile Withers Stakes. It’s amazing that Riddle entered him in a race between the Preakness and the Belmont Stakes. But then again the Belmont Stakes was only a mile and 3/8th, not the marathon mile and half of today.

But it didn’t matter, Man o’ War went on to win the Belmont Stakes by 20 lengths. A record not broken for 53 years until Secretariat came along in 1973 with a 31-length victory. Big Red had 11 races in 1920, including big stakes races such as the Travers Stakes and the Jockey Gold Cup. He also broke the record for the longest win in a race of 100 lengths in the Lawrence Realization Stakes at Belmont Park just a week before the Jockey Gold Cup. By the end of the season nobody wanted to race against him, and his record-breaking 28-foot stride, so a match race was set up with the 1919 Triple Crown winner Sir Barton in Canada on Oct. 12th. It wasn’t much of a race as Man o’ War led from the start, won by 17 lengths, and took 6 seconds off the track record. And that’s with iron horseshoes! It was the first time a horse race was filmed in its entirety.

Racing Retirement

As with all great racehorses, Man o’ War went off to stud in Kentucky. But his retirement was different. He had become a national sports hero. All his races were broadcast on the growing medium of radio.  Everyone in America knew about this horse. He was so famous people traveled to see him. He had an African-American groom Will Harbut who cared for the horse and coined the term, “De mostest hoss that ever was.” He sired 64 Stakes winners, including War Admiral, the 1937 Triple Crown winner. By 1926 he was named the top sire. In 22 seasons at stud he produced 379 live foals. Even American Pharoah has Man o’ War in his pedigree 17 times.

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Man o’ War and his longtime groom Will Harbut

When Man o’ War passed away on November 1, 1947 at the age of 30, the country mourned. When he died, Faraway Farm called the Associated Press to announce, “Our big horse just died.” He died of a heart attack, but his longtime groom Harbut had suddenly passed away one month earlier, and many said that Man o’ War died of a broken heart. He was embalmed and lay in state for two days so all his fans could come and visit him one last time as he lay in a custom made coffin lined with black and yellow silk, Riddle’s racing colors. His funeral was broadcast on the radio.

He was laid to rest near a life-size bronze statue of him on Faraway Farm. Over the years, fans flocked to pay their respects. In the 1970’s the grave and statue were moved to the newly opened Kentucky Horse Park in Lexington where fans still come to visit. To celebrate the 100th anniversary of the birth of the greatest horse ever, the park has restored the bronze statue and planned yearlong events around history’s most famous racehorse.

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A print of this painting by Robert Amick of Man o’ War hung in my childhood bedroom and fostered my love of Thoroughbred horses

Polo Returns to Farmington Polo Grounds

It’s been nearly 40 years since the last polo pony dashed across the green field during a match at the Farmington Polo Grounds. On August 13th nearly 40 ponies returned to play on the historic grounds which includes 60 acres of beautiful land adjacent to the Farmington River. And why did the ponies come back? The newly formed Farmington Polo Club International Equestrian Center hosted its inaugural Dream Ride Polo Exhibition. The match benefitted the Hometown Foundation, a charity about inclusion by helping and unifying those less fortunate, in need, or physically and intellectually disabled. The Dream Ride Experience, held on the polo grounds each August, encompasses the entire mission of the foundation. The Dream Ride Experience is an annual fund raiser for the Special Olympics as it celebrates the special achievements of Special Olympians.

Polo Players Extraordinaire

Two teams of four mounted players each included international professional players, several married couples, and women players in this highly competitive, fast playing game. Tailgating spectators gathered at field side to enjoy four chukkers (7 1/2 minute  long periods of play) in the exhibition match. The recently renovated and upgraded Farmington Polo Grounds boosts a 50-stall barn, competition polo field, grass paddocks, beautiful new white fencing, and flags of many nations fluttering along the entrance on Town Farm Road in Farmington.

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Players get ready for their first chukker

During half-time the traditional “divot stomp” took place. Spectators came out on the field to replace the divots made by thundering horses’ hooves during the first half. This activity promotes safety for horses and players as well as socialization, not to mention fashion show-offs, for friends and family. My husband Ray and I went out there and stomped as many divots as we could find. There were many women dressed in lovely sundresses and fashionable hats that could have made the rounds at the Saratoga Race Course or even the Kentucky Derby.

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Ray stomps a mean divot!

Spectators also competed for the Best Tailgate Award based on the creativity, dedication, and decoration of the tailgate set up. (Full disclosure: Our Veuve Cliquot champagne inspired tailgate won the award). Following polo match play, we all enjoyed a Brazilian BBQ, in honor of the Rio Olympics and the international culture of the sport of polo.

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Lisa decorates a mean tailgate!

 

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Ray enjoying the tailgate at the Farmington Polo Grounds!

Farmington Polo Club Manager and Polo Instructor Jennifer Williams recently told me the club is, “Thrilled to bring polo back to the Farmington community after 40 years. We are continually upgrading the polo club grounds to make this a world-class venue for players, ponies and the public to enjoy the fun-filled, action-packed sport of polo.”

The History of Polo 

According to the Museum of Polo and Hall of Fame (polomuseum.com) located in Florida, polo is arguably the oldest sport known to man. Its origins in Central Asia date back to around 600 B.C. to 100 A.D. where mounted nomads trained for sport and war on horseback as they migrated to Persia, recognized as the birthplace of polo. Modern polo began in India in 1859 between British military officers and locals on tea plantations. By 1876, New York Herald publisher James Gordon Bennet brought polo to the United States after a visit to England where the game was thriving.

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Ray sitting field side with a classic polo spectator beverage

The Westchester Polo Club was the first organized club in the country in 1876. By the 1920’s polo was at its peak of popularity. The Farmington Polo Club was formed in 1929. During the 1920s and 1930s the Meadow Brook Club in Westbury, NY on Long Island was the center of the polo universe. Browsing through The New York Times archive online, one sees just how popular the sport was. Many times Meadow Brook and Farmington played each other. At the 1930 U.S. Open polo match there were 45,000 spectators who came out to support the sport. Can you imagine?

The sport even made it to the Olympics from 1900 to 1936. The last Olympic game played at the Berlin Summer Games in Germany gave the gold medal to Argentina who defeated Great Britain. Mexico captured the bronze.  Today, polo is thriving once again with the United States Polo Association recognizing 275 member clubs with 4,500 players.

Area Pony Clubs Make a Splash (Newtown Bee)

Wilton Pony Club Rocks!

Wilton Pony Club

Check out this wonderful article from the Newtown Bee about Beach Day:
http://newtownbee.com/lisa-unleashed-area-pony-clubs-make-a-splash/

beachday Wilton Pony Club Members at Jennings Beach

Lisa Unleashed: Area Pony Clubs Make a Splash

by Lisa Peterson, Newtown Bee

Scattered sunshine, a very low tide and a panoply of ponies populated Jennings Beach in Fairfield this past weekend. It’s rare to see more than one or two other horses out on the beach during a ride despite Jennings being one of the few beaches that allows horses (and dogs) access from October 1 to April 1 each year.

But upon arrival in the parking lot, we were greeted by several horse trailers, which was unusual. Once on the beach there were ponies and people everywhere! Large ponies, small ponies, and one very small pony with a flaxen mane and tail. Too cute for words! Where did this pony herd come from? A quick glance at one…

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The Fancy Ponies of Sweetbrier Farm

 

You never know who you are going to meet in the horse world! This week I interviewed a woman for an article I’d been assigned to cover for a horse magazine. As usual the first question is, “Where did you start riding?” And to my amazement she answered, “Sweetbrier Farm in Easton.” Here is where my jaw dropped, smile followed and my reply was, “So did I!” We checked our dates and thought we might have ridden there at the same time.

Then I started rattling off the names of school horses, Missy, Briggy, Worthington and Miller. Then she named some ponies, Bonnie, Sprite. And then I offered up the name of my favorite pony, the one who gave me my first blue ribbon — Marvel-Us.

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Marvel-Us and Me: Fall 1971 Sweetbriar Farm Schooling Horse Show, Reserve Champion

“Marvel-Us!” she quipped. She remembered that pony too. In fact, she had ridden her, once. As she recalled it, the pony would respond differently to each rider. Those who were nervous or tense, got the speedy treatment. Those who were calm and confident, got the dream ride.  She told the tale about how she watched as someone tried to ride Marvel-Us, getting the speedy treatment. Then she got to hop on during the lesson, and briefly got to experience the dream ride.

Missy and Marvel-Us

My memories of Marvel-Us, where just that, Marvelous! I first climbed aboard this little white pony mare as a 10-year-old. But I didn’t get to ride the dream pony at first. Fresh back from learning to ride at summer camp, I clearly remember my first lesson at Sweetbrier aboard this bay mare named Missy. I had mastered the walk-trot at camp, even showed in the lead line class at the camp show. But the wise instructor felt I was ready for that first canter. Missy obliged, a new riding thrill emerged and I was on my way.

Along that way, I learned to master the canter on an old horse named Miller, who was a retired racing trotter. There is nothing quite like trying to ask a horse to do something he was clearly trained not to do at any cost. But we persevered. Then we started tackling the cross rail jumps on those tried and true school masters, like Worthington and Briggy. As a child you are not quite aware of things like the horse’s age, but I do know that when I asked how old Briggy was, they told me, “Ancient.”

Fancy Ponies 

But then one day I got to ride Marvel-Us. I remember how effortless things seemed, like picking up the canter on her versus Miller, the king of trotting. Eventually, after another year I was able to join the advanced lesson on Saturday mornings. It was filled with fancy ponies like Dark ‘N Fancy, owned by the Humphrys, the farm’s owners. He was always ridden by a red-haired girl named Emily. This very cute large pony, was black with a speckled white blaze all the way down to his nose. His white stockings on his rear legs were matched up front by a near sock and what looked like a white splash on his remaining far leg just below the knee. His nickname was “Too Big” and I can still hear Emily call out to him as “Toooooooo Big.”

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Sweetbriar Farm Riders at the Fairfield County Hounds Thanksgiving Day Hunt at Greenfield Hill, circa 1973. From left: Lisa on Gingersnap, Emily on Dark & Fancy, Gerri on her horse, and Holly on Fleet Nancy

There was also Sprite, a dapple grey pony that loved to jump and occasionally stop! I do recall one of my worst spills coming off that pony, right on top of a very sturdy and hard vertical jump, landing on my back, like a gymnast performing a flip. But the first time I ever rode her, the barn let me tack her up myself. So proud was I as I entered the ring to mount up, before the instructor came over to explain I had put the saddle on backwards. Other ponies that joined us in that lesson were Bonnie, a cute bay pony mare, and BeBell, a rambunctious alibino pony, who was actually Marvel-Us’ daughter! Once I rode in a pairs class at a horse show on Marvel-Us with BeBell ridden by a girl named Diane.

And then Marvel-Us gave me the gift of our first few horse shows. Our first was a  schooling show at Sweetbrier, in the fall or winter, it was cold and the show was indoors. But bless you Marvel-Us as she took my novice seat around one of those egg roll jumping courses. It was my first blue ribbon. Later, next spring, took me to my first away show, a local recognized show, where we also garnered a blue ribbon in the pleasure pony class.

It was Marvel-Us who set me on the path of lifetime riding and a love of horse shows. Just like many, many other little girls who passed through the Sweetbrier gates in search of that dream ride. In fact, during my recent interview with the barn owner for that article, she admitted that seeing all those fancy ponies at Sweetbriar fueled her imagination to grow up and bred fancy ponies herself. Thanks Marvel-Us!

Riding An Old Schoolmaster ~ Being in the Moment

The ancient word Yoga means to yoke or bind, or more literally the union of the body and the mind. Horseback riding is very much like yoga as it involves a union between horse and rider, proper breathing, and a variety of positions that bring physical strength and stamina, not to mention awareness, to our riding. As we ride our goal is to create balance and to be present in the moment with the horse.

In my mind, nothing forces you to be more present in the moment than riding a horse. It is nearly impossible to be thinking about work, shopping or cooking dinner while you are trying to navigate a 1,000-pound animal around a ring, down a steep path or over a three- foot jump.

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Mikey & Me at our first horse show in 2011

Riding involves channeling the horse’s energy and using your consciousness to communicate with him. You want the horse to direct his energy into a positive outcome, like flexing and bending or collecting and extending or even jumping! You want the rider to be communicating with the horse. When the flow of energy between horse and rider is at its best, you have balance. When you have a perfect ride, you know it because you know exactly what it is suppose to feel like. We’ve all had them and they all dwell in our subconscious memory.

Schoolmasters to the rescue 

At some point in a rider’s career, they have ridden a well-trained horse. Nothing is more enjoyable than effortless communication with a well-trained horse. Many a show horse, such as a Thoroughbred jumper I used to lease, can no longer handle the demands of  higher jumping divisions and has to take a step down to a lower level of riding. It happens to all horses as they age, they wind down their athletic abilities and with it comes the lower fences and eventually just flat work.

These equine teachers are called “schoolmasters” and they are worth their weight in gold. A pleasure to ride, they teach novice riders what perfect riding feels like for the first time. They give veteran riders a perfect ride, when they have forgotten what it’s like from riding horses of different schooling levels.

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Mikey & Me getting ready for a jumping lesson in 2013

As riders our peak ability is determined by the horses we ride. I spent most of the year flat riding a young horse. I hadn’t been on a schoolmaster in about a year. Every rider benefits from taking a step back once and a while. Whether you are training young horses or just pleasure riding, it’s important to get on that schoolmaster that knows everything and can remind you where you need to be. Jumping a schoolmaster can really remind you of where your proper position should be and where it is in reality.

Being Mikey 

For me, that schoolmaster ride came last Sunday, on my former lease horse, a bay Thoroughbred named Mikey. Visiting Fox Hill Farms again and seeing Barb and Jane and all the horses was so much fun. It was pleasant outside, about 45 degrees and no wind, so we opted to have our jumping lesson outside.  At the posting trot I was instantly reminded about his ‘big bouncy trot’ and how I have to post lower to the saddle to keep my position and really use those calf and core muscles I’ve been ignoring lately. During walking breaks, I would ask him to do a laterally movement here, an outside bend there, just to keep him listening and active to my leg.

Mikey reminded me to sit tall with my shoulders back, keeping that straight line from my shoulders through my hip to my ankle. To me working at the walk is like yoga. You are putting yourself into the correct positions and holding them, building physical strength. As I held those correct positions, Mikey the schoolmaster obliged with supple movements and easy transitions.

In riding, just like in yoga, we should practice awareness over action. For example, a horse trots too fast, we post faster to keep up with him — that’s action. An external force upon us that we are reacting to. If we practiced awareness instead, then when a horse trots too fast, we would be aware – internally – that we need to slow the pace, and we would post slower and lower. Our schoolmaster is well-trained and knows this cue and would come back to the pace that is ideal. He has taught us, reminded us, how to have awareness on horseback.

Mikey2015

Mikey & Me enjoying the sun in 2015

We can also be caught up in doing rather than being. Jumping horses can be a lot of doing rather than being. Mikey excels at teaching me to be in the moment around the course. He teaches me to breathe, to relax, to clear my mind before we begin. As a schoolmaster he reminds me to set my pace, maintain it and leave it alone. Being not doing. To make proper turns and keep straight lines when jumping, Mikey teaches me to keep the proper position with eyes up, sitting lightly, hands soft and following. Being ready for the next jump, not doing the next jump. Just being Mikey brought me back into awareness, into that perfect position and gave me a much-needed perfect ride. Afterwards I gave this old schoolmaster two big carrots as a thank you!

Life’s A Beach! ~ Riding the East and West Coasts

It’s beach season for Connecticut horse and dog lovers! From October 1st to March 31st, horses and dogs are allowed on many local beaches to splash in the surf and kick up some sand. Fairfield’s Jennings Beach offers a superb swath of sandbars that during a super low tide give equestrians some awesome gallops. Recently, as I traveled to ride at Jennings, I thought back on my first two beach riding adventures, both on America’s West Coast.

Off Jennings Beach in Fairfield, CT

Off Jennings Beach in Fairfield, CT

See ya!

See ya!

Splashing in the Surf!

Splashing in the Surf!

California Beaches 

It all began at Pebble Beach when I was 12-years-old. My mother and I took one of those ‘nose-to-tail’ trail rides from the PB Equestrian Center nestled on the Monterey, California coast. We had to cross the 17-Mile Drive, with its stunning views of ragged coastline, wind-blown cypress trees and meandering sandy paths, to access the beach. Our horses, wearing large Western saddles with horns you could cling on to for dear life, were placid and practiced. No riding skills required here. Walking promoted sightseeing and discovery.

The horses’ hooves dusted aside white sand and crushed coastal grasses as we made our way towards the ocean. As we walked along the edge of the manicured golf course, there where green links on my left and the deep blue northern Pacific on my right. To this day, every time I watch the Pebble Beach Classic golf tournament on TV and they switch to the blimp view that pans the course from above, I am instantly brought back to that moment of wonder, when a horse connected me between the land and the sea in a seamless blue-green ribbon.

Pebble Beach Golf Course  in Monterey, CA ~ Great Pacific Ocean beach ride

Pebble Beach Golf Course in Monterey, CA ~ Great Pacific Ocean beach ride

My next Pacific Coast adventure unfolded during college. One day while at Pepperdine University’s Malibu campus, and missing my horse back home, I noticed a 3×5-inch index card on the student community bulletin board. Scribbled in blue ink was an invitation to go riding on the beach. This 19-year-old was game.

Malibu Beaches in Southern California

Malibu Beaches in Southern California

As we walked down a dirt path carved into the bottom of a clay canyon surrounded by shore pines, the aqua waves of Santa Monica Bay came into view and expanded as we reached the coast. We took a right turn, trotted some, and then from behind I heard the horses’ owner say, “Let’s Gallop!” And off we went. Up into my half-seat, my long hair flying behind me almost touching my chestnut-colored chaps which matched my horse’s coat. We galloped North up the beach and into the surf on the hard-packed wet sand. The best footing I’d ever felt. The horse loved it as he grabbed the ground with each lengthening stride. We spent several more hours of exploration among the scrubby brush and sandy cliffs of Malibu that day.

Connecticut Beaches

Fast forward several decades. Last month, the beach riding experience came alive for me on the East Coast as I used the park’s picnic table as a mounting block, which is probably against the rules! It was a bright afternoon, unseasonably warm for the end of October.  My horse and I headed straight for the surf. We took a right turn and trotted off.

Oz & I off on a beach adventure!

Oz & I off on a beach adventure!

The bright sun coming down at an angle across the water glimmered so brightly I was missing my sunglasses. Each ripple on the water shone like a million strobe lights spread out across the sound.

The sun in my eyes reflecting off the rippling water

The sun in my eyes reflecting off the rippling water

Then we came upon a flock of seagulls, but it was even bigger than a flock, whatever that might be called, a migration? Like little children spoiling a quiet gathering we raced at them. The gulls shot up towards the sky, and as we rode under them, they enveloped us in a squall, a snowfall of seagulls, swirling around us like a snow globe. While squawking in protest, gulls swooped past looking for a new landing place.

In a snow globe of seagulls

In a snow globe of seagulls

Then we met up with some other horses. They left early and we meandered around the farthest jetty before heading home, to beat the incoming tide. At slack tide we moved into the barely bubbling surf.

Slack Tide

Slack Tide

Then my riding partner yelled, “You ready? Let’s Boogey!” And off we went at a gallop. Up into my half-seat, smooth strides made rhythmic hoof falls on wet-packed sand.

Cantering on the beach - best footing ever!

Cantering on the beach – best footing ever!

Yes, I remember, best footing in the world for an awesome gallop! A huge smile spread across my face. The stone-colored sand on my left and the slate blue-grey water of Long Island Sound on my right. Once again, a horse had connected me to the land and the sea in a ribbon of happiness.

Between land and sea

Between land and sea

Throwback Thursday Horses: Mother/Daughter Maclay Winners Redux

Last night I had the pleasure of interviewing the National Horse Show’s 2015 Maclay Equitation Champion McKayla Langmeier for an upcoming issue of Connecticut Horse Magazine. Before the interview when I learned that her mother Linda (Kossick) Langmeier had won the Maclay in 1983, making them the first-ever mother/daughter team to achieve this honor, it sparked a deja vu for me.

While making lunch it hit me. In 1983, I was a staff reporter at the New Haven Journal-Courier (the now-defunct morning paper of the New Haven Register) and I remember interviewing a Maclay winner from Connecticut. Anxious to confirm my suspicions, I raced to the basement and dug into boxes of my newspaper clippings I’ve hoarded for more than 35 years. Then I found it! The yellowing front page of the Family & Leisure section, with an article I penned under the headline State teen’s ride clinched a national title. Staring back at me was Linda Kossick’s smiling teenage face with her horse and dog.

Newspaper clipping - State teen's ride clinched a national title - from the New Haven Journal-Courier, November 25, 1983

Newspaper clipping – State teen’s ride clinched a national title – from the New Haven Journal-Courier, November 25, 1983

I had taken a few photos of Linda that day with her retired horses out in the paddock. I had such fun interviewing her as I had been one of those little girls – just like her – who loved horses and dreamed of riding and winning in Madison Square Garden at the National Horse Show. Here’s one of my favorite photos:

Linda Kossick Langmeier and her childhood horses

Linda Kossick Langmeier and her childhood horses in 1983 just after her Maclay victory

So this Throwback Thursday has come full circle. I’m proud to write about McKayla Langmeier’s accomplishment just as I was so many years ago for her mother. Does that make me the first-ever journalist to interview both the mother and the daughter right after their Maclay victories? Any other horse writers out there who did this too? Would love to hear from you!