I have a new horse! Meet A Knight’s Tale, affectionately known as Ledger. (You’ve seen the movie, right?) I found him in southwest Oregon, having been nicely started by an owner who didn’t quite have the time to meet his demands for a high-energy job. He’s seven years old, 15.2 hh, kind, and a little …
I paid less than $400 for Aaruba. His breeder wanted quiet Arabians, and Aaruba wasn’t. No, Aaruba was the plain gray, high-headed, wide-eyed, last straw that sent his sire to the vet for gelding. I first saw him on the kind of windy, muddy day that whipped his mind to wildness. Still a leggy four-year-old, he flashed about the makeshift …
Over a decade ago, when I had to unexpectedly retire a young endurance horse, I wrote this post on how to respond when a dream collapses.
Snow fell on the farm today. I found myself out in it, bundled in thick gloves and a hood, because the water tanks needed filling. The horses’ coats, bejeweled with ice, stood out from their round bodies. Whinnies caroled as I tossed extra alfalfa to keep them warm. I rested my elbows on a paddock …
Autumn. The skies have rained and blown for weeks. Blankets have been on and off the horses. Salted mashes consumed. Saddles nestled in the tack room, waiting. And then, yesterday! Dawn broke still and the farm floated alone in a heavy cloak of fog. Mist froze on branches, wire, hay, and manes. I warmed a saddle pad …
In today’s cacophony of fitness and nutrition discourse, we’re all choosing who is worth listening to. This is especially true when it comes to bloggers like me, who are informed aficionados rather than trained experts. I am decidedly average in terms of athletic ability ~ and maybe a notch above as a home cook ~ …
There’s something about being on a horse that makes people want to say hello. I do most of my conditioning rides on the grid of agricultural roads surrounding my farm. Just about everyone who passes in a car, driving a tractor, or riding a motorcycle offers a wave. Once in a while, someone stops to …
We are grounded. To varying degrees around the world, we are all being asked to stay home. No concerts, no weddings, no afternoons at the strip mall. There is much talk of these measures being too little, too late ~ or perhaps too much, too soon. We don’t know how bad it will be …
My first job was at a small, shabby horse farm in the valley below my childhood home. The driveway peeled off from a curvy, gravel road lined with hotwire paddocks, all nibbled bare and dotted with broodmares. The barn was creaky and drafty, with packed dirt aisles and a radio tuned to the country station. …
I wrote this post during a deep professional struggle that left me with no energy to ride faster than a walk. It’s not about the hurting so much as the healing.