Showing posts with label dressage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dressage. Show all posts

Saturday, August 1, 2015

NEW BEGINNINGS: The Birth of a Horse Farm


NEW BEGINNINGS – The Birth of a Horse Farm        

Originally published in Horse Directory Magazine,  AUGUST 2015

By Tom Gumbrecht

I like my job as a self employed electrician, I like horses, and I like helping people. Occasionally I get to put the three of them together, and that, I love. It's the most fun part of my job. When someone hires me to do a job, I become part of their life for a period of time, which depending on the size of the project could be hours, days, weeks or months.

Recently playing a small part in having a new barn owner
realize her dream of a beautiful new horse facility.
We have occasionally in the past used these pages to lament the closing of horse farms on Long Island, and the mixed feelings generated by being both a horseman whose passion depends on preservation of open space, and a tradesman whose livelihood depends on progress and development. But sometimes, development comes in the form of creating a new horse farm. When that happens, I feel no inner conflict. It's the best of both worlds, and I'm in my element. As a professional electrician, I have acquired the knowledge and experience to properly advise clients on the unique electrical requirements for horse barns. As a equestrian who evolved from student to rider to competitor to horse owner, I made the leap to barn owner and horseman. It was more than a new title, it was a totally new lifestyle and I know really well the mental gymnastics that go along with taking on such a life changing commitment.

I've been around the electrical trade for over forty years so I'm ok with being called an expert in my field.
Putting the finishing touches on a new
barn as its first occupant moves in.
I've been around horses for seventeen years this month, not a long time in the horse world by any means, so I don't consider myself an expert in the world of horses. What I do have is experience, the willingness to share it and a true desire to have others learn from my mistakes. That puts me in a unique position to sometimes be able to be of help when someone makes the leap from being a rider and a horse owner to taking on the role of barn owner/ manager, horse caregiver, groom, chauffeur and vet tech, not as an expert so much as a coach. When I get hired to wire a new horse barn for a first time barn owner, I frequently also become a de facto backyard barn consultant.

I look at your eyes when you begin to speak of your horses and the prospect of having them at home, and maybe I see the same sparkle that I had at that point and I share in your excitement. You are a sponge for knowledge and we will likely speak of things like grading and drainage and proper access for hay suppliers and farriers and veterinarians and the management of manure.  We might touch upon arena construction and maintenance and tractors and trucks and trailers.  A million things that never needed to be thought of but now demand to be addressed: stall footings, bedding types and storage, lighting, ventilation, water service, plumbing, snow removal, handling of sick and injured horses. These are the things we rarely needed to think about as boarders: hay and grain storage, fencing types, fence maintenance, gate placement, hot wires, stock tanks and heaters, blanket changes during the day, management of meds and supplements and special equipment and secure storage for tack. The list seems endless and the details can become overwhelming.

A decrepit swimming pool is transformed
into a riding arena at the author's barn.
There are a million places to get technical advice online today. Everyone has an opinion and some are convinced that their way is the only way. I try not to add to the confusion because I’m just sharing my experience. By the time I get to see you, generally your mind has already been made up.  You have made the commitment to keep horses at home, and are now getting caught up in details, perhaps second guessing and experiencing self-doubt. What I try to convey is my belief that if you have the commitment, you have it all. When things turn difficult as they inevitably will, commitment finds a way. Commitment doesn't think twice about spending a night in the barn to make sure an ailing horse is all right. Commitment happily makes personal sacrifices so that the horses don't have to. Our horses grow older but they never grow up. They never outgrow the need for our commitment. If you have it, you have everything it takes, for everything else can be learned. If you don't have it, even with the best horses in the most well-appointed stable, you don't have much at all.

When I sense that commitment, I use the opportunity to offer my hope, confidence, and an underlying assurance that everything will be all right. The naysayers and fear-mongers have all taken their best shots at you, and you have decided to do it anyway. Now you need to know that you can do it, and I offer myself as living proof of that: an ordinary person with ordinary skills, ordinary athletic ability, ordinary finances, and perhaps a level of commitment that's a little above average. I share the fears I once had so that you know you are not alone when you experience them. Sometimes, I get to be there when your horse comes home for the first time. You can't believe that this is actually your life and all the planning, paying and working has now culminated in you having your own farm. It's a privilege to be able to share in that, and it’s one of the best parts of my job.

Sometimes when the struggles of working and being in business occasionally wear on me and I wonder what
Nothing like bringing a new horse home to a new barn.
Here, the author's mother-in-law Connie welcomes Magic.
life would have been like had I made different choices, I remind myself of the benefits of the opportunities that sometimes cross my path: I get to provide a needed service, for people I enjoy being around and share a common interest with, and perhaps pass along some of the passion I've acquired for the horsey lifestyle.

I got to see for myself how horses could transform a life from the average to the passionate and committed. To witness that phenomenon in others is especially gratifying.








We don't get to speak "horse" on the job
all the time, but it's fun when we do..







Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Diamond Girl


Diamond Girl                                                                                                                                        


Originally published in Horse Directory magazine
July 2012

 By Tom Gumbrecht                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   
Lola in her racing days. Apparently, she liked to play in the mud!
A week or two ago I heard the Seals & Crofts 70’s song, “Diamond Girl”. Like much of the music from my youth, I loved the song and it made me happy to hear it again.  Not because it reminded me of some 70’s high school sweetheart; no, this song evoked warm thoughts of my own “Diamond Girl”, my Off-Track Thoroughbred mare, Lola, who raced under the name, “One Precious Gem”.

Acquired from the New Holland auction, Lola had (unknown to me at the time) been raced actively at several Pennsylvania tracks until two weeks previous to our eyes meeting at the racks of the auction house.  As I laid the cash down at the auction office, I held high hopes for our future partnership. The elation lasted about 36 hours, when the medication wore off and my future champion couldn’t walk.

Veterinary reports confirmed the unfortunate truth: Lola had sustained soft tissue damage. I was later to find, after uncovering her identity and researching her history, that the injury occurred in her last race, and although her career appeared to be promising prior to her injury, she ended up what is sometimes a way station on the last road for racehorses that can no longer race.  But then fate put Lola and I at the same auction on the same day. 

At home, post-diagnosis, in the privacy of her stall, tears flowed hard into her mane. I can’t do it! And I can’t (won’t) bring her back. Denial was a prelude to remorse, which gave life to anger, where I lingered for a short while until I realized that Lola wasn’t going anywhere, and that there was a reason why the paths of our lives had intersected. Under doctor’s orders, we got to work.

The first year of her life with me was spent mostly in her stall and in the stable yard, being cold-hosed, hand walked, and wrapped twice a day. Lola’s frequent and furious welcoming knickers, her cooperative nature and her grateful eyes made me look forward to our time at the barn. The prospect of her rehabilitation which had once seemed like a huge mountain in the windshield eventually appeared in the rear-view mirror.  As the mountain got smaller and smaller in the mirror while coasting down the other side, it felt satisfying and encouraging…. until the next mountain appeared on the horizon through the windshield. Could we climb another?  We could and did.  Eventually the terrain flattened out and we were ready to begin training.

I was already working with a trainer with my other horse, and through our good fortune, that same trainer possessed the knowledge and patience needed to retrain a racehorse, and the willingness to, rather than do it all herself, train me to train the horse.  Lola, while a good student, demanded that her concerns be respected.  Sometimes, mistaking her willingness for fearlessness, I would not.  She would have me pay for those transgressions in the form of remedial training.  We continued to figure each other out over the ensuing months, which fell together and formed two years.

A time came where I began to yearn once again for the rewards of setting and achieving goals that, for me, can only be met by showing.  Our preparations led us to the Horse Trials at Good Shepherd Farm on Long Island, NY, on a late spring morning. Our goals were simple: To bring Lola to the show grounds, let her acclimate to the unfamiliar surroundings and activity level, and if she was up to it mentally, ride a single dressage test.

The mare uncharacteristically revealed her racing heritage as soon as she got off the trailer, with more nervous energy than I had ever seen in her.  The closest I have witnessed lately was the energy level and body language of the recent Belmont Stakes entrants being led from paddock to starting gate.  At once it occurred to me that the last time she was in the presence of so much horse activity, she was probably on the way to the starting gate herself.  She was recalling her job... which was to go fast!

I tacked up and mounted.  At this moment I have no fear of riding Lola, and it isn’t because I am particularly brave. It’s because today, at this moment.. I understand. I understand and I trust.  This horse has learned to trust me implicitly.  Today I can reciprocate.  My early concerns were all about me: What if “I” don’t do well?  What will “I” look like if this horse tears up the arena? What if “I” don’t look like I can control my horse? Silly, self-centered fears that I needed to be rid of.

Schooling in the field before our test, a beautiful thing happened. That song came into my head again:

“Diamond Girl
You sure do shine..
Glad I found you..
Glad you’re mine…”

My tenseness began to melt, and so too, hers.
This day was about her, not me.

“How can I
Shine without you..
When it’s about you
That I am…”

All of my concerns and trepidations fell away as I realized, I love this horse. I’ve loved other horses before, but not like this one. In the practice field, I sang the verses to her.  If anyone heard, they might have thought it strange. Or if they saw me choke up at the line,

“I could never find
Another one like you..
…Diamond Girl, now that I found you
Well it’s around you
That I am..”

A glance at my watch revealed our time approaching. I took a breath and headed for the arena and staged ourselves in position to wait and be called.  And she stood. Quietly.  Remarkably so, and she waited.  She dropped her head, and waited. And when called, gave a performance that while far from the perfection demanded of those dedicated to the discipline, was complete, under control, and made more than a few people proud.

It was just one little class in one little show.  For the occasion, Lola sported a new leather show halter. She had been wearing the same old halter that I bought at the auction house back then, another small detail. But symbolically, in my mind, Lola made the transition today from project to performer. That looms huge.  Of course she will always be a work in progress, as will I. Acknowledging that, a sign in the barn aisle outside Lola’s stall declares , “Progress, Not Perfection”.  I hope we never finish our journey… because it’s a beautiful thing to just be on it with my Diamond Girl.


 < The author and Lola at her first horse show.
     Good Shepherd Farm, Training Level     
       Dressage Test 06/12.
        
          More photos.. V V  















                         











    The author and Lola ("One Precious Gem") await the judge's bell....  >>                                                                        
                                                                        



<The author's wife, Mary, holds Lola after
 her successful first horse show performance...