THE ADULT BEGINNER RIDER

THE ADULT BEGINNER RIDER

By Tom Gumbrecht

I'm not sure if I technically qualify as a beginner rider, but at age 63 with only 18 years of riding behind me, my experience pales to many my age who have been riding for a lifetime. My beginner experience is fresh enough in my mind that I can fully relate to other adult beginners and the unique challenges, fears and frustrations we all face. Moreover, I started my riding "career" at an age where I had all of the normal responsibilities, expenses and fears that elude those who learn riding at a young age.

One of the author's first times jumping OTTB Lola.
With trainer Laura Ruben.

I may further qualify for the title "beginner" since I have been a beginner at many different aspects of horsemanship along the way: Starting as a first-time-on-a-horse beginner at age 45, I have been a beginner basic student, a beginner lessee, and a beginner rough boarder. Then a beginner barrel racer, a beginner trail rider, a beginner jumper and a beginner eventer. I was a beginner at dressage and a beginner at horse showing. I was a beginner at trailering, both local and long distance when Samantha took her horse to college. I was a beginner horse owner, a beginner barn owner, a beginner facility designer and a beginner "trainer."

I have been a beginner to treating different injuries and illness in horses more times than I care to remember. I have been a beginner in dealing with the death of an equine companion.

By the time we reach middle age, I will hazard a guess that many of us Long Islanders in the position to consider riding as a hobby have become accustomed to being fairly good at what we do. Riding -riding well- as I quickly learned, involved (at least in my case) a willingness to be really bad at something I was totally drawn to, and doing so in public without knowing if and when I would ever "get good" at it. I was out of my comfort zone; frustrating to say the least.

I have met riders who have been riding nearly all of their lives, and even some "natural riders" who started as adult beginners who can't seem to relate to the level of frustration that many of us experience. I have had many times over the years when I have been frustrated in lessons and I think there were many different reasons..

Finding the right trainer goes a long way toward eliminating
frustration for the adult beginner. DannyBoy here with
trainer Laura Ruben.

A few that come to mind:

1) My first trainer told me, "Your problem is, in your world you're a boss; you want to THINK it, and for it to be done. That's not the way it is here. You have to do all of the work yourself."  I hated him for it at the time but his assessment was spot-on. Understanding the concept of something intellectually and putting in the work so that it eventually reverts to muscle memory are two very different things.

2) I needed to find the right trainer. I rode with quite a few before I "struck gold." The best trainers for me were the ones who had struggled to "get it" and could empathize with my struggles. Those who considered themselves "natural riders" usually didn't work out for me. Also, I needed a trainer who was not only an effective communicator but was able to communicate in a way that I could learn. I learn by visual images. A five minute detailed lecture on how tightly to hold my reins might as well be in Chinese. But tell me: "You're holding a small bird in your hand. You don't want it to get away, but you don't want to crush it to death either." That I get. Immediately.

3) Fear is a thing. When it takes hold, "just suck it up" doesn't always cut it. When my eventer was out of commission for over a year, I had my OTTB project waiting in the wings. She was very green and a little unpredictable. I was 56 when I started working with her and she dumped me at fences more than a few times. I found it hard to "throw my heart over the fence" and she definitely needed me to do that. We had to back down and do flat work, poles, little cross rails again-- for months! It's important to have a trainer who pushes you out of your comfort zone, but it's also important to have one who knows how much is too much. Pushing too hard or to far can let the paralysis of fear take over and that's a breeding ground for frustration. It's important to have a trainer who gets that, and also equally important for me to be able to leave my ego at the gate and not consider that "rebooting" to be a failure. I had gotten myself to the point that I was afraid to canter my own horse. And perhaps more afraid to admit it because in my mind I had developed a reputation as a fairly "fearless" rider. The only way I was able to get past it was to admit what I was going through, take a small step back to what I was still comfortable doing and build off of that. The obstacle was not in the arena; it was in my head.

When faith replaces fear, cool things can
happen. Faith in trainer, horse and self.

4) Goals are a good thing. I would accomplish little without them. But it was important that I keep my goals flexible. That applies to my goals for the year, for the show season, for the week, and even for the lesson or the ride. I had big goals for DannyBoy in eventing one year. It was going to be our move-up season. Then he got hurt and needed surgery. I allowed myself one day of "poor me" then brushed off my OTTB mare Lola, and called my trainer. I wanted her to train me to train the mare. It was a big undertaking for me because she knew almost nothing except how to run fast, and how to behave on the ground. My most cherished ribbon to this day was from her first show, an eventing dressage-only class. It was a second place ribbon, out of a class of two riders. But I cherish it because of the amount of dedication from Lola, my trainer and me that it represented.  Goals are great. Inflexible, unrealistic goals are an invitation to frustration.

5) Accepting change. There were a few years where I was able to devote the time to training vigorously and I had a few pretty good seasons in local level eventing and jumpers. I have a bunch of ribbons that represent accomplishments that were beyond my wildest dreams. It's human nature to want more of something so rewarding. But... life is change. I have a lot of added business and family responsibilities now; that's reality. Horses are still a major part of my life but I'm not currently in training nor showing. Will I ever go back to it? I like to think so, at least the formal training if not the showing. But if not... that's ok. I still ride, and have my own training regimen and also love to be out in the woods with my horses. I help others, try to at least. I have learned to appreciate my horses for who they are as much as I used to for what they could do. I have been blessed with a grandson, now two years old, who seems to have the horse gene and a lot of my time is now spent introducing him to the joys of horses. Not embracing change is one of the quickest paths to frustration that I know.

The horse world is full of experts and I'm totally ok with saying that I'm not one of them. If I'm any

New beginnings. A life with horses isn't
exclusively about riding.

good at anything it could be that I've learned to see "pride" in a different light and lay out the challenges I've faced for other riders to see and maybe identity with.

So yeah.. I've been frustrated in my riding, but I no longer stay that way for very long. I hope to stay a beginner forever.  There's no shame in not being perfect. It would be a shame to give up on a passion because we thought we had to be.

The author and DannyBoy at Good Shepherd Horse Trials

FINDING CONNECTION

FINDING CONNECTION

By Tom Gumbrecht

Originally published in Horse Directory, August 2016

My horses are pleasure horses; being in their company gives me pleasure. There was a time when riding was everything, at first casual and then in local competitions. I may not have yet realized it but the picture I was attempting to paint was one of the human-horse relationship; combined training and jumpers were my medium. While I enjoyed the ribbons and still have a few hanging up, the real payoff for me was how completion validated the strength of our partnership and the effectiveness of our communication.

The author with Bella, who was once
considered aloof.

 The partnership was enhanced in the training arena and culminated in the show ring or the cross country field. But it was really created in the stable, in the day-to-day caring for my horses' basic needs and sometimes special needs as well. That's where we, human and horse alike, learned to trust one another and to develop enough faith in that trust to sometimes go against our instincts and rely totally on the other being. I found that a much harder quality to develop than some of the technical skills.

For better or worse, it seemed that the tightest bonds were created when I was caring for a horse that was ill or injured. I was actually able to feel an intense level of trust developing through the heightened level of daily handling involved in their care. It was that soul connection between friends of different species that I had sought; competition had been one means to that end, but it was becoming evident that it was not the only means.

Bella was not my horse, but I was always responsible for her. She belongs to Samantha, who had multiple successful seasons in jumpers with her when she was home in high school. Bella was a very talented horse, but she was a hot blooded Arabian mare who was concerned about everything. Samantha was one of only a few people who could ride her in competition effectively. They were both accepted at a prestigious Midwest horsey college, and Bella never really fit into their program. While the school touted the qualifications of their trainers, the reality was that these big name trainers only worked with the top human and equine athletes. The overwhelming majority was taught by other students, who in this case were well-meaning but  inexperienced in dealing with a horse like Bella. She became confused and seemed to be losing her spirit. I ended up bringing her back home before her fourth semester was finished, with a mysterious lameness that no one seemed to be able to pinpoint.

Bella had been the most aloof of all of our horses, and often resisted human attempts to show

The author learns that Bella's trust
needs to be earned and cannot be
rushed.

affection. I noticed a subtle shift in attitude when I showed up at the college-town stable to bring her home, something hard to describe; a renewed intensity in her eyes perhaps, and a much more vocal greeting when she became aware of my presence. She associated me with home, it seemed, and she wanted to go home.

In the time that has passed since then, Bella retired from jumpers, but shockingly for such a hot blooded mare, became a rock solid trail mount; I could see the attentiveness in her ears and feel her confidence through reins and seat. She has had issues that sometimes affected her soundness, and at those times required a more intensive regimen of care than normal. As I have now grown to expect, during those times we have become noticeably closer. Recently she has had a few different issues which required a good bit of attention from me, and I actually became aware of an increased sense of trust and gratitude radiating from her. Bella actually is a very affectionate horse, but needs to be allowed to express it in her time and on her terms.

Nap time with Bella.

On a recent summer Sunday morning I lingered in the barn aisle after my chores were completed, drinking my coffee and reading the newspaper. I glanced up from my chair and didn't immediately see Bella, so I stood up and then realized that she had lay down in her stall in front of the fan and was taking a nap. I slid open her stall door to check on her and she raised her head up, looking slightly annoyed at the intrusion.

 Curious, I sat down next to her in the stall with my back against the wall and my legs stretched out in front of me. Her head was to my right, and to my left I kept the stall door open in case she decided to get up and I needed to quickly get out of her way. I made a couple of attempts to stroke her neck and each time she pinned her ears slightly and gave a swish of her tail. So I let her be; she was obviously not fully comfortable with the situation. I just sat there and watched her ears come forward slowly and her eyes lose some of their intensity. I sat still for five, then ten, and ultimately almost thirty minutes when she let out a low groan that might have been concerning had it not been accompanied by the lowering of her head onto my chest and her breathing her breath into mine. Before I was even able to process what had just happened, she let out a nicker that shocked me not only by its volume in my ear or the reverberation in my chest, but also by being totally unexpected.  Bella did not often nicker.

Bella enjoys helping us with our farm chores.

This horse had wanted to connect as much as I did; I needed to find the patience to let it be her idea, to earn her trust and not attempt to force it. My patience was rewarded with a clearer understanding of what it is that I seek from my relationship with our horses. I seek to connect at the heart, and once in a while if I'm ready to receive it, the gift is bestowed upon me.

DEJA VU

DÉJÀ VU

Originally published in Horse Directory, June 2016

By Tom Gumbrecht

The house I grew up in was a charming little Cape Cod in a post-war development of similar
homes in Glen Cove. It sat on a lot measuring 60' X 100', but it seemed much bigger to us. 
Behind the maple tree in the back yard, the terrain dropped off sharply to a flat, grass field of
about an acre's size, and around three feet lower than our property. It gave the visual
appearance of a much bigger property than we actually had, and we were allowed to use it to
play ball and frisbee and catch fireflies on summer evenings. We called the field "Perkins' Lot"
after the family who owned and maintained it, the same family that ran an old-time pharmacy 
in town.

Scence from the authors youth:
the barn at Perkins' Lot

 In the far left corner of Perkins' Lot stood a very old horse barn that by then served as a
somewhat precarious garage for one of the Perkins brothers' 1953 Plymouth Savoy. In the neat but somewhat cookie-cutter similarity of working-class tract housing, the view from our backyard was uniquely bucolic, even for that era. The field was separated from the nearby elementary school fields by a row of scrub trees, and even though it was neither fenced nor 
completely isolated, it was a rare day that any uninvited kids from the school grounds 
infiltrated "our" field. If I had to now choose a word to represent the memory of feelings I got from my days looking out over that field, it would be "serenity". We were uniquely privileged to grow up with that resource, but of course we didn't realize it. That was just the way things were.

Years later, as the owners of "our" lot successively passed away, the property was sold and 
developed into an assisted living facility. As young men do, I eventually moved away from that 
little house and yard and started my own life with my wife in a community of eclectic little 
houses in a beach community in Centerport. It was a charming place with little houses and 
bungalows terraced into hillsides, many converted to houses more adapted to raising families.

The old barn held secrets from the past.
The new barn holds promises for the future.

We had one of the enclave's newer houses, 25 years old as opposed to 60 years old, and the neighborhood included a small private beach, boat ramp and pavilion. We had no reason or desire to ever move; no reason at all. Then, I discovered horses.

As my interest and enthusiasm for horses and riding blossomed, I realized that I wanted more than riding and lessons and trail rides; I wanted horse property. I wanted my own horses and I wanted to live with them. I was lucky enough to have a wife who wanted me to be happy and sensed how happy I was in my new-found element, and so the search for horse property began.

Being somewhat impatient when I can clearly see the path in front of me, I naturally wanted a ready-made horse facility. I was amazed at how many horse properties existed on Long Island, and how varied they were in size, utility and character. Surely, I thought, I would have no problem finding the perfect fit. After looking at dozens of properties, I wasn't so sure.

Dreamcatcher Farm today.
"If you build it, they will come"

There was the one with a beautiful house, but a poorly situated barn with rocky and hilly paddocks. There were some that covered many of the requirements on my list but were too far from our jobs. There were a few that were good in many ways, but were located on busy roads, which for us was a deal breaker, and some with park access, but barely enough room for a round pen on the property. Some had beautiful barns but no natural privacy, it felt as if everything we would do would be on display. Nothing felt right; was I just being fussy, or did I
have no idea what I wanted? In desperation, I extended our search to include properties zoned for horses but with no existing horse facilities.

Armed with these new parameters, after a few false starts we found a place in an older section of Fort Salonga that seemed to cover all of the bases: the house was dated, but had potential. It had enough bedrooms and bathrooms and an office for my business, was on a quiet street and had a separate driveway leading to the back yard, which offered natural privacy and a buffer of un-developable property in the rear and left side. The site would require a lot of work to develop, including removing a huge, overgrown concrete in-ground pool, extensive tree removal and grading for the barn, paddocks, riding ring and roadway, as well as fencing, barn construction and utilities. A big undertaking, for sure, but one I felt was not only do-able, but it was the right thing to do. It felt right. We signed some papers, and jumped in with both feet.

In the ensuing year, with some money, luck, work, support and help, we created Dreamcatcher
Farm, home to our growing family of humans, dogs, cats and horses for more than fifteen years
now. When people would ask about the vision I had for this property, I used to wax on about
how we outlined our priorities, starting with the "must haves" and only when all of those had
been met, moved on to the "nice-to-haves". It was all about the list and about being logical and
not getting caught up in emotion. Do that, and you will end up with the perfect place, I said.

The author went shopping with a list of property
requirements. Was he really looking to recapture
the serenity of his youth?

I believed it when I said it. I really did. And it wasn't until several years later when I was sitting on the deck overlooking the property that I realized I had no idea what I was talking about. I looked past the maple tree, down to the gate where the property dropped down about three feet and leveled off. I looked around at the row of trees which screened without isolating, and at the woods to the left side and rear, which made the property appear bigger than it actually
was. A few hundred feet straight away from our back windows stood the horse barn, with the horses peacefully grazing in the evening shade. I realized then that what I had been looking for was serenity. I was looking for Perkins' Lot, and I found it.

A BRIDGE BACK TO LIFE

A BRIDGE BACK TO LIFE (Crossed on Horseback)                                                                       Originally published in Horse Directory,  Jan/Feb 2016

By Tom Gumbrecht

Have you ever experienced a phenomenon where a number of seemingly unrelated chunks of time and events conspire to fall together in place, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle? Sort of like standing too close to a heavily pixilated image and then all at once becoming aware of an awesome image upon viewing it from the correct distance and perspective. So it was with the story of how horses entered my life and how important a role they ended up playing in it.

Buddy was one of the first horses who helped me to put the pieces of
the puzzle that were my life, back together.

My life and career had been seemingly progressing pretty well when I was in my thirties. I was married to Mary, who was pretty, hardworking, fun and supportive. We bought a house in a neat, beachy community on the north shore of western Suffolk County, had good jobs, travelled and had a lot of cool stuff. As a self-employed trade contractor, I liked to work hard and I liked to play hard and the play time usually included alcohol.

It started out innocuously enough. Drinking was a way to put the worries of business and the responsibilities of being an adult on hold for periods of time in order to let go, have fun and not be consumed by the worries of life. And it worked. For some people, that’s as far as it goes; perhaps an occasional overindulgence at a social event, but nothing to elicit concern. But some of us are wired differently. For some of us, drinking progresses to the point where it no longer facilitates and enhances fun activities… it becomes the activity. When that happens, we might surround ourselves with like-minded people, and in so doing create a new normal- one where frequent overindulgence is not frowned upon nor regaled, it is just accepted.

That is exactly where I found myself at around age forty. The lifestyle was beginning to take its toll, and some incidents shined a light on the problem which I had no choice but to come face-to-face with. I had spent many years trying different methods to drink like a normal person, to no avail. It was confusing, because I was quite successful in dealing with other of life’s problems. The solution to this one, though, remained elusive. The problem was my insistence on finding a way to manage something that to my body, was unmanageable. The answer was a simple one, but not easy: avoid it entirely, a day at a time. That proved much easier said than done of course, because at a point the addiction to alcohol affects us on a physical, mental and spiritual level. When something that had become such a big part of life is removed, something has to take its place. It can be a bad thing or a good thing, but that void will be filled.  For me, that something ended up being horses.

On a day like any other, a few years into my newly sober lifestyle, my phone rang. On the other end was a well known LI Hunter/ Jumper trainer (a fact completely lost on me at the time) who needed a barn rewired. I took the job and found myself utterly fascinated with the horses, horse sports and horse people. Interestingly, during my drinking years I never really found out what made me tick, what I liked, what I was drawn to, where my passions lied. I engaged in hobbies and pursuits that I perceived were cool, or made me look cool, whether or not I was well suited to them. If that ever made me uncomfortable, the alcohol was there to smooth over the feelings.

In my world, horses were perhaps aesthetically pleasing and had a formidable presence and required some skill and courage to master, but they were not cool so I never had given them a second thought. In fact, I didn’t even know anyone who had taken up the pursuit seriously. But an interesting thing happened: In being around them over a period of time, I found a strong emotional attachment to horses, I loved being around them and I could not wait to learn how to ride. I brought my eight year old niece Sam with me and we set out to learn to ride as two green newbies at a barn full of mostly very experienced riders.

Very clumsily at first, I pursued my new riding career with a passion that quickly earned me some credibility in the ring, not due to accomplishments, aptitude or ability but by sheer dedication alone. In the process of learning the technical aspects of riding, I found myself the recipient of a totally unexpected gift: The physical manifestations of my drinking had not caused any permanent damage and were pretty much addressed by the act of stopping alone. The mental aspects required a little more work, which was addressed by learning as much as I could about alcoholism and allowing myself to be put into a position to be supported and to support others. It was the third component, the spiritual one, to which a solution seemed elusive. This was a soul sickness borne of the realization of the extent of the damage that had been done and the denial which had clouded my judgment for so long. It was toward that third, spiritual facet that horses began to fill the hole in my soul that alcohol never could. They held for me the keys to what I now think of as a new freedom and a new happiness.

So, stepping back once again from that fragmented mosaic, I could now see that an awesome plan had been laid out for me, and I had been in the right place at the right time with the willingness to follow it. Spiritual healing was important because as ex-problem drinkers, we find that people, especially those whose lives or the lives of those close to them have not been touched by alcoholism, can view us with suspicion, condescension, judgment and pity, none of which are how anyone wants to be treated. Horses, however, do not care about our past, nor do they care about our worries about the future. They live in the now, and we learn, if we are motivated enough, to live in their world and on their terms. It is from the “now” that we commence to heal, not from any point in the past or future, and a horse can be an ideal partner in the healing process. We learn to be honest because horses respond only to who we truly are and not to the person we pretend to be or think they need us to be. To be accepted simply for who we are creates a feeling of belonging and of having a place in the universe. It is an experience not to be missed.

That picture and the plan represented by it gained a more crystal clarity in the life events that followed in ensuing years. We became parents to our young niece Sam who I had brought to riding lessons with me, after her mother died at a young age. By that time our involvement with horses had increased to the point where we had our own small farm, and our horses were the catalyst which helped the relationship between middle-aged, first-time parents and a young girl who had her life turned upside down, to work.  A regular program of lessons and training led to competitions with Sam enjoying many successes in the jumper ring with her Arabian mare, Bella. Sam and Bella attended a horsey college in the Midwest and returned home with both having grown in their knowledge and abilities. As an empty nester, I entered the show ring with my APHA gelding DannyBoy, having reasonably successful seasons in the eventing field and the jumper ring. Sam has now presented us with a beautiful grandson named Daniel who is a new source of joy and is being raised on our farm with dogs, horses and love.

It was, and is, a beautiful plan which was invisible until my eyes had become clear enough to see and follow it. And it’s not finished yet. The key to happiness, I’ve found, is not creating a constant flow of stimulation and excitement that I once thought it was. The key, for me, is having something to do, something to love, and something to hope for. Horses have provided, and led me to, all three.

Epilogue:

Alcohol can surely be used by many as it was intended to be. When we find that we are having trouble with control, my experience has shown me that by the time that level of awareness is reached, a problem usually exists. If you find that you or someone close to you wants to put some controls on their drinking and can’t, I’m telling you that you are not alone. If help is sought and accepted, no one has to drink who doesn’t want to. The thing is, most of us play with the illusion of control far too long, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Good luck and God bless.

GIVING THANKS

GIVING THANKS

By Tom Gumbrecht

Originally published in Horse Directory, Nov-Dec 2015

On Thanksgiving, we pause to give thanks for the things in our lives that we are grateful for. As time goes on, I find myself asking the question, “Am I grateful for the things that I've been given, or have many things been given to me because I'm grateful?” As the years pass, I've begun to think it's more the latter.

Recently, I read a line by Melodie Beattie that sums up what I've come to believe: “Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.”

Thankful for a wonderful trainer, friends and family.

Thankful for my tirelessly supportive
wife Mary, and my sweet OTTB
mare, Lola.

Conversely, I believe, a life without gratitude can turn an idyllic setting into a barren wasteland. Join me at the horse show: Without gratitude, everyone who parks their trailer except me is an idiot. Without gratitude, my trainer is always preoccupied with others and I don't get the attention I deserve. Without gratitude, other trainers in the warmup ring are all inconsiderate jerks. Without gratitude, the judge is either blind or politically influenced and I had no chance of winning even before I came into the ring. Without gratitude, everyone who places above us does so only because someone bought them a more expensive horse. Without gratitude, every choice I've made to get to where I am seems like the wrong one, everyone who rides or trains differently is misguided, the show secretary is too slow, the classes start too early or run too late and the coffee from the catering truck sucks.

Without gratitude, it all sucks.

When I'm grateful, my twelve year old truck and trailer is just fine. When I'm grateful, I am amazed that I have a horse that can do what mine does, and does so willingly. When I'm grateful, my trainer is the very best trainer and she just always seems to get me and my horse.  When I'm grateful, there's nothing better than a cup of hot coffee while going over our courses while waiting for our division, I'm ecstatic with the $100 we won in jumpers when the day cost us $400+, and I can't believe that a formerly sedentary sideline

observer of sports such as I, found his niche in equestrian competition.

Thankful to be able to share my
passion with baby Daniel.

I know one thing, above all else, to be true: There is no happiness without gratitude. I've learned a lot since becoming a member of the horse community, and the most important thing I've learned is to say thank you. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

BROMANCE

BROMANCE

By Tom Gumbrecht

Originally published in Horse Directory, October 2015

The human heart protects itself from pain sometimes. It works with the mind to tell it that the thing we have become separated from and miss so badly, was perhaps not as good as we remembered.

DannyBoy was not my first horse, but he was the first horse I rode in competition. He was the first horse of my own that I rode in a regular program of lessons and daily practice. He was the horse that made an older rider's crazy dreams of competing over fences a reality. We learned together; he had courage enough for both of us, and I learned to be secure enough to channel his energy and stay out of his way.

We had a few good seasons in the lower
levels of eventing.

We had had a couple of good seasons in lower level eventing and jumpers at local venues when Danny took a bad step. It was serious enough to require surgery, and his rehabilitation had a setback or two. I learned to know him on a whole different level throughout that experience. I was, through daily therapy, laser treatments and handwalking, taking care of the of the legs that had taken such good care of me. He seemed to appreciate my efforts, and was a remarkably good patient, given his gregarious personality that placed little value on quiet rest. It was eighteen months before he had healed enough to be considered sound.

During that time period, I had begun working with my OTTB mare, Lola, and she required all of the time that I could afford to spend on riding and still maintain my other duties. At the same time, young Samantha had come back from college and her horse Bella had been sidelined with a soundness issue also. A solution was needed, and into the mix went my personal time constraints, a now-sound horse that required a good rider, and a good rider in need of a horse. From those ingredients came the team of DannyBoy and Samantha who enjoyed a great season in jumpers and a refreshed perspective toward competition for both team members.  I was proud of both of them but distanced myself from DannyBoy somewhat, at least from a riding perspective, as I thought their experience would be best served by limiting the team to Sam, Danny, and our shared trainer.

Life doesn't often follow the orderly course that we lay out for it, and life put many new experiences and responsibilities on Samantha's plate. Danny's show career was once again interrupted; I was still very busy with my Thoroughbred mare, and my riding relationship with Danny was now relegated to the occasional trail. My experience with the mare was so completely different from what Danny and I had, that my mind had begun playing tricks on me.

Danny needed to learn a lot of skills, but once learned he only needed guidance in directing his efforts; emboldening him was not required. Lola, conversely, needed encouragement in every aspect of riding. As a former pilot, I recall the difference between flying an airplane and a helicopter. An airplane can be set up to cruise, and you can kind of sit back and let it fly itself until some change of altitude or direction is needed, and then you apply the appropriate control pressures. A helicopter needs to be flown actively all the time. Lola is a helicopter.

Riding Lola over fences required much more mental and physical focus than I had been used to. She made me a better rider, for sure. But over time, in my mind that experience insidiously began to negate what DannyBoy and I had. I began to think that what we had was all him, without much from me. Was I merely a passenger at all of those shows and Horse Trials? It was beginning to seem so.

One day while reminiscing, we said "Let's do this!"

One day this summer, I looked out at Danny and he looked at me. Normally the class clown, his personality would change when he was tacked up and that day proved no exception: as expected, he went from goon to warrior by the time the girth was tightened. I felt a wave of confidence that day and set up as big a gymnastic as I could fit in my ring, first all ground poles, adding some crossrails as we went along. At last we increased them to all verticals at a height which would require a little bit of a jumping effort. I took a breath. It was a short approach. He turned an ear back; I answered with just the hint of a leg and his ear went forward. I tried to maintain the light contact that Lola required over fences and he reminded me with two cocked ears that he was not Lola. Hands forward, eyes up, heels down, breathe in, breathe out, one fence, two-three-four, beautiful! A slight turn of his head enabled eye contact enough to say, "How was that?" A vigorous pat on the neck was how I answered.

We were a team. Time had interrupted our performance, but the team was still intact. Surely Lola required more of an exacting ride. But Danny required trust. Enough trust to let him do his job and not get in his way and attempt to micro-manage. Riding that line, we were having a conversation. I told him what I wanted and he complied. He told me what he needed and I gave it to him. I used to make him shout his requests at me. Now he merely needs to speak them, and when we're at our best, he need only whisper.

My very dignified partner, DannyBoy

Recently, Danny and I spent a day at a local park. The early fall day was cool and invigorating. We walked leisurely, had a few brisk canters and were heading back when we came upon a gentleman on horseback who was eager for conversation. We stopped and chatted, and Danny was patient for 3-4 minutes and then had enough and wanted to move. I suggested that we walk and talk as my guy had a time limit on his idle setting. To my surprise I received a kind of admonishment for not having a horse that would stand still indefinitely. Not normally a fan of unasked-for advice, I nonetheless was as polite as I could force myself to be: "I admire people who take the time to train for that, and I admire horses that do that. We were eventers, and what was important to me was to build a mutual trust that would have him walk through fire for me when needed."

As my acquaintance continued his insistence that I assign what he considered to be a serious safety issue the same importance he did, we came upon a sizable fallen tree on the trail that presented itself as about a three foot fence. Danny looked, I looked, he cocked an ear and I answered with leg. In an instant we were on the other side, and we waited quietly at the next bend for our acquaintance to find a path around the tree. "Nice jump." "Thanks." We continued on at a brisk trot, Danny taking the lead now. If there any further admonishments, we didn't hear them.

We arrived at my trailer, and I jumped off and loosened his girth. I pulled his saddle and switched bridle for halter and he was grazing within seconds. Continuing our conversation, about five minutes passed when the horse began dancing under my acquaintance and they beat a hasty exit. "Gotta go!" "Ok then. Be safe!” In the warm afternoon sun, Danny and I indulged ourselves a bit; he on the delicious grass and myself on the irony.

God, I love this horse.

LIFE'S TACK ROOM

LIFE’S TACK ROOM                                                                                     September 2015

By Tom Gumbrecht 

The dictionary defines “tack room” as “a place where bridles and saddles are kept.” In the case of our barn, it is that: a 12’ X 12’ room with a 7’6” ceiling, a fluorescent light and a floor covered by stall mats. It has racks for saddles and hooks for bridles and shelves for saddle pads, bandages and wraps. Our tack room doubles as a feed room so there are feed bins and drawers for supplements and cabinets for medications and dressings. Simple, functional storage. But it is more than that.

It is home base for a life that became centered around horses fifteen years ago. It is the 

"Preparing to hang the first saddle"

classroom where many of life's important lessons have been learned, the altar where we have 

prayed for positive outcomes of the challenges of our charges. It has been the command center during a crisis, refuge during a blizzard, shelter during a hurricane. We have celebrated victories and mourned losses here. We have dreamed lofty dreams and been made to face harsh realities here. It has been ground zero for the myriad of emotions that have accompanied a life with horses, and been the place that we have stored the memories of all the life lessons they have taught us.

Top: Early feline inhabitants  Center: Two
cats sharing four kittens  Bottom: Guarding
the tack room.

When the barn was first completed, we didn't yet have a horse of our own to occupy it, so the 
first occupants were a pair of feral kittens that Samantha rescued from the grounds of her 
elementary school. She borrowed a large crate and put it in the corner of the tack room and 
nursed and cared for the kittens which were without a mother. Within a few days the kittens 
were joined by a one-eyed barn owl that set up housekeeping near the peak of the rafters. 

Within the month our first equine family member, Buddy, arrived. He was adopted and came 
with an old, dusty western saddle which sat in stark contrast to the shiny new saddle rack that 
it rested on. In another month Buddy was joined by a mare, Magic, who had retired from the 
hack line at a trail riding barn in Pennsylvania. Now we had two bridles gracing the dozen or 
more hooks on the wall. Little by little we filled the shelves and hooks with tack and equipment 
garnered from friends, swap meets and mail-order catalogs. We became regulars at local tack 
shops and the room filled up quickly. 

When Buddy got sick we learned to mix his medications on the counter here, and devised 

A low-tech barn "message board"

clever ways to sneak them into him. We made a mess trying to mix poultices and did it again 
until it became second nature. We threw T-shirts covered with paste wormer into the trash can 
here until we figured out how to administer them more cleanly. We assisted feral cats with breached kitten births and witnessed another cat taking over for an overwhelmed mother who abandoned her litter and then returned unchallenged to accept her responsibility. We were shocked by a possum and several raccoon squatters and learned how to politely evict them. We were enchanted by white tailed deer peering in the window and startled by walking into giant spider webs.

On a small bench here, we have sat and dreamed of how far our horse might take us in the 
show ring, and have at other times wondered how we were going to pay the next hay bill. We 
have daydreamed about a horse taking us to the next level and prayed that our senior please 
stay healthy for another winter. 

Fabulous friendships were begun within these four walls and a few that needed to end also had 
that happen here. It was here that I was faced with making that dreaded decision that all 
animal stewards are ultimately called to make, and here that I had to tell a young Sam that her 
mare’s young spirit needed to be freed of her sick and aged body. On these walls hung the first 
tri-color ribbons from one horse and x-rays showing the need for many months of rehabilitation 
on another. 

Our tack room is rustic, yet with some
unexpected comforts.

Upon these rubber mats have fallen tears of grief and tears of joy. Here we have experienced 
the best and the worst of life and learned to be grateful for both. Because within these four 
walls, we have not just observed life… we have learned how to live it. In this room is stored 
saddles, bridles, boots and the memories of a life spent in the company of horses. Our tack room is not air conditioned, it is dusty and has cobwebs and no curtains on the windows. It has no furniture to speak of, no TV or WiFi. But it is the most comfortable room we have.

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..

A JOB WITH BENEFITS

A JOB WITH BENEFITS           

Originally published in Horse Directory,  July 2015

By Tom Gumbrecht

I’ll be 62 this month. For some, that means thoughts of retirement, but for me, being self-employed, not so much. I enjoy my work anyway. Still, it has fostered thoughts of what life will be like when the aging process continues it's slow erosion of a body whose work and recreation have been of the physical kind. I've been lucky in that regard, so far.

Sometimes the physical demands of horsekeeping
can be great.

Keeping horses is a physical endeavor, and each year the demands are a little greater, no doubt exacerbated by the harsher winters we seem to have been experiencing. The winter chores are the most difficult, and can seem at times to be an un-winnable battle.

The prospect of one day being on a fixed income brings other concerns about sustaining a horsey lifestyle. Even owning the facilities and doing all of the work ourselves, it's still a significant expense. We've moved on from competing regularly and although we still train, it's for the continual development of horse and rider rather than the clear goals of competition. We do take the horses to the park for trail rides as time and weather permit, but it seems that most of what we do consists of horse care and farm maintenance.

That's the side of the story as might be told by a financial planner, but as we all know, there's more to it than that, and another kind of cost/ benefit analysis:

 I have a reason to wake up early each day. The first hour of every day is spent in a tranquil environment where I am gently but enthusiastically greeted by soft nickers and soft eyes that say “welcome.”

It's said that there is much peace to be found in organization and routine, and that may be part of the reason that I feel so peaceful in the barn. It is one area of my life that is well organized and the routine is familiar.

Much is said about the benefits of living life from the point of view of gratitude; it's kind of the latest pop-psych buzzword. Our barn is a world filled with mutual gratitude that is clearly expressed when I take the

The author, Samantha and DannyBoy introduce
grandbaby Daniel to the world of horses

time to listen. Intentions are clear, and there are no hidden agendas. Actions are the main tools of communication and words are unnecessary. The is no ambiguity here. What you see is what you get. Relationships are easy when you always know where you stand.

I was able to uncover a hidden passion for horses that transcended riding, not to downplay that part. But I discovered within me certain qualities, a patience, a teach-ability if you will, and the willingness to care for ill and injured horses. When a human is sick or injured, my immediate reaction is to call someone equipped to handle it, and take the role of support staff. When an animal is injured, my reaction us to jump in immediately, do what I can, and call for help later if needed. Are my priorities misplaced? I don't know. Theses are qualities that have surfaced that I seem to have been born with, so I attempt to make the most of them.

It's a nice thing to start and end each day with the feeling of accomplishment of clear needs squarely met. It helps to balance the frustrations that daily life and business can sometimes bring. People make extensive plans to attend spiritual retreats in order to connect more closely with a Higher Power, God, the Great Spirit, the Universe or whatever name we wish to give a power greater than ourselves. I have the privilege of living such a retreat daily, at least for a few hours.

Those are some of the line items on my cost/ benefit analysis, understood fully by those fluent in the language of the heart that is spoken in the barn.

Knowing that the horses are securely tucked
in gives a warm feeling.