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.

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..

Night Check

by Tom Gumbrecht       

 Originally published in Horse Directory in 2008                          

I just came back up to the house after putting my horses to bed, and I lingered a few extra minutes to feed a few carrots and take in the night air.  For some reason, my thoughts took me back to a night some years ago, when I had just finished building my barn and paddocks, but they were still empty.  I had worked in the barn all day, and later, back up at the house, I noticed that I had forgotten my wallet or phone or something, and walked back down just before bedtime to retrieve whatever it was.

I remember that on that occasion, I was just slightly uncomfortable walking into the empty barn and looking around for my forgotten item. The remoteness, the darkness, the emptiness, and the quiet all teamed up to create the hint of the memory of a monster that lived in my basement when I was a kid. But I’m a big boy now and I know there are no monsters here. Still, it was a little eerie, and I couldn’t wait to take care of my business and get back up to the house.

The Birth of Dreamcatcher Farm, 2000

Tonight, I went down to that same barn, on a cool evening similar to that one  years ago, and I had to pull myself away when it came time to come back up to the house. One more carrot; OK, two. OK, let me just brush you for a second. And scratch your back. Maybe you need a little more bedding. And another carrot. I turn the light out and hold your neck and watch the moonlight filter through the cedar tree and down past your forelock through your ears and spill onto your  blaze. It’s almost chilling that I have the privilege of being in your company tonight and I don’t want it to end.

This is the same building that stood here those years ago, save a few cobwebs. I walked the same hundred steps from the house on that evening as I did tonight. But now there are these three magnificent creatures here who have made that foreboding structure in the back corner of the property into a barn. They look forward to me coming and make no attempt to hide it. They want to stay with me until I have to leave and then that’s OK too. We have made memories here. We have laughed and cried in this aisle and these stalls. Acquaintances have become friends here.  We have turned normal kids into horse crazed fanatics here. We have learned much and maybe taught a little here.

I guess that’s the real difference between tonight and that night. On that night, this barn was just a blank canvas. By now, the canvas has seen quite a few brush strokes, some bold, some subtle, and by all means still a work in progress. Tonight, this place is alive with the smells, the sounds, the awe, the wonder and spirit of horse. That night, I had apprehension. I didn’t know if, in deciding to keep horses at home, I had made the right decision, or if I was getting in over my head. Tonight, I have only gratitude. I AM in over my head, and I have no idea how I got so lucky as to be able to live here.

PHASES

PHASES     

Originally published in Horse Directory  July, 2014

By Tom Gumbrecht

I paused to reflect today, Father's Day, after sharing a short ride with the child I've shared all of my horsey accomplishments with. She has her own child now, so we are entering a new phase of life around Dreamcatcher Farm. It occurred to me that just like the rest of my life, my horse life has had many phases. They seem distinct when viewed separately but mostly they have been woven by time into a fabric that provides the backdrop of my horse life.

Lola greets Daniel to her world, with new mom Sam..

The beginning phase was really just being exposed to horses, in my case as a middle-aged adult, and feeling that unmistakable pull that I perhaps didn't really understand but can now spot instantly when I see it happening in others.

For me, you might say that the next phase was obsession. The pull of horses was at it's peak, and all attempts to maintain the illusion of self-control were fruitless. Every spare moment, it seemed, was spent learning about or experiencing things horsey. Friends were starting to wonder...

A couple of years later I guess I dove in head first and took my family with me. We sold our house in a small beach community that we had made just how we wanted, and started over in a much older home with some land in a horse friendly area not far away. We built a barn, a ring and paddocks and adopted our first horse, followed by another soon after. Non-horse people that we knew were polite, but quietly concerned now.

The author assumes a new duty at the farm.

The years leading up to being horse- and barn-owners were filled with lessons designed so that we could find our niche, which for Samantha and I ended up being jumpers and eventing. After getting our first horses and building the barn, I took a little break from lessons, focusing mainly on fun stuff like trail rides, group events, costume rides... things that answered the call of any excuse to get on a horse and go. I don't really remember if I thought that I was done with lessons or not, at the time. But this phase was really just another lesson.  "Time in the saddle is what you need now," my first instructor had told me.  By the time I owned a barn and some horses, I thought that I was past that phase, but really I was smack in the middle of it.

As Sam's riding progressed and she became engaged in competition on her own horse, my focus shifted to supporting her riding, while riding  enough to keep my own legs and horses in shape, more or less.  During that time we also did some equine trekking both here and abroad. But mostly that phase was characterized by trekking to lessons several times a week, and weekend horse shows with the alarm screaming its demand for a 4:00 am wakeup. That era ended with her leaving for college, with my duties then diminished to transporting her horse halfway across the country twice a year, and attempts at encouragement via text message.

During this time I entered a phase that I would have skipped if given the choice, but that would have been an unfortunate series of lessons to miss out on. My own horse became severely ill, and I learned that the road to wellness for a sick horse is very much a partnership between owner and the veterinary team. It was a sometimes frightening, sometime crushing and other times rewarding emotional roller coaster that I was learning to ride in my reluctant pursuit of horsemanship, as opposed to merely riding. These were skills and a temperament that I would need desperately in the future that was yet to unfold.

As my sick horse, Buddy, got better, it became evident that he would be serving a purpose other than riding, going forward. We acquired a younger horse and began training once again. Buddy took on the role of teaching an arrogant young gelding some manners, and he was well suited to his new role. Meanwhile, I found that I had missed those early morning wakeups and the excitement of competition that I had been backstage for up until now. The time seemed right to take the stage myself, and so I did. We enjoyed a couple of years of moderate success at the lower levels of eventing and jumpers, and moreover discovered an array of tools to combat things like stage fright and frustration and learned the value of goal setting to accomplish more that we would have thought ourselves capable of. I carried these tools out of the arena with me, and they made a positive difference in my personal and professional life.

All of the things, physical and mental, that I had learned to that point were called upon when my next challenge was to be faced: the rehabilitation and subsequent retraining of a racehorse who we had adopted and who ended up having been injured just two weeks prior to our taking her home under circumstances where her history and condition had been masked and not accurately communicated. Although frustrated, we had all of the tools available, including the somewhat newly honed ability to know when to ask for help.  In doing so, we found our real niche in the horse world which enabled us to experience the rewards of teaching a horse to do something completely different from what she had been trained to do, made possible by finding the right mentor from whom to learn those skills.  I found that my most cherished ribbon was the one we had earned in a class that I had trained her for myself.  

We wind up now, back at the point where we had started: with the reason for this little mental exercise and trot down memory lane, a little one-month old boy named Daniel. The child of the child we hauled to all of those horse shows. I can't wait to tell him everything that I have learned about horses. Will he be interested? Maybe he will, and maybe he won't. 

But maybe he will...

BREAKING FREE

BREAKING FREE:

How a Horse Delivered Me From the Bondage of Self

By Tom Gumbrecht                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Originally published in Horse Directory,  June, 2014

There is a quotation penned on the whiteboard of our barn, or more accurately, a derivation of one written by someone named Lao Tzu that reads. “He who conquers others is strong; he who conquers himself is mighty.” I had read this before, but it took a long time for me to begin to understand it and I’m certain I still don’t, fully. When I began to understand it is when I put it up on the board, because of its importance to my training (and my life) and how my horses helped me to understand it.

The author with DannyBoy at Equus Valley Horse Trials

I first thought that conquering self was about only self-control, about discipline, about will power. For me, the idea developed further into being about the deconstruction of the image of self that I had created. That image existed in my mind and it was a handsome one, but not terribly accurate. It consisted mainly of who I thought I was, or who thought I could have been if not for the endless obstacles placed in my path by others. I worked on maintaining the image, and it could have possibly existed forever if I had never been exposed to a horse.

I was gifted not especially with talent, but with an almost insatiable appetite for learning when it came to my middle-aged introduction to horses.  I had two trainers at the same time (perhaps would not do that again), rode at literally every opportunity and bought and read every book from every horse trainer, rider, clinician, and horsey philosopher I could find. And still, excellence eluded me. What I became was confused.

In other areas of life, I had become a master of the concept of “fake it ‘til you make it.” In some pursuits, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Acquire some concepts, some jargon and some contacts, let that open a few doors, gain some exposure and acceptance and pick up knowledge through osmosis.  Not so with horses, I was to find out. You can’t fake it with a horse (unless, of course, the horse is in on it) and thereby lay the source of my frequent frustration.  I can present the best façade imaginable, one that may work wonders with some humans and yet the horse would see right past them. The horse, I was to find, responds only to the true self, the true me.  My hope for anything modestly resembling success on horseback required that I first acknowledge, accept, and become familiar with my true self.

I had to turn my gaze inward. Much of what I had yet to learn did not exist in books and found that I didn’t

The author with DannyBoy, leaning to let
go and let the horse do his job.

need to study and master the intellectual concepts of my lessons.  Rather I needed feel them in my fingertips, my calves, my heel, my seat.  My legs would remember what my brain could not comprehend.  It was a new way to learn, and at times frightening.  I had sought to master the horse, and now the horse was my teacher.  My ego, which I assumed had bolstered the little bit of professional recognition I had managed to acquire, was no longer an attribute.  In fact it was a liability, because the horse did not acknowledge or respond to it. The horse knew the real me, and was waiting for me to honestly present it. Perhaps that was the frightening part..

A point came where I found myself struggling with lessons from a teacher who challenged me as no other had. This teacher was a mare who had known nothing but the racetrack and the paddock in my backyard; I began to think that I would never have the level of expertise needed to be successful riding her. But expertise was not what she wanted. She wanted honesty. As she became more fit, I became more overwhelmed and fearful, and rode defensively.  The toughest thing was to admit that, but admitting it was the key.  My trainer had created an environment where it was safe to be 100% honest, and I felt no need to hide my fear. Once I did, we restructured and went back to the point where we had been successful and built from there yet again. Soon we were past the point at which we were once stuck, because someone was able to help me interpret what my horse needed of me.

This I know:  the process of knowing myself has been an incredible adventure, made possible by the many horses I have had the privilege of working with. They have all been my teachers; yet as valuable as it has been to have learned to know myself, I have been especially fortunate to have experienced glimpses of the next dimension:  overcoming myself.

It would not be honest to claim consistency in this concept, but I have tasted it and my appetite to pursue it has been whetted: to enter an arena and for a moment in time, totally and completely give myself over to my horse, to leave my ego at the gate, to trust completely. I have experienced that level of synergy if for a moment, and it has shown me what it is possible to achieve by a magnificent animal’s uncanny ability to remove me from the self which at a point only selves to inhibit and not propel.

Lola- learning partnership from a beautiful soul..

What lofty goals will I achieve, having learned these concepts? Well… the concepts are still for me somewhat elusive but in a way I may have already achieved my goals. I have learned that there are bigger things than the self, and the biggest rewards in life as in riding, come when the self is in the background rather than the foreground.  This is not a remarkable concept for many; it was for me, and it took a horse to teach it in a way that I could accept it.

THE SCIENCE OF BONDING: Heart to Heart With a Horse

THE SCIENCE OF BONDING: HEART TO HEART WITH A HORSE   

             

Originally published in Horse Directory,                                March 2014

By Tom Gumbrecht

We as horsepeople are drawn to horses; that seems obvious enough.  When relating our stories about a particular episode that illustrates the horse-human connection, other horsepeople nod in agreement and sometimes finish our sentences, while those who have not been so afflicted might feign interest while stealing glances at their smartphones.  That’s just how it is. Those that understand already know; those that do not, conventional wisdom dictated, likely never will.

Lola makes the author smile:
Science, emotion..or both?

Tales of the horse-human bond, and the feelings of well-being we get from being in the company of horses, are the stuff of novels, poems, plays, movies and countless hours of stories in the barn aisles and tackrooms throughout the world.  They are just that: stories, anecdotal evidence.  We all know this, and most of us appreciate it.  Even if not convinced, non- horsepeople often think our views to be harmless at worst, a little quaint perhaps and maybe even a little charming.  They are our experiences, we enjoy relating them, and they can’t be proven or disproven.  Or can they?

We recently became aware of the work being done at the Institute of HeartMath (IHM) in Colorado which studies the heart as more than just a pump to keep our blood flowing.  Scientists there believe the heart to be the center of not only physical, but emotional and spiritual well- being also, and have undertaken extensive research to support their theories.  It seems that electromagnetic fields surrounding our hearts have the ability to affect other species as well.  Dr. Rollin McCraty, Research Director at the Institute of HeartMath put it this way:

“It appears that there is a type of communication occurring between people above and beyond body language and verbal communication.  I believe we’ll see in future research studies that we are affecting each others’ moods and attitudes, both positively and negatively, by the electromagnetic fields we radiate.  In our work with pets and their owners, we’ve seen that a pet owner can create what we call a heart filled environment when practicing heart- focused techniques.  The pets respond by becoming more affectionate, more animated, and more connected with the pet owner.”

After becoming aware of the work of the IHM in studying heart rate variability as an indicator of feelings of well- being in humans and small animals, Dr. Ellen Kaye Gehrke, who is involved with Equine Assisted Activities and Therapy at her Rolling Horse Ranch in California, began exploring the phenomenon with horses.  In experiments conducted by Dr. Gehrke, following a protocol designed by IHM, studies showed that during exercises that promoted emotional bonding between human and horse, the beat- to- beat fluctuations in the human and horse hearts began to

The author with Circus..
the horse that started it all..

synchronize, and ultimately matched one another. Heart Rate Variability (HRV) reflects heart- brain interactions and is sensitive to changes in emotional states.  It is possible to accurately measure HRV rhythms in both humans and horses and relate those values to those known to reflect a positive emotional state (called a “coherent pattern” by the researchers). That coherent pattern and the positive emotional state it represents, are present when the heart rhythms are synchronized.  Interestingly, that synchronization does not occur with a human subject who is indifferent toward the horse, but quite noticeably appears when subject has interest in the horse. The feeling of well being in certain humans when in proximity of horses is thus recordable and measurable.

For many, these experiments, the content of which I have only just brushed the surface of in these pages, are telling us what we already know.  I have experienced the phenomenon of a changed emotional state by simply being in the proximity of horses in many instances.  Some years ago, we made the decision to purchase horse property.  The house we were selling was comfortable for us physically and financially and we had invested a lot of time and money into making it our own. Sometime during the agonizing summer of buying, selling and moving into a much larger property than I ever expected to live in, fear crept in.. followed by guilt. What was I doing? How could I jeopardize my family’s well being to follow a crazy dream? The frenzied activity of that season left little time for horses and riding.  But one day the stress got so intense that I just shut down and drove to a local riding stable.  I took a horse that I was acquainted with and headed out on trail for a few hours. In five minutes it all became clear; once I was in the physical presence of a horse, it all made sense once again.  Everything will be all right. In fact, everything IS all right!

As a man of words more than a man of science,  I was amused but not totally convinced of the value of technology finding a way to validate our experiences which showed that being in the aura of a horse produced feelings of a positive emotional state and general well- being.  But then I began to see the importance of having what we knew to be true anecdotally, to now be quantifiable, repeatable and recordable by using scientific methods:

Horses help many who have not been able to be helped by more conventional means.  We have all seen or heard stories, or perhaps witnessed or even personally experienced major emotional breakthroughs facilitated by horses.  We marvel at the ability of our equines to provide a safe venue in which to process our most fragile feelings.  Does it matter that researchers have now

The author shares a quiet moment with Lola...

identified that the large magnetic fields surrounding the massive equine heart might be responsible for creating that environment?

It may.  We live in a world where much of the cost of therapeutic treatment is paid for by health care insurance.  Alternative therapies have a much better chance of being funded if there is clinical rather than anecdotal evidence that they work. The current research may open the door for increased funding for programs that produce results for those who need it most… or at least provide these programs with legitimacy to those who may raise a skeptical eyebrow to unconventional therapies.

As one who works with words, I have in the past penned the phrase “the heart of the horse and the heart of the rider beat as one” or something similar, more than once.  It’s fascinating to think that now science supports my beliefs!

To learn more about the science of HeartMath as it relates to horses, follow this link:

isar.dk/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/Dr_Kaye_Article.pdf

Archived articles are available at tcgequine.blogspot.com.  Email the author at tcgequine@gmail.com

Visit us on Facebook: Tom Gumbrecht. Visit my very self-absorbed paint horse on Facebook at The World According To DannyBoy.

LOVE CONQUERS HATE: Confessions of a Former Horse Racing Hater

LOVE CONQUERS HATE:

CONFESSIONS OF A FORMER HORSE RACING HATER   

by Tom Gumbrecht                                                   

Originally published in Horse Directory, February 2014

Most people who know me, either personally or through my written words might be surprised to hear me referred to as a “hater.” But it’s true. I was a horse-racing hater.

How that came to be was that like most hate, mine developed through a combination of outrage, passion and ignorance.  I might still be in that state if not for a young racetrack groom who I became acquainted with through a series of seemingly random events.

My disenchantment with horse racing began after I purchased my first Off-Track Thoroughbred mare, Lola, from the New Holland auction. I excitedly returned to our Long Island horse farm with great expectations which were crushed the next day when the drugs that masked the symptoms of her injury wore off.

Lola in her racing days

It took almost two years, a lot of work on my part and a lot of patience on Lola’s part, but she did ultimately become sound. During that time, Lola revealed herself to be the sweetest, most honest, thoughtful and grateful horse to ever grace our barn aisle. I love all of our horses, but the bond that developed between Lola and I was special. Although in almost constant discomfort in the early days, she would nicker furiously whenever I stepped into her view, be it hours or seconds from the last time she saw me.  She had issues. She was damaged. She was not a perfect horse, but she had the perfect attitude with which to get well, and to motivate me to get her well. She showed me that a good attitude was much more important than good fortune.

The love that developed morphed into protectiveness when I finally found out her racing identity and documentation of her brief but promising career. My heart sank when I watched the video of Lola’s final race after posting numerous wins and places in just a dozen or so starts. She was pulled up, and limped off the track. My heart sank even further when I realized that it was but two weeks later that she found heself at the New Holland auction and later that evening, at my barn.

The author with Lola in a new life.. for both!

My shock and sadness turned to outrage. How could anyone with a heart beating in their chest discard this willing athlete without so much as an effort to help her? My anger began to seethe and the embers were fanned into flames the next spring when the Fox Hill mare, Eight Belles, was euthanized on the track at Churchill Downs after finishing second to Big Brown in the 2008 Kentucky Derby.  I became a hater that day. I didn’t know how to process my grief and so allowed it to become anger that sought out the bizarre and misguided comfort that comes from hate.

You see, hate allows us to think we are doing something about an issue when we are actually doing nothing. It is social activism for wimps. But hate is not a normal state for me. It was a manifestation of my untreated grief, anger, and outrage stemming from my love of an animal. And to love it had to return. I needed an opportunity to rid myself of this destructive emotion, and life provided one.

Teddy takes a nap with Casey at Monmouth Park

At a point it came to pass that a former stakes winner was saved from a feedlot by an alert racetrack worker, and he landed in the safety of a local horse rescue and sanctuary whose work I had been supporting. Soon after, word spread that a NY racing syndicate who had at one time owned the horse stepped up and made a contribution to his ongoing care at the sanctuary. That horse’s life softened that day, and so did my heart... at least a little bit. I was impressed by the gesture and contacted one of the partners who was fluent in social media, and told him so. An online friendship developed which led to me being linked to many of his racetrack connections, one of whom was a young track groom named Casey Brister.

Casey was, and is, a unique personality.  A comforting beacon of positivity, enthusiasm and wit in any venue, let alone the racing world that I had heretofore viewed with suspicion. Not even twenty years old, she possessed what we older folks most endearingly refer to as an “old soul” referring to poise and wisdom beyond her years. Casey’s life is about horses. In racing season, it means skillfully and thoughtfully seeing to the needs of the horses in her charge, and filling their world with the love of a horse-crazed girl that every horse deserves.

Casey Brister with Teddy at Monmouth Park
Photo by Corinne Cavallo @fotocavllo

I began reading Casey’s ‘day in the life on the backstretch’ blog posts, and so was introduced into her world, the world of horse racing. It turned out that it was a world, perhaps busier, but with the same reverence, compassion and love for these majestic animals as we experience at our own home barn.  She was generous in the sharing of her experiences and so I became educated. Education is the enemy of hate, and this unassuming ambassador for goodness in the racing world, not one-third my age, unknowingly became my teacher. I began to see things through different eyes, the eyes of knowledge rather than the eyes of ignorance.

But racing is seasonal, and when the tack trunks are packed up at the end of the season, Casey unpacks her art supplies and embarks on her other career.  A self- taught artist, she has the innate ability to recreate not only the image of her equine subjects on paper, but captures their soul as well, and gives it back one skillful pencil- or brush stroke at a time. Many are skilled at the mechanics of drawing, and their techniques are appreciated and respected. Once in a while there exists something special, some secret ingredient that asks you to gaze deeply into the liquid eyes of the image and to almost feel their horsey breath on your cheek as you do. That ingredient is love.

This Christmas season, I had the honor of having Casey recreate Lola’s soul for me on paper. I treasure it, not only for its aesthetic beauty, not only for what it is, but for what it represents: the triumph of love over hate.

Casey finds the soul of Lola and puts it on paper..

Truth be told, I still have some issues with racing, but they are not much different from my concerns with the competitive disciplines that I was part of in the horse world: treatment and care during the competitive years, and pensions for ongoing care when their competitive careers are over. I can live much easier with my concerns knowing that there are people like Casey Brister at racetracks all over America.

Visit Casey Brister on facebook: Living In Realism - Artwork by Casey

Visit Corinne Cavallo on facebook: FotoCavallo

A MATTER OF TRUST

A MATTER OF TRUST

Originally published in Horse Directory,                                                               December 2013

By Tom Gumbrecht

I guess we all believe that we know about trust. I know I did. But until I began my journey with horses, I didn't realize how much I had to learn. I was of course familiar with the Webster definition:

Trust

n. Reliance on the truth, character, ability or strength of someone or something.

v. To place confidence in.

 

Early lessons in trust taught by Laura Ruben,
trainer, and OTTB Lola

From the beginning of my equestrian pursuits, I was forever being told to "trust my horse." Looking back, I had but little trust and it showed, mainly in my hands. I had what many a trainer called "the death grip." I didn't think I had the death grip. I thought I had a firm grip, and that a firm grip was warranted. It was the same grip I had used years ago in sailing my boat in a squall, and landing an airplane in a crosswind. A firm grip. A very, very firm grip.

But horses are not objects or machines to be controlled, they are parters with whom we collaborate. The casual observer could not have known that for me, the mere act of getting on a horse required a tremendous amount of faith. I loved horses and wanted more than anything to learn not only to ride them but to someday jump in competition. Fear held me back. I was scared of getting physically hurt, but I was perhaps more scared of falling short, of not being able to cut it as a middle aged beginner. I had enough faith in the person who put me on my first horse to allay some of my fears. From that faith developed trust. I chose to have faith in the person who said that I was going to be all right, and began to trust once I actually was, relatively, all right.

For much of my life, I thought that trust was one of those "nice-to-have" things that developed or didn't develop over time. Nice when it comes, but also okay if it doesn't. The extent to which trust developed or didn't develop merely changed the dynamics of the relationship. In taking up riding, I was to learn a different way to think..

In the pursuit of competence in riding, I found, for myself, that trust is a requirement in order to get past a level of mediocrity. My mind had been toying with that concept for a while, when a well-accomplished rider told me during a chance meeting in a discussion about training that one of the biggest problems he observed was students riding with trainers who they did not trust. "If you can't trust your trainer 100%, find a new one" was how he put it.  He sort of rocked my world.

In riding, I had always thought of trust in terms of trusting my horse. But his point made perfect sense. In attempting to make progress in riding, we are constantly asked to leave our comfort zone. If there is not full trust in the person doing the asking, I will question the request, perhaps doubting the person's knowledge, intent, caring or motivation. Once that happens, even a little bit, the process shifts from "listen-execute" to "listen-evaluate-analyze-judge-agonize-possibly execute." Not the pathway to success for a rider. It's much too complicated, while mounted and attempting to execute a challenging maneuver, to be second guessing the person who is teaching me. Once I do, the opportunity to be effective has passed, the horse is confused, I am disheartened and the trainer is frustrated.

Experiences like that sometimes caused me to question my ability to even learn. Perhaps I was too old, too uncoordinated, too egocentric. I thought that maybe things that I struggled with were incredibly complex and it was just beyond my ability to comprehend. Actually all that was missing was that I had not learned to trust. Once that changed, everything changed. Two words changed everything for me, once I trusted enough to believe them: "You're fine!" She feels like she wants to buck. "You're fine. You can ride out a buck." She's really building up speed. "You're fine. You know how to handle it." What if she stops at a fence again? "You're fine. You have a good seat." What if she drops a shoulder at the canter? "You're fine. You ride with your shoulders back and your heels down so nothing will happen" What was THAT? Multiple bucks, a spin, and the drop of a shoulder!! "Congratulations. You have just seen the absolute worst this horse has to offer, I promise you. And you survived. From now on, anything this horse does will at best please you or at worst amuse you because there is nothing she can do that you can't handle."

Powerful words, that I learned to actually believe. In a safe and supportive learning environment, I learned to trust my trainer 100% of the time, and my horse 90% of the time. We are working on the remaining 10%, but we are worlds away from where we once were, when I trusted only my own judgment and believed that everything required my utmost scrutiny.

The payoff comes in the form of a huge grin whenever I ride my off-the racetrack Thoroughbred mare Lola over a short course of fences in nothing but a halter and slack lead rope. She needed me to trust her enough to let her be the magnificent horse that she is. She couldn't do that with me wanting to be in control of her every freedom of movement. Who could?

In the past, I had feared a struggle, and my attempt to control something that had not yet happened actually created that which I had feared. It makes me wonder how many other things in life I had created or at least facilitated by my perceived need to control and my inability to trust.

Magnificence, it turns out, does not flourish in a stranglehold. On a horse or anywhere. This is a lesson that I could learn only from a horse. Silently uttered by every horse everywhere, and available for reference whenever we are ready, is much wisdom:

"To enter my world you must trust me with your heart.

To trust me so deeply you must first trust yourself.

For where we travel with our spirits entwined,

Will be on a path of trust.." - Anonymous

Archived stories are available at tcgequine.blogspot.com Email us at tcgequine@gmail.com, Tweet us @tcgelec, or friend us on Facebook.com/TomGumbrecht. Our gregarious Paint gelding, DannyBoy, is on Facebook also: facebook.com/TheWorldAccordingToDannyBoy