ESCAPE FROM WINTER

Escape from Winter                                                                 

Originally published in Horse Directory, May, 2014

By Tom Gumbrecht

It felt like something of a shock to the system: that first ride of the season after an unusually

The snow seemed endless and was our sole focus
for weeks on end

severe and repressively long winter, mercifully interrupted by a teasing, late spring.

It had been many months since I had climbed into the saddle, many months of non-stop mucking of stalls, chopping ice from feet, endless plowing and shoveling of snow, and thawing pipes that were electrically heated but froze anyway.  Chipping away at sheets of ice so that the cart could get the manure to the dumpster and the manure truck could take it away. Digging out gates, multiple blanket changes, pulling icicles from manes and huge electric bills to get water in front of the horses and keep it from freezing.

Now, I am one of those people who can honestly say that I have never minded walking down to the barn to take care of my horses, but I will admit that I came close this winter.  Not that I wanted to skip caring for them, but fighting a fever and chills, bracing each step against the wind while shielding my face from cutting shards of ice and blowing snow, feeling the thousand knives of crystallized breath inside my nostrils …. I did think, once or twice, “Can someone please come and do this for me, just tonight?”

Then the barn door opens and the air is filled with welcoming nickers and the comforting relative warmth of the hay-fueled, hooved, barn heating system.  The horses know that it’s cold, but they

A few moments recalling the racetrack on the longeline
make for a more productive first ride

place no value judgment on it.  It’s not horribly cold; it’s just cold.

The first few warmer days are a cruel tease; a little thawing of the arena footing followed by more snow and freezing temperatures.  But one afternoon the arena looks perfect, the sweatshirt comes off, the shirtsleeves get rolled up, and…. It is time.  I still second-guess myself after a winter’s hiatus from riding.  Can I still do it? Can my recently senior-citizen qualified body still take it?  I really only wonder about such things when I’m not actually on my horse; when idle periods let thoughts of “what if?” permeate my generally positive resolve.   

Fifteen minutes on a longeline dull Lola’s memories of the racetrack and I am awestruck once again at the poetry of a Thoroughbred horse in motion.  Then a boot finds an iron, a leg swings over a horse and everything finds its familiar place. Reins fall perfectly into place between gloved fingers.  Boots fall into irons at the right depth and angle, all by themselves.  I feel tall, physically and spiritually.  We walk the freshly groomed arena and get comfortable with all of the sensations again.  The rhythm of the rising trot takes hold, her ears go forward and the partnership has been renewed for another season.  I wasn’t going to canter but we both silently agreed to alter that plan. A slight leg pressure behind the girth and we take wing.  I love where I am, and I love who I am here with.  I love who I am when I am one with my horse. 

The  girls enjoy a long awaited spring day.

Spring is a time of renewal and I am again renewed.  More accurately, perhaps, I am born anew.  Why is this so?  Perhaps, as expressed in the words of horsewoman/ writer Pam Brown,

“A horse is the projection of peoples’ dreams about themselves – strong, powerful, beautiful – and has the capability of lending escape from our mundane existence.”

This winter, we existed.  This spring, we soar…

A HORSEMAN LOOKS AT SIXTY

A HORSEMAN LOOKS AT SIXTY

 Originally published in Horse Directory August, 2013

 By Tom Gumbrecht

 I've been hearing a lot of the platitudes lately. "It's just a number." Well, it is just a number, yes, but it's a fairly large one, and it's evenly divisible by ten. "You're only as old as you feel." I don't feel old at all, most of the time. Except when I have put my date of birth on a form. "Sixty is the new forty."

Lola, my OTTB mare, keeps me young..

No it isn't. Sixty is still sixty. However, except for some occasional minor joint pain, in many ways I feel better than I did at forty. The thing is, in the horse world, 60 is not a big deal. Having begun my riding career at age 45, I feel like an "experienced novice" in many ways. I have many friends and aquaintences who have demonstrated that a riding life can go on long after 60 is a faint memory. So why the concern with this particular number? Because I was, in a word, unprepared.

Numbers, and all they represent, have never concerned me much, so based on experience I believed this one would be no different. It was, though, a little bit different. At sixty, I am just at the point where I'm really comfortable jumping a horse, the point where it's no big deal and I can work on perfecting the subtleties. That's been a long road, and I found myself wondering if I have enough time left to get really good at it, or did I start too late? I began to ponder my next horse, if there would even be a next horse! My herd now is a young one. If I were to get another, would that horse outlive me? Or are these my last horses?

DannyBoy gave me a few grey hairs.. and blue ribbons!

 I never considered that before. I found myself being more concerned with the mathematics of things, and shocked by the results of my mental equations, so I went to where I go when life no longer makes sense: to the barn. I never really think about it, but age hardly exists in the barn; I suppose that's because there is no such thing as age to a horse. They are pretty much OK with doing whatever their bodies are capable of doing that day, and adapt to it almost immediately. They are grateful for having their basic needs met and can be happy in the moment they are experiencing because they are not concerned with what tomorrow's moments may bring.

 To live in the moment, to experience each moment fully and not live in the moments of yesterday or tomorrow.. that is what we have been struggling to achieve for a long time, and what our horses already know inherently. We seek knowledge in words and books; the horses carry it in their blood and bones, and are more than happy to share it with anyone who will take the time to learn their language. Perhaps that is why God decided I should have a horse...

Best friends with a racehorse.. life is good!

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A Knowledge of Horsemanship?

A Knowledge of Horsemanship ?       

Originally published in Horse Directory,                                                             April 2013

By Tom Gumbrecht

Knowledge is Everything!

No, it isn’t.  Let’s start out with that.

"Circus"- The first horse the author sat.

For a short time, after beginning to learn how to ride at age 45, I believed that I would take a few lessons, maybe a half-dozen or so, and then go off and be a rider. It was such an accident of fate that put me in the saddle that I had no idea how much was involved in becoming what I considered to be a “good rider”. I didn’t even know what that was, but I suspected that it had something to do with attempting crazy stuff on horseback and not falling off in the process.  My innocence and naïveté were probably a good thing then, as a full understanding of what was involved would probably have kept me from even trying.

As I gained a little bit of knowledge and some time in the saddle, I explored different disciplines and found myself gravitating toward jumpers. As I watched from the sidelines I was mystified at how a rider could compel a horse to race around what seemed to be an unbelievably complex course of impossible combinations of fences.  While I thought of, or actually hoped to, one day ride a horse over a single fence, the thought of riding a full course didn’t even make it into my occasionally exciting horsey dreams.

I thought that I would need to find a way to access the secret details of some grand plan, some complex mystery that only the best riders knew and weren’t telling. “They” knew all of the details, but they weren’t sharing them with the likes of me. If only I knew what they knew, I could ride like they rode.

Or, not.

Laura Ruben of Affari Horse Farm taught me that discipline was not a bad word

You see, I was the kid who wanted to learn to play guitar on a music video, but found practicing scales and riffs to be a waste of time. I thought big! Skip the boring parts; let’s get right to the performance!  But then… something interrupted my big thinking. I had the good fortune, through another accident of fate, to have the opportunity to ride with a trainer who brought my big thinking down to earth while keeping my sometimes frail ego intact. A pretty good trick, honestly; it was accomplished by making the little things that I had no time for, fun.  Before I knew it, I was actually looking forward to practicing the very things I had so often shunned: balanced turns, straight lines, low hands, good posture, breathing, counting strides, work without stirrups, eye position, metered canters… basic things that I had been lacking.

Lola knows that jumping the little ones at home makes the big ones easy!

That was the missing element. I thought that I needed knowledge and guts; I wanted to float above the others on knowledge, and then swoop down and overtake them with guts. I was wrong; what was missing was not guts, nor was it knowledge. The missing element was discipline.  That was what “they” had that I didn’t; that was what I needed to find. It turned out that riding a competently executed course of jumps was no more than riding, in turn, a series of competently executed small movements.  Developed and perfected by repeating, observing, feeling, experiencing and improving some of the most simple things in riding. Honing skills as a woodworker sharpens his chisel in readiness for his next job. Put it all together and feel how it feels to experience something with your horse that is much more than the sum of its parts.  Discipline is the bridge between our dreams and our successes.

A point came when I began to understand what my very first trainer had told me once, a bunch of years ago: “Your problem, sir, it that you want to think it, and it will be done. Horses don’t work that way.”

I hate it when people who annoy me are right…

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Diamond Girl

Diamond Girl                                                                                                                                        

Originally published in Horse Directory magazine
July 2012

 By Tom Gumbrecht                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Lola in her racing days. Apparently, she liked to play in the mud!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Diamond Girl

You sure do shine..

Glad I found you..

Glad you’re mine…”

My tenseness began to melt, and so too, hers.

This day was about her, not me.

“How can I

Shine without you..

When it’s about you

That I am…”

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

“I could never find

Another one like you..

…Diamond Girl, now that I found you

Well it’s around you

That I am..”

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

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

 < The author and Lola at her first horse show.

     Good Shepherd Farm, Training Level     

       Dressage Test 06/12.
        
          More photos.. V V  

                         

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

                                                                        

<The author's wife, Mary, holds Lola after

 her successful first horse show performance...

Larger Than Life

LARGER THAN LIFE                                                                                                                           

 Originally published in Horse Directory, January 2012

By Thomas Gumbrecht

Thomas G. “Tommy”  Fernan,  1962-2011, was my cousin through marriage.  You likely didn’t know him, because although raised on Long Island he hadn’t lived here for many years. His only connection to the horse world that I know of, was his relationship to me.

The words of his eulogy are still with me from today’s funeral mass: he was larger than life, a mountain of a man; a former NYPD officer, football player, bodybuilder and power lifter.  He was powerful, tough, fearless, and self assured.  He was an athlete who went out to win, if he went out at all.  He rarely asked for an opinion because he trusted his own. I liked him and enjoyed seeing him on holidays and special occasions, but I couldn’t really relate to him because basically, he was everything I was not. I never felt uncomfortable around him, though, because he never made me feel that way. But we lived in different worlds.

In 2005, I acquired DannyBoy, a very solidly built APHA gelding with lots of attitude.  Danny transformed me from a casual rider to a committed competitor in Horse Trials, and later Jumpers.  He was powerful, tough, fearless, and self-assured.  He showed up to win.  He didn’t ask for your opinion, he just needed a clear instruction of what you needed him to do. The “how” was up to him, and he was usually right. His world was different from mine also but as I was the one on his back during his displays of bravery and acumen, he carried me into his.

I believe it was on Thanksgiving in 2006 that Tommy and DannyBoy first met.  After dinner, he asked to go down to the barn and see our horses, as was his custom.  I happily obliged, but always thought that the request was a concession to his children T.J. and Taylor.  Kids love horses, and Tommy indulged his children’s interests.  When DannyBoy met Tommy, he bulldozed his way past the other horses to get his attention.  That was his way. Tommy took to him immediately, and showed a side of himself with which I was not familiar.  His quiet way and gentle touch with Danny belied his public persona.  He knew just how to be, and what to do, instinctively.  Words were never necessary, just a knowing nod from a man and a bow of the head from a horse who bowed to no one. Enforcer meets terminator. They were equals, and neither had anything to prove to the other. They had each other’s number.  They were connected.

From that day forward, whenever Tommy brought his family to our home, his first stop after the required pleasantries to the humans, was the barn.. “How’s that paint horse”? he would ask. “Go see”, I would reply. “He’s waiting for you”.  More than a horse-human bond was forming during those visits.  A connection was forming between Tommy and me, two guys as different as anyone might imagine.  An unspoken connection, of course, but he knew and understood a part of my world, and I understood a part of his.  I saw the man in a different light since then.

I’m sorry that Tommy left this life too soon, but I will always be happy for the opportunity we had to get to know each other better that was made possible by our mutual connection to a horse who was also…. larger than life.

Tommy Fernan with son T.J.

The Language of the Heart

The Language of the Heart                                                                                                                  Originally Published in Horse Directory, December 2011

by Tom Gumbrecht 

During the holiday season, someone invariably brings up the old European legend that states that on Christmas Eve at midnight, our animals can speak in human voice.  This quickly leads to amusing banter about what our horses would say to us. How we wish we knew what our horses were thinking about us!

But do we? Do we really need human language for such a conversation? We are all students of the Equus language. The very best of us become fluent in it.  After quite a few years of study, much longer than it would take to get a Master’s Degree, I still only have what I would call a working knowledge of it.  When we meet someone who is fluent, we have found a great horseman.  When we meet someone who is not only fluent but can translate for us into human language, we have found a great trainer. Equus doesn’t always translate readily into human language, but the best trainers find the words in the same way an artist uses oil paint to capture the feeling of a magnificent vista. But the words of the trainer are just there to facilitate the real, nonverbal, horse-human connection. Equus is a language that words take away from, not add to.  It is purity, simplicity, honesty, integrity. It is the language of the heart.  And that is, quite possibly, what attracts us to our equine partners.

Honesty, in a word, defines the human-equine relationship.  Honesty fosters trust, and trust is what we require in order to do what we do with our horses.  Actions, not words, create it.  People say, but horses do.  We are what we do; what we say is how we want to appear.  Horses don’t care how they appear.  Sometimes when I come back from a solo trail ride I’m asked, “You went alone”? Trying to appear witty, sometimes I’ll reply, “Alone? No… I was with my horse!” But I mean it… the time spent with just horse and rider to me has been a priceless asset in my study of Equus. In those moments, words are a distraction… an interruption in the flow of messages between us. So, while I enjoy the companionship of a like minded rider, I also value, no, treasure those times when it’s just me and my horse. They are my language lessons.

It has been said that princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship. The reason, the saying goes, is that the brave beast is no flatterer.  He will throw a prince as soon as his groom. Truly, when we have earned the respect of a horse, we have really earned it. They have no ulterior motives. Their language doesn’t include flattery to entice getting what they want, coercion to force getting what they want, sarcasm to ridicule into getting what they want, courtesy to put a different spin on what they want, or withholding of truth to spare the other’s feelings. When we learn to speak Equus, our language is simpler:  asking for what we want, observing the reply to the question, rephrasing the question when it’s necessary, and expressing when we are pleased with the effort.  When failing to make myself understood, I need to change the way I’m asking.  It’s such a simple rule if I can just remember it.  The better we get at remembering that, I believe, the better horsemen we become. 

So, what is it that makes our relationship with our horses so unique and compelling?  Perhaps it is the opportunity to converse in the language of the heart.  Because what comes from the heart, touches the heart.