A STABLE FRIENDSHIP

A STABLE FRIENDSHIP

By Tom Gumbrecht

The Pennoyers were my clients and became my friends. I had the incredible privilege of sharing a horse on their property and riding with them on their 25 acre preserve in the years between the time that my first trainer Skip Lauinger moved to Virginia and my building my own stable in Fort Salonga.

Converted stable, home of Paul and
Cecily Pennoyer, background.
Current stable, foreground.

Their horsey lifestyle was chronicled in Newsday September 7, 2000 in a story titled “Stable Conditions” by Jan Tyler:

….A somewhat different scenario threads through Cecily and Paul Pennoyer’s 50 year history of living the stable life.  The Pennoyers actually made their home in their family’s 1926 stable for a couple of years, even before the horses were relocated.

Although Paul Pennoyer, an attorney, is a grandson of J.P. Morgan, he and his wife opted for the simple life on the Morgans’ 100- acre estate where several family homes and outbuildings plus a working farm were part of the complex.  “The stable was beautiful; it’s even more so now. It’s a rural paradise,” says Cecily Pennoyer. “We raised five children in this place, where they learned to split wood for the fire, gather eggs, grow carrots, beets and beans and bale hay for the horses.; we had the only baler left in Nassau County.”

At first, the Pennoyers lived in the fully equipped former farmhand’s quarters, a wing attached to the stable’s huge midsection.  Moving the horses to a nearby pig pen, where three are still housed, the couple gradually converted the ample spaces into habitable rooms.

The horse stalls became a 35-foot-long study with mullioned windows fitted into the door openings. The equally large living area, which had stored equipment, is now a cozy living room where a fire burns almost continually in a colonial style brick-oven fireplace and a small stall for a pair of donkeys named Concertina and Clarinet became a telephone room, the animals’ hoof marks sentimentally preserved on the wainscot paneling….

….It would be hard to find a place evocative of more storybook charm: A long dirt road that winds past rail-fenced pastures where horses still graze leads to a patchwork of picturesque coops, pens and corrals close to the rambling converted stable behind a low stone wall. A clock tower (its mechanism, wound weekly, chimes on the hour) adds an architectural distinction to the former stable’s façade, now nearly obscured by mature laurels and climbing ivy…

The floor here is of worn brick that Cecily Pennoyer put down herself in the mid-1960’s after rescuing them from her family’s abandoned home on the estate. “It was a house that Grandpa Morgan gave my husband’s mother,“ she explains. “He gave a house to each of his children”

That house was demolished five years ago when the land, once a favorite route for the Meadowbrook Fox Hunt, was subdivided. Part was sold to a developer, 25 acres were donated by the Pennoyers to the North Shore Wildlife Sanctuary, and 13 acres were retained for their homestead.

….”We’ve paid heavily to live the rustic life,” says Cecily Pennoyer. “Our homegrown flowers, vegetables, eggs and honey all cost more in the long run, but they’re fresh, organic and taste wonderful; the taxes inch up every year.  But our roots are here; that’s what really counts…”

 

The bucolic pastures of the Pennoyer Estate.

I was a middle aged but newly trained rider with about a year and a half experience when I noticed an empty stable while doing a job for the Pennoyers.  I inquired about it and found that their horses had recently been retired to Massachusetts as it was getting more difficult for the couple to care for them. They did find that they missed having the horses around however, and I was able to assist them in returning their horses to Long Island. Others had the knowledge and the horsemanship and I had an insatiable appetite to learn about all things horsey and the willingness to work. It was here that I began the transition from novice rider to horseman, experience I would need around the stables I had planned for my own horse property.

Having been born and raised in Glen Cove I knew the names Morgan and Pennoyer and at first was a bit awestruck of being in the presence of such a venerable name.  Mr. Pennoyer diffused that with his humble, down-to-earth way, and treated me, a tradesman and fledgling horseman, with the same respect and interest that I’m sure he showed to heads of state and industry. He had a way that made anyone in his presence feel important. Our talks, seated on a log or mounting block, will not be forgotten as I encouraged him to recount his tales of cruising to Europe in the summers of his childhood on Grandpa Morgan’s yacht, The Corsair. I was equally riveted when I was able to circumvent his natural humility and get him to recount his adventures as an aviation attorney in the days before the NTSB, when attorneys representing parties to lawsuits conducted their own investigations, including in Mr. Pennoyer’s case, riding on mule-back to the bottom of the Grand Canyon to examine the wreckage of an early airline crash. 

At the time we were acquainted, Mr. Pennoyer had found it physically difficult to mount a horse, so I constructed a large staircase- type mounting block in order that we might take the occasional ride together and continue our chats on horseback.

Maggie, the Pennoyers' sweet "watchdog."

That is a fond memory, but one of the fondest memories I have from my early riding career happened in a totally impromptu manner when Mrs. Pennoyer on a late fall evening invited me for a moonlight ride through the woods and on the neighboring estates.  Cantering through wooded trails by the light of a full moon was an experience I was not sure I was up to at the time, but I didn’t let on to that fact and I was rewarded with a riding experience I will not forget. Lights went on and blinds opened as we trotted up to the stately homes, and Mrs. P. would tap on the windows from horseback and introduce me to the owners.

Horses, I have found, are the great equalizer.  In my experience, acceptance as a fellow horseman has not been dependent on social or financial stature. A quiet confidence around the stable, a foot that knowingly finds an iron and a leg that encourages, a generous hand into which reins fall naturally and an inherent empathy toward the horse are some of the requirements for membership to this club.  “They say that princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship. The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer.  He will throw a prince as soon as his groom.” – Ben Jonson, c.1600

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.

ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT

ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT                                                                                               December 2014

By Tom Gumbrecht

“The longer I live, the more I realize the importance of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is

Trainer Laura Ruben of Affari Horse Farm teaches the author about the
patience needed with a young racehorse, first by watching and
then by doing.

more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failure, than successes, than whatever other people think or say or do.

“It is more important than appearance, than giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company, a church, a home. The remarkable thing is that we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day.  We cannot change our past… we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way.  We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. 

“I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you… we are in charge of our attitudes.” – Charles R. Swindall

Powerful words… a quotation that someone my age might put in a frame and hang on the wall of

The author beginning over-fence work with Lola
in 2009. Two years earlier we were thrilled that
she could walk.

a young adult perhaps, but notable in that I was introduced to it by my twenty-something trainer a few years back.  She had adopted it into her life and is a living testimony to its accuracy.

I have had more than one teacher of this concept in my barn; one in particular left the racetrack injured and showed up for our date with destiny at the New Holland auction. Now a permanent resident of our barn, she goes by the name of Lola.  We didn’t know that Lola had an injury because an unscrupulous seller had medicated her, disguising a severe lameness. A day after we got her home she was walking on three legs and a veterinary exam was not encouraging.

Sometimes my initial reaction when faced with a situation I can’t see my way out of is to feel sorry for myself, and this was no exception. I had just gone through treating a severe, multi-year illness with my gelding, Buddy, and I felt that I couldn’t endure that terrifying roller coaster of emotions once again.  Poor me..

After a day or two of trying to figure out how to get myself out of the situation, I soon came to grips with the fact that Lola and I weren’t going to be riding off into the sunset in pursuit of eventing ribbons anytime soon. No, we now had another injured horse to try and mend.  Once focused and armed with a rehabilitation plan from the vet, we began the daily work needed to give Lola a chance. But how would I ever find the time to do this day in and day out? It was still all about me, my bad luck, my disappointment, my frustration. What I needed was a severe attitude adjustment, and Lola gave it to me.

In 2014, the bond formed by Lola's attitude and the author's
attitude adjustment was now unbreakable.

Did you ever have a dog who, after you left her for two minutes to run out to get the mail, greeted you as if you had just scored the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl on your return? I have had a few of those, but had never received such an ovation from a horse until Lola.

In the course of Lola’s rehab, we spent a lot of time together, wrapping, unwrapping, cold hosing, hand walking, laser treatments… and after each time I returned after disappearing from her view for a few moments, she would nicker furiously, loudly and continuously. Then her eyes delivered what her voice had promised.  I have seen many emotions conveyed through the eyes of a horse: contentment, annoyance, intensity, submission. I have seen eyes that were agitated, tired and pleading. Lola’s eyes showed none of that. Her eyes reached out through the stall door and connected my being with hers.  It was the look of acceptance.

This look of total connectedness and the vocal assertions of gratitude every time she laid eyes on me were exactly the attitude adjustment that I needed. It was so simple, and so obvious: I thought that the bad fortune of Lola’s condition was my cross to reluctantly bear, when in fact it was Lola whose life had been turned upside down, who had gone from an athlete to an invalid, who went from having a regimented, organized life to having everyone and everything she knew ripped from under her… and yet she seemed to be the happiest horse alive.

This horse had much to teach me, and it wasn’t about riding or competing… although she was to later educate me in those venues as well.  Lola went from being a disappointment (though it pains

The author's wife Mary with Lola at her first
show, Good Shepherd 2012. It was
a long road to get there, smoothed out
by Lola's fantastic attitude.

me to say that now) to an inspiration, because her attitude was infectious, contagious and an absolute joy to be around.  How did I find the time to do all of the things that needed to be done for Lola?  Someone once said, if you want to see what someone’s priorities are, watch what they spend their time doing.  With her attitude alone, Lola made herself my priority.

I thought I had gotten a bad deal for my $500 at the auction that day. What I got was, I got to be a better horseman, a better student, a better rider and hopefully a better person. If that were to be true, I can only guess that maybe some of Lola’s attitude rubbed off on me while in her stall.

POWER IT FORWARD

Power It Forward                            

Originally published in Horse Directory Magazine ,  November 2014

By Tom Gumbrecht

The years from 2008 to 2011 were challenging ones for the construction industry on Long Island, and our electrical contracting business was no exception. In creating a new specialty division to respond to a changing economy and marketplace, we named the company Thoroughbred Power Systems in honor of our OTTB mare Lola, who, injured and having landed at the New Holland auction, had beaten the odds.  She refused to give up and inspired all of us with her positive attitude and zest for life.

How it works: Lola provides the
inspiration, client donates used generator,
we prep, sell and deliver it, all funds go
to Amaryllis as Ever a Friend and
Christine Distefano look on, unwanted
horses thrive for another day.

When our main business began almost thirty years ago, we had dreams and goals and we thought we could do things a little better. But out of stark necessity, it was mostly about making a living.  In our new little endeavor, we still needed to earn a living but had something else also.. we had a mission.  Our mission was clear: to help unwanted horses; to reach out and provide assistance to the discarded equine athletes, but how to accomplish that mission?

Usually, providing assistance to a cause on an institutional level evokes thoughts of charities, non-profits, rules and regulations, tons of paperwork and asking for money… none of which is my forte.  I’m not a great administrator and am much better with hands-on stuff.  It seemed like the skills available were at odds with the skills needed; then something happened.

Heading to the airport for a training trip to Wisconsin, I blindly grabbed a book off the shelf to read on the plane.  By happy accident the book was “Start Something That Matters” by Blake Mycoskie, the TOMS Shoes guy.  I couldn’t put it down because every point I was struggling with was addressed in his book.  He detailed how fate had conspired to focus his energies and create a for-profit company with a charitable mission which we now know as TOMS which makes shoes and sells them at a profit and donates a pair to a third world country for every pair sold.

DannyBoy oversees preparations
for the sale of a donated generator.

Well, Thoroughbred Power Systems is local, not global.  But the concept that Mycoskie opened our eyes to gave clarity and validation to the concept we had been toying with but had no real model for: having a for-profit company making money doing what we do best and a charitable mission funded by a portion of those profits as opposed to asking people for money.  In the book, I read about some other things that encouraged me:   

     1) “Finding your story”: find what you are passionate about, whatever it is for you that makes work feel like play, where no effort is too great to see it through (luckily, I had found my story)

    2) You don’t have to have a lot of money to have a mission, but the mission should be clear and simple (I qualify on both counts, lol!)

    3) Blake was a horseman (instant credibility!)

By the time I was returning from that trip, my plans had crystallized and my path was more clear.  I knew I was on the right track, and hopefully the details would unfold through a process of trial and error. Our idea was to set aside a fixed amount for each standby generator system sold, and use it to help Long Island horses in need. The funds would have to be administered by a trusted third party, because time and space limit our hands-on rescue work to one at a time. I wanted to work with a legitimate non-profit organization who accepted local horses, run by people with a caring heart and a good work ethic. I wanted an organization recognized by charity rating services, one whose accounting was totally transparent and with very low administrative costs.  I wanted a rescue which didn’t rely heavily on foster homes as a long term solution, one who cared for the horses in-house and was proactive about getting them re-homed.  I wanted a rescue that was able to provide sanctuary for those horses that were not adoptable.

A tall order perhaps, but I knew that without these assurances my enthusiasm would not be sustainable, and

Lola makes sure that every new unit sold results
in a donation to her friends at Amaryllis.

I definitely wanted to be in it long-term. I remembered a rescue in the Hamptons called Amaryllis; they were very kind and appreciative when I donated leftover meds after I lost my first horse Buddy.  I got to know founder Christine Distefano, read her blogs and posts and felt I had found a kindred spirit.  I did my homework researching Amaryllis, and our little “caring partnership” was formed.

As our program evolved, the donations from generator sales, while not insignificant, became almost secondary to another program which had not even been anticipated.  There was a significant segment of clients who already had standby generators but who wanted to upgrade them due to age, availability of new technology, or increased power demands.  The question arose as to what to do with an older but serviceable standby generator; installation costs generally preclude reselling a used unit as part of an installed system and the lack of a factory warranty makes it unappealing to most potential buyers.  Private sales can prove troublesome and the sheer weight and size of many units make rigging and transportation costly, effectively negating much of the potential savings gained with a used unit.

It was out of this dilemma that was born the program we dubbed “Power it Forward.” Under this program, the client is given the opportunity to donate the old unit to our 501c3 horse rescue partner, Amaryllis. If they agree, we remove the unit from the client’s premises and bring it to our facility where we check it over, functionally test it and list it for sale locally. We handle the sale and sometimes even the delivery to a market of largely do-it-yourselfers and antique equipment buffs. 100% of the proceeds of the sale go to the rescue and the client who donated the generator gets credit for the donation. As for us.. we get to feel good. We get to love our work, work for what we love, and make a small positive impact on the horse world.. all at the same time.  Interestingly, we thought this program would appeal to mainly horse people, but in reality almost all of our donors have been non-horsey.  Most people are happy to know that an asset that they have outgrown is doing some good for someone else.

Valentine Daisy, an injured racehorse like Lola, with
Rachel Distefano of Amaryllis. Who would have thought that
her life could have been made better by an unwanted generator?
Power It Forward!

Last year, Amaryllis founder Christine Distefano described the program this way: “Disabled horses have no hope in this world. ‘Power It Forward’ aims to change that, one horse at a time. Pioneering the way, Tom has quickly become a light in the dark despair that a horse unable to earn his keep any longer experiences. Helping horses who once helped others is what ‘Power It Forward’ does.”

Well, thanks Christine, but you guys are the ones doing all the work, I happen to have a penchant for moving heavy things, some generous clients willing to work with me on this mission, a good idea or two and a Thoroughbred ex-racehorse named Lola whose attitude toward life inspires us daily to be better humans.

REAL FREEDOM

REAL FREEDOM                                                                                                                 Originally published in Horse Directory, September, 2014

By Tom Gumbrecht

Bella is affectionate, but on her terms.
She taught us about boundaries to keep our
space safe to be ourselves.

Horses represent freedom to many of us, myself included.  But what my perception of what that freedom actually was has changed significantly over the years.  At first I confused freedom with the exhilaration of a long gallop. After some years, I find that it is quite different now, and it has to do more with communication than anything else. 

 I was once asked a question which had me describe some characteristics of a type of communication that yielded the fewest misunderstandings with a person.  I can’t really remember if I answered it honestly, but I remember thinking “does it have to be a person?” With no disrespect to my fellows humans, that thought came to mind because the communication I have with my horses is remarkably free of many of the pitfalls of verbal communication that we humans frequently rely on.

Lola creates a space where we can feel safe,
loved, and trusted.

Of course it hasn’t always been so. It took many hours, days and years in the saddle and around the stable to learn the language of the horse, and I am definitely still a student.  There were many misunderstandings along the way, some of which ended up damaging ego or bones.  My horses were never at fault; they didn’t have to learn about communicating with me, but if I were to thrive in their world I would have to make the effort to learn their language. It is not a complicated language, yet nothing can substitute for the time and patience required to learn it.  It is a language learned by doing rather than studying. It is the language of truth; the language of what is; the language of intention, not the language of coercion, manipulation, agendas or flattery so common in verbal languages.

As I learned through guidance, trial and error of such things as balance and pressures and

Our horses work to keep their spaces safe for
each other as well as for us. Bella comforts Lola after a
minor injury.

perceptions and feel, a point came where I was to become less concerned about becoming unseated and so was then able to focus more on how my actions were effectively communicating my desires and acknowledging and rewarding compliance.  At its best, it is a language so incredibly pure that a thought becomes a request by an almost unconscious change in pressure of hand, arm, leg or seat, and expressing gratitude for effort and compliance becomes similarly automatic.  At this level, words can sometimes only get in the way of communication, with the natural exception of a “good girl/ boy” which serves to reinforce communication by its inflection, intonation and intention. Horses are pretty good about figuring out what our intentions are.

Our history has seen many great and notorious orators who used words to bridge a gap between what was, and what was perceived. In some cases, the speakers’ goal was to have the listener believe something other than what actually was.  Are great orators great communicators?  Perhaps not always. Not as good as horses, surely. They are surely not automatically great riders!  In the words on Ben Jonson, “They say princes learn no art truly but the art of horsemanship.  The reason for this is because the noble beast is no flatterer.  He will throw a prince as soon as his groom.”

DannyBoy, a physical giant if not a spiritual one,
provides needed comic relief lest things get too serious.

When people use words to manipulate facts about the past and perceptions about the future, it can exhaust us and make us very skeptical of navigating society.  Our horses exist only in the “now” and communicate only in truth.  They know no other way.  That’s why so many of us see them as a reprieve from the sometimes confusing, sometimes harsh world.  When we become free of the need to act in constant defense of being manipulated, we can begin to be free to be ourselves.

And that’s the real freedom we get from horses, and why I do things that people sometimes don’t understand in order to preserve my relationship with them.

EQUINE GUIDED MEDITATION: When Your Horse Whispers to You...

EQUINE GUIDED MEDITATION:

When Your Horse Whispers To You..     

    

Originally published in Horse Directory, August 2014

By Tom Gumbrecht

Bella is affectionate, but on her terms. She
teaches us to create and respect boundaries
to keep our space safe to be ourselves

I have been known to elicit an uneasy, forced smile or two when describing my horses as meditation facilitators.  I understand, as meditation was once, to me, part of a hocus-pocus world of learned men with a hyper-developed spirituality that I didn’t see myself fitting into.  I have since revised that opinion.

It is often said to fledgling students of spirituality that where prayer is asking a question of, or petitioning a higher power, meditation is listening for the answer.  The rub, many of us find, is creating the space in which our minds can become quiet enough to hear those answers when they are proffered.

I have been fortunate to have had my eyes opened wide enough to discover that environment, forty steps from the back door of our home.  In the barn, often after the evening feeding, I will

Lola helps to create a space where we feel safe, loved
and trusted.

unfold a chair and sit under the ceiling fan and perhaps read a paragraph or two from a book of daily readings that always help to stimulate reflection.  The soft summer sounds of stall fans, crickets, and the methodical munching of hay waft through the gentle breeze and pull me into a simpler time and a comfort that I knew more intimately in my youth.

With my horses surrounding me, I feel needed, trusted, loved and appreciated.  We never have misunderstandings because we don’t use words to communicate.  It is the safest place I know, and it always seems that my mind can open up there because it not busy defending itself from anything.

It has made itself ready to accept direction from the universe and no matter the size of the perplexing problem of the day, the answers, it seems, always come.

Have I slipped over the edge and now taken to deifying my horses?  I don’t think so, but I do believe that a force in the universe, by whatever name we individually like to call such a power, provided me with horses as a way to open a path of communication with that force.  This is just another of the many unexpected gifts I have received since making a commitment fifteen years ago to take three riding lessons which I thought at the time was a reasonable investment to become a horse riding expert!

My ignorance at the time was a gift, because had I been even minutely aware of the degree to which horses would ultimately take over my life, I would have been afraid to pursue it. I would not

Our horses work to keep their space safe for each
other as well as for us. Bella comforts Lola after a  mild injury.

have been able to commit to something that I had known would ultimately change the whole fiber of my being, even though it was for the better.  What I could commit to was three riding lessons.

Lessons went from frustrating to rewarding, which led to more lessons, which led to discovering different disciplines and even more lessons.  Rather than “graduating” from riding lessons, I found that the more knowledge and experience I acquired, it served more to highlight the scope of what I still didn’t know.  My own experiences mirrored what I was to later read in this popular quote:

“Riding horses is not a gentle hobby to be picked up and laid down like a game of solitaire.  It is a grand passion.  It seizes a person whole, and once it has done so he/she will have to accept that his life will be radically changed.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

It took time to accept of the role of my horses in developing my spiritual self as even more important than their role in transportation, recreation or competition.  The time was well spent.  In my barn, I have a peaceful mind.  I believe that what is meant for me, I will find. My horses have created the environment where that is possible.

 

DannyBoy, a physical giant if not a spiritual one, provides needed comic relief lest things get too serious...

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.

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…