HORSES AT HOME

HORSES AT HOME                  

                                                                  Originally published in Horse Directory,  May 2015

By Tom Gumbrecht

Should I keep my horse at home? Many horse owners have considered that question at some point in their horsey lives.

To those expecting an in-depth analysis of the financial and practical pros and cons of keeping horses at home, I apologize. You won't find that here. I am a fairly practical person in other areas of life, but when it comes to horses, practical is not the first adjective that would come to the mind of most in describing me. This is just a story about my very unlikely journey from a green-as-grass newbie to a rider, horse owner and barn owner.

Dreamcatcher Farm.. before the bulldozers

 When I was first introduced to horses and riding at age 45, I had been through a few hobbies already. I was a private pilot at age 20, captained my own sailboat at age 29, and was into semi-extreme off roading at age 42. I had always jumped into my pursuits with both feet, became completely immersed in them, reached a certain level of competency and then began looking for the next challenge.  I didn't plan it that way, but that's the way it always seemed to happen.

I experienced probably all of the frustrations that an adult beginner experiences, sometimes thinking that it would be prudent to just give up, but I never seriously considered that.  I investigated many disciplines along the way in an effort to find my niche. I met jumpers, hunters, trail riders, reiners, barrel racers, dressage riders and most seemed to have found their way in the horse world. They were pleasure riders, competitors, those seeking to experience their personal best with their equine partner. Some no longer rode at all, and just enjoyed the social atmosphere of the barn, and the bonding that takes place while hand grazing and grooming and just being with their horsey friend. I could identify with all of them, but since all of my acquaintances at that time were boarders at commercial barns, I had never met many people who had the aspirations that I did: to have my own barn and have horses at home.

Oddly, this wasn't a dream that built up slowly over time.  I realized it as soon as it seemed that my interest in horses was more than a passing fancy. It was reinforced when, several months into my training and to the shock of my friends and family, it seemed quite sensible for me to lease my first horse. Still, the idea of owning a horse property on Long Island seemed unattainable. Then, something else happened.

 

Riding ring base going in.

About a year and a half after my arrival at the barn, it was announced that it would be closing in a couple of months, being sold to a non-horsey purchaser, and the owners were moving out of state. The owners, touting the climate and value of the area they were moving to, sent me listings of horse properties in the area. While relocating was not a real possibility, my interest had been piqued, and at this time the real estate business was beginning to have a big presence on the internet. Looking at properties, once an arduous process of endless rides with agents on weekends, had now been streamlined to the point where one could sift through a hundred or more properties or more in a single evening on the couch. And so it was that I began a “just for fun” search for horse properties on Long Island.  After meeting an agent who was also a horseman, the idea was planted to search for, rather than established horse facilities, properties zoned for horses and properly laid out to accommodate a barn, paddocks and riding ring that we would build ourselves.

Beginning to look like a barn..

Being in the construction trades, the prospect of such a project was not daunting; rather it was kind of exciting. We made a list of things we needed to have and things that we wanted to have and within a couple of months found a place that met just about all of our requirements. What started out as not much more than a lark, ended up in the realization that by doing a large amount of the work ourselves, we could actually have a horse property in western Suffolk County, Long Island while still being within reasonable commuting of our jobs in Nassau County. And we did buy it, and build it, and so was born Dreamcatcher Farm.

This summer will mark the seventeenth year from the time that I rode my first horse, and this fall the fifteenth year since we bought the property. There have been many challenges that we have faced since then, but the underlying theme for our experiences here has been, quoting from the movie Field of Dreams, “If you build it, they will come.” Many incredible people have come into our lives since we created our little farm, and I remain convinced that raising a family in the company of horses is how I was meant to live my life.

 

Buddy, the first resident of Dreamcatcher Farm.. on his first day!

In working with horses, I have found my proper place. I'm no longer looking for the next challenge because each horse presents a new challenge on each new day.  I have been a farm hand, a student, a competitor, a teacher, a groom, a physical therapist and a nurse. I have smiled much and cried some.  On the practical side, it has allowed me to keep three horses at once, which I could not do in a commercial boarding situation. Why three, non-horse people seem to always ask? Simple: the up and coming youngster, the dependable and confident middle-aged guy, and the one who has done it all and is now mostly retired. I love being able to jump on a horse and ride, having the flexibility to work with a young horse and having the ability to care for a senior.  I love them all for some of the same reasons and some different reasons.

Is keeping horses at home for everyone? I’m sure it isn't. I probably get to ride less than my friends who board, but in my case it was the path that I was always drawn to follow. It ended up being the right path for me. But, assuming that most people who keep horses at home don't employ staff to provide the support and care for them, it is a major lifestyle change, and commitment. Some can't provide that level of commitment, other won't, but for me it just seemed to fit perfectly. It can be a lot of work but as the saying goes, if you’re doing something you love, you won't work a day in your life.

At this point, I have amassed many thousands of days that begin and end with caring for horses. Since the beginning, that has always been the best part of most of those days…

 

"If you build it, they will come".. The author with Buddy,
and a young Sam with Magic.

LETTING GO

LETTING GO                                                                                             April 2015

By Tom Gumbrecht

Intellectually we who love our animals know that if things play out the way nature intends, we will outlive them and as their stewards sometimes we are called upon to humanely accelerate the natural process.

The brain understands it this way:

Euthanasia (from a Greek word, meaning “good death”) is the practice of intentionally ending a life in order to relieve pain and suffering.

The heart, however, knows euthanasia as “taking our friend’s pain from them and making it our own.”

No matter how completely the brain understands the concept, we are are never really ready until the heart concurs. In my own experience, I was a horse owner for some years before I had to deal with the inevitable.  At that time we had two horses, Buddy and Magic.  Buddy had a myriad of health issues and was only rideable for three of the ten years we had him. Magic, a very sturdy and sensible mare, was never sick and was always up for anything that was asked of her.  Given Buddy's history, I had forced myself to let him go emotionally many times before his uncanny life ended naturally at age 33.  Magic’s health was never a concern so when she suddenly took sick it was very hard to process, but the severity demanded a swift decision that I felt totally unprepared to make.  It was the Tuesday evening before Thanksgiving when the decision was put to me, and I selfishly and unthinkingly wanted to delay the inevitable until the day after the holiday.  My veterinarian, normally a matter-of-fact, practical sort, uncharacteristically put his hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye and said, “That would be asking a lot of your horse.”

My breath caught. He was right, of course, and I knew what the right decision was. I had not been prepared to let go so quickly.  Arrangements were made, and I did not sleep that night. I remember praying that she passed during the night so that I didn't have to face the task in front of me. That night the most aloof of our three dogs, Mickey, wrapped his body over mine in a poignant display of empathy.  Daylight came and I reluctantly rose to carry out my duty as steward for my animal.  Magic loaded onto the freshly bedded trailer that would take her to the crematory later in the day.  The vet came, and my friends and family were there.  Magic was looking through the slats in the trailer into the paddock and her eyes were locked with Buddy’s who returned her soft gaze. I held Magic until the medicine took effect and when it did, I backed off as her legs dropped out and she fell upon the thick bedding beneath her.  I was totally unprepared for what happened next; as Magic slipped away, Buddy let out a deafening whinny, the kind that if you were on his back when he did it, your whole body would vibrate.  The vet told me this was a common reaction but I never expected it.

As I closed the trailer in preparation for the trip, I noticed that Buddy walked into Magic’s stall and sniffed her blanket on the rack through the open door. He licked the two lead ropes that were still suspended from the ceiling, which had been holding her IVs, and I thought the whole scene touching. As I started down the driveway with truck, trailer and Magic, Buddy, normally as quiet and serene as you could expect a horse to be, bolted out of Magic’s stall, wheeled around and kicked the top rail of the fence closest to us, shattering it and sending splinters flying toward us as we exited the farm. When I returned later that day I was told that immediately following our departure Buddy went back to grazing on bits of hay in the paddock as if the day were like any other.  Buddy went through the entire grieving process in twenty minutes, and in doing so, began to educate me in the art of letting go.

I have lost many animals since that day, some naturally and some whose passing I had to help ease. Does it get easier? Actually, yes, because I no longer try to avoid the feelings that inevitably accompany euthanizing a friend. I don't try to manipulate them, or myself, and basically just let them run their course. Sadness is an appropriate feeling so I allow myself to be sad.  I allow the emptiness to come, and then to go. I no longer cling to it as I once did, thinking that prolonging my sadness, guilt and emptiness was a form of respect for my departed friend.

We recently lost a dog, Dusty, who had been with us for twelve years. His health had been slipping but he still had an obvious quality of and zest for life.  That changed very quickly one recent evening when he had a neurological episode that left the rear half of his body paralyzed and he was scared and confused. We were able to make him comfortable until the vet came the next day and eased his passing. In sharp contrast to my first experience with euthanasia, this was, in a way, a very beautiful experience as I held him gently and felt him lightly breathe his last breath surrounded by the family that loved him during his life. At that moment I felt honored. Brief bouts of sadness and emptiness come to me still, and I let them come and I let them go.

As I have been finding more and more frequently, I find that my animals have taught me many of life's lessons that I needed to learn: to love fully, to trust completely, and to let go. Of all the emotions that accompany the carrying out of what inevitably needs to be done, what I ultimately feel most.. is honored.

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...