A BEAUTIFUL SOUL

A BEAUTIFUL SOUL

Originally published in Horse Directory, March/ April 2016

By Tom Gumbrecht

Dave was an artist whose medium was music

Dave Jensen had a gift. He had the ability to take what was going on in his mind, heart and soul and put it into an art form to share with us. He was an artist whose medium was music. 


The first time I saw him perform it was at a coffeehouse on the South Shore of Long Island. I arranged to meet Samantha there, who was in her early twenties at the time, back from college, and we weren't always seeing eye to eye. She agreed, somewhat reluctantly, which was understandable for a child who felt obligated to be in the company of a parent whose attitude had not been endearing. 


By the end of Dave’s two sets, we were beginning to get back on track; we were connecting. 
My heart was becoming light and I felt it opening. Dave’s gift was bringing people together, 
and he did so with his music. He made a connection with every person in that room, and in 
doing so connected us all.



Dave had bipolar disorder. He was very open about it, and used it as neither an excuse nor a

Dave's personality brought out the best
in people and horses.

 
free pass but rather to attempt to get others similarly afflicted to identify with him. He spoke of his illness, and how he dealt with it, in a matter-of-fact way, like we riders might speak of a broken finger and how we adapted our riding to it. It wasn't a complaint; it was an exchange of 
information. 


Bipolar disorder is not curable, but its symptoms are treated with medication and therapy. After Dave and I became friends, we discovered another way: horses. He responded to them, and they responded to him. We know that mental illness can carry a stigma, and as humans we 
can become judgmental of those that suffer even if we don't want to. Horses don't respond to stigma because they don't know what it is. They respond to the soul of the person standing next to them, in Dave's case the soul of a person who had the ability to channel life's beauty 
into the language of the heart. That language is exactly what horses understand! We humans got to appreciate it through his music; the horses got it just by being around him. 

Bella is very choosy about her humans, and she
chose Dave.

Many of us are initially attracted to horses through their beauty and power; then if we pursue riding, by what they can do for us. Eventually if we work at it long enough and have it in our hearts, a partnership may evolve and we might be have the privilege of working as teammates toward a common goal. Ultimately, if we are lucky enough, a true relationship might evolve where we can appreciate our horses for who they are rather than what they can do for us.

Dave seemed to never have to evolve like that. From the first day, he appreciated our horses for who they were and was content with merely being in their presence. He immediately “got” what the horses had to offer, an awareness that had taken me years to develop. 


Dave passed away recently and left a hole in our close-knit barn family. Early one recent 
morning I was out in the barn in the company of our horses, making sure that they were fed 
and warm enough to brave the new year's first major snowstorm. Like many days since I got 
the sad news, I was thinking of Dave. He loved it here.


Without meaning any disrespect, that day in the barn I was sad but not devastated. As I 
attempt in my mind to explain myself... my feeling that although I am very sad, I feel he is still 
very much with us and the best parts of him will never leave this barn.... I picture Dave flashing 
a smile and waving me off: "I get it, bro... I get it!" That’s the thing: if you were a person whose 
life was touched by Dave, you know that he made it safe to be and to express exactly who you 
were and what you were feeling at that moment. It was a gift every bit as beautiful as his music.




The world was not always a safe place for Dave but he went out there and faced it anyway

DannyBoy was Dave's favorite horse. He
responded to horses and horses
 responded to him.

 
because that's what he had to do in order to share his gifts. By his unflinching acceptance, he made it a safer place for those of us who struggle with such things, to be ourselves.


What do we call a person who faces danger and in so doing makes things less dangerous for others? Around this barn we call him an inspiration. Dave Jensen will continue to be an inspiration here for as long we have challenges to face and need a beacon of hope. The fuel 
that warms this barn is love, and Dave left our tanks full. 




Explore Dave’s music at www.reverbnation.com/davejensen

A BRIDGE BACK TO LIFE

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

By Tom Gumbrecht

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Epilogue:

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

GIVING THANKS

GIVING THANKS

By Tom Gumbrecht

Originally published in Horse Directory, Nov-Dec 2015

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

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

Thankful for a wonderful trainer, friends and family.

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

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

Without gratitude, it all sucks.

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

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

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

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

BROMANCE

BROMANCE

By Tom Gumbrecht

Originally published in Horse Directory, October 2015

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My very dignified partner, DannyBoy

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

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

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

God, I love this horse.

LIFE'S TACK ROOM

LIFE’S TACK ROOM                                                                                     September 2015

By Tom Gumbrecht 

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

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

"Preparing to hang the first saddle"

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

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

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

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

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

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

A low-tech barn "message board"

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

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

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

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

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

NEW BEGINNINGS: The Birth of a Horse Farm

NEW BEGINNINGS – The Birth of a Horse Farm        

Originally published in Horse Directory Magazine,  AUGUST 2015

By Tom Gumbrecht

I like my job as a self employed electrician, I like horses, and I like helping people. Occasionally I get to put the three of them together, and that, I love. It's the most fun part of my job. When someone hires me to do a job, I become part of their life for a period of time, which depending on the size of the project could be hours, days, weeks or months.

Recently playing a small part in having a new barn owner
realize her dream of a beautiful new horse facility.

We have occasionally in the past used these pages to lament the closing of horse farms on Long Island, and the mixed feelings generated by being both a horseman whose passion depends on preservation of open space, and a tradesman whose livelihood depends on progress and development. But sometimes, development comes in the form of creating a new horse farm. When that happens, I feel no inner conflict. It's the best of both worlds, and I'm in my element. As a professional electrician, I have acquired the knowledge and experience to properly advise clients on the unique electrical requirements for horse barns. As a equestrian who evolved from student to rider to competitor to horse owner, I made the leap to barn owner and horseman. It was more than a new title, it was a totally new lifestyle and I know really well the mental gymnastics that go along with taking on such a life changing commitment.

I've been around the electrical trade for over forty years so I'm ok with being called an expert in my field.

Putting the finishing touches on a new
barn as its first occupant moves in.

I've been around horses for seventeen years this month, not a long time in the horse world by any means, so I don't consider myself an expert in the world of horses. What I do have is experience, the willingness to share it and a true desire to have others learn from my mistakes. That puts me in a unique position to sometimes be able to be of help when someone makes the leap from being a rider and a horse owner to taking on the role of barn owner/ manager, horse caregiver, groom, chauffeur and vet tech, not as an expert so much as a coach. When I get hired to wire a new horse barn for a first time barn owner, I frequently also become a de facto backyard barn consultant.

I look at your eyes when you begin to speak of your horses and the prospect of having them at home, and maybe I see the same sparkle that I had at that point and I share in your excitement. You are a sponge for knowledge and we will likely speak of things like grading and drainage and proper access for hay suppliers and farriers and veterinarians and the management of manure.  We might touch upon arena construction and maintenance and tractors and trucks and trailers.  A million things that never needed to be thought of but now demand to be addressed: stall footings, bedding types and storage, lighting, ventilation, water service, plumbing, snow removal, handling of sick and injured horses. These are the things we rarely needed to think about as boarders: hay and grain storage, fencing types, fence maintenance, gate placement, hot wires, stock tanks and heaters, blanket changes during the day, management of meds and supplements and special equipment and secure storage for tack. The list seems endless and the details can become overwhelming.

A decrepit swimming pool is transformed
into a riding arena at the author's barn.

There are a million places to get technical advice online today. Everyone has an opinion and some are convinced that their way is the only way. I try not to add to the confusion because I’m just sharing my experience. By the time I get to see you, generally your mind has already been made up.  You have made the commitment to keep horses at home, and are now getting caught up in details, perhaps second guessing and experiencing self-doubt. What I try to convey is my belief that if you have the commitment, you have it all. When things turn difficult as they inevitably will, commitment finds a way. Commitment doesn't think twice about spending a night in the barn to make sure an ailing horse is all right. Commitment happily makes personal sacrifices so that the horses don't have to. Our horses grow older but they never grow up. They never outgrow the need for our commitment. If you have it, you have everything it takes, for everything else can be learned. If you don't have it, even with the best horses in the most well-appointed stable, you don't have much at all.

When I sense that commitment, I use the opportunity to offer my hope, confidence, and an underlying assurance that everything will be all right. The naysayers and fear-mongers have all taken their best shots at you, and you have decided to do it anyway. Now you need to know that you can do it, and I offer myself as living proof of that: an ordinary person with ordinary skills, ordinary athletic ability, ordinary finances, and perhaps a level of commitment that's a little above average. I share the fears I once had so that you know you are not alone when you experience them. Sometimes, I get to be there when your horse comes home for the first time. You can't believe that this is actually your life and all the planning, paying and working has now culminated in you having your own farm. It's a privilege to be able to share in that, and it’s one of the best parts of my job.

Sometimes when the struggles of working and being in business occasionally wear on me and I wonder what

Nothing like bringing a new horse home to a new barn.
Here, the author's mother-in-law Connie welcomes Magic.

life would have been like had I made different choices, I remind myself of the benefits of the opportunities that sometimes cross my path: I get to provide a needed service, for people I enjoy being around and share a common interest with, and perhaps pass along some of the passion I've acquired for the horsey lifestyle.

I got to see for myself how horses could transform a life from the average to the passionate and committed. To witness that phenomenon in others is especially gratifying.

We don't get to speak "horse" on the job
all the time, but it's fun when we do..

A JOB WITH BENEFITS

A JOB WITH BENEFITS           

Originally published in Horse Directory,  July 2015

By Tom Gumbrecht

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

Sometimes the physical demands of horsekeeping
can be great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RESIST NOT CHANGE

“RESIST NOT CHANGE”

By Tom Gumbrecht               Originally published in Horse Directory Magazine, June 2015

The list of uncomfortable changes that I've gone through in my life with horses is an extensive one. To the casual observer, it might seem like some really bad luck in copious quantities. Here are a few highlights:

Circus gave the author many firsts,
including his first unintentional dismount.

The first seems so minor now, but it felt like a big deal when it happened. I began riding at a lesson/ show barn. I enjoyed my lessons and free riding on the flat, but I kept exploring the far reaches of the property during cool-down, secretly always wanting to canter the vineyards across the street. I finally talked my trainer into taking me over there, and within the first minute my horse got spooked and after a bad spin I hit the ground and my horse high-tailed it back to the barn, crossing an active roadway in the process. I emerged from my first unintentional dismount ok physically, as was the horse, but I was riddled with guilt for having pushed and pushed to do something that ultimately put a horse in danger. I vowed to never leave the safety of the property again.

The next episode was a tough one. I had slowly become part of the horse culture, if not yet the show culture, of the wonderful barn where I had learned to ride. It was my first exposure to a barn family and I was accepted into it. Life was good. And one day it all changed when the owners made the decision to relocate out of state. The farm was sold as a non-horse property and the horse facilities were dismantled. My comfort zone and new-found barn family just evaporated. My riding life was over.

In another instance I found myself in a rough board situation, sharing a horse with a very experienced owner who no longer rode. I had almost unlimited access to a really good horse, a wealth of knowledge at my fingertips and magnificent trails on an adjoining preserve that no one else used or even knew about, for the price of some hay. All this within 10 minutes of my western Long Island workplace! It seemed to be too good to be true, and I guess it was. There developed some conflict at this little barn that ultimately made the arrangement unworkable. With a heavy heart I had to say goodbye to what seemed like paradise.

The first horse I ever actually owned was perfect for me. He had a great personality, and was older and

Buddy, the first horse owned by the
author, seen with mom Helen..

tolerated my frequent gaffes and miscues with aplomb. Although a senior, he still had plenty of spunk and gave me just enough of a challenge to make our rides interesting without being dangerous. We rode for three years when he got sick and could no longer be ridden. His illness was all-consuming, emotionally and financially. It felt like being on a roller coaster: the highs reached with short-lived improvements and the lows terrifying with more setbacks.

Our second horse was a stalwart. She was, dependable, healthy, honest and fun. Always there, always up for anything and a great baby-sitter. A senior also, she brightened our days for four years, when she had a bad colic and was gone within several days of taking ill. It seemed as if our dreams were star-crossed.

A point came sometime later where I had gained enough experience and confidence to enter the world of horse showing. In the small world of eventing on Long Island, I had acquired a courageous horse with a natural talent that we developed with the help of a trainer and did well in the lower levels over two years or so. Unexplainably he injured his suspensory ligament and had to have surgery which put him, and me, out of the

DannyBoy with the author at an early eventing show.

show ring for 18 months. If it weren't for bad luck, it seemed I wouldn't have any.

My focus was diverted to a side project at one point, and myself and another person planned to try our hand at procuring an OTTB at auction, retraining and showing the horse and selling it before picking up another in a small effort to give some ex-racehorses a new start. A magnificent plan which fell apart 24 hours after we picked up our first one at New Holland. The following day the drugs that had apparently been given to this very recently off the track mare, wore off revealing an injury that would have her incapacitated indefinitely. My project partner was understandably not up for this level of challenge so I found myself in way over my head and alone. It was beginning to look like I should have perhaps taken up a different sport. But things are not always how they initially seem…

So here is, as Paul Harvey used to say, the rest of the story:

The incident in the vineyard did not lead to never leaving the supposed safety of the riding ring again. Instead, it enticed me to find a different and safe venue to explore trail riding. While still learning to be a better technical rider on my leased horse at the farm, I would supplement that with weekly (or more) trail rides at a local hack stable. I learned to ride many different horses under many different conditions and met a lot of people who shared my enthusiasm.

The closing of my home barn set into motion a creative quest to stay connected to horses in some way. That

Magic was dependable, brought comic relief and
gave us our first lesson in letting go.

led to the rough board situation where I learned from an expert, how to care for a horse’s needs in addition to riding. This was experience that would become invaluable later. A short time after I was forced to end that situation, I resignedly answered an ad in the newspaper seeking volunteers for a local therapeutic riding program, simply as a way to, again, stay connected. What I got was much more. I experienced another side of the horse world where horses were the teachers, counselors and therapists. I again expanded my network and made what have become lifelong friends. I was reintroduced to formal training through renewed contacts from my first barn who had resurfaced, and joined some of them at a local HJ barn where I proceeded to pursue my dream of becoming a jumper rider.

The difficult loss of relationships with horses, and its effect on me, prompted my wife to suggest that I get my own horse. I expanded on that to include getting our own barn and she went along with it! That's in effect how Dreamcatcher Farm got started.

My first horse’s illness was devastating for him, inconvenient for me. When I finally was able to see things that way, I was able to use the skills I had learned at the rough board barn to keep him comfortable and nurse him back to health. That was a long journey but along the way I became a horseman. I learned how to not give up when situations looked dire.

But I needed another lesson. I needed to learn when and how to let go, and our second horse, the mare, taught me that hard lesson. That there was a difference between giving up and releasing with love. Later, the untimely injury of my event horse allowed me to spend a lot of time just being with him. He was (and is) a take-charge kind of guy, and although we worked very well on course together, he was not an easy horse to bond with. Hour-long leg treatments, wrapping and handwalking every day for many months provided that opportunity and provided valuable experience for what would become my next challenge.

Lola, not long before she landed at the author's stable.

The lofty dreams I had for my beautiful, muscular ex-racehorse were dashed when the veterinarian confirmed our fears of a serious front leg injury. I felt as if I was between a rock and a hard place, and I didn't know if I could willingly take on a situation as grave as this. Yet the alternatives seemed to be to misrepresent and re-sell her as had been done to me, or euthanasia, and I wasn't willing to consider either. As I wasn't able to fathom the level of commitment that I would need to muster, I just took things a day at a time. And a day at a time we worked, and we bonded; we were jubilant with small victories and crushed by setbacks. We asked for help when we were in over our heads, which was frequently. And she got better, and I got better. She didn't know much except the racetrack, and how to be a good horse, but that ended up being enough. We got trained to train her, and we did. And we got to ultimately be the person in the irons when she trotted into the show ring in front of the first crowd since the one at her last racetrack. That remains my most cherished ribbon.

Through her and all of the others I found my little niche in the horse world. It wasn't bad luck forcing situations upon me, it was the universe opening doors that I would not have otherwise known were there. The thing is, I wouldn't have chosen any of these situations had I been given the option. Were they good things or bad things? Neither. They were necessary things. Necessary in order to bring me to the point where I am now, which is prepared for unknown opportunities already on their way.

Even though I seem to not always remember it very well, things work much better for me when I live my life in preparation for something better to come.

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.