Author Archives: stablewomen

A lifetime of it really. Horse peeps learn to “make do”. We buy clothes at Thrift Stores to have money for hay. We consider lunch at a Cafe’ a real luxury when we’re saving up for entry fees for a horse show…

Our petrol is expensive because we need trucks to maintain a stable, so we plan all of our errands in a sequential trip that circles back home in the most efficient manner. I have envelopes where I put bits of extra cash (one for emergencies, one for socks and underwear that I do not buy at Thrift Shops, one for printer ink cartridges, and now one for international long distance calling). Cafe’ or movie money comes from putting the change bucket stash through the counter at my Credit Union. And sometimes, that change becomes groceries or dog food.

I realized today, as I prepare to hook up my horse trailer to get hay (it has been pouring rain for days and nights here) that being a horsewoman (and stablewoman) has taught me the skills to adjust, adapt, solve and face everything that comes my way. I see all my horsewoman friends being warriors in life, too. We all figure out how to cope during the rough times and we all REALLY know how to enjoy the smooth times!

Being in my late 50’s, I don’t necessarily have that idea light bulb flash on right away… I was thinking about how much I miss my old horse van that served me since I was 16 and could drive it, until 20 years ago when I (foolishly) traded it for an old Mercedes… I got hay and stored hay in it during these times. Then, I realized (the next day) that I can just take my horse trailer and do the same thing (albeit, on a smaller scale!). So, in an hour, I’ll be at the feedstore, using emergency funds to pack as much hay as I can into that trailer.

But, I live in the country. I have seven beautiful horses who are my family. I can make my own hours, I don’t need a gym, I have time to write and to paint… my life is FULL of love. I am so dang wealthy!

And, seeing that car again, I have to mention – it saved my life. I was rear-ended in that car by a guy going 75 mph as I stopped to make a left hand turn. My other vehicle was a motorcycle. Thank you Mercedes.

We never know what the circumstances in life are planning.

Flash flood warnings are in effect here. I spent this soggy morning taking my Mother’s walker, clothes, toiletries and such to her in the rehab/skilled nursing facility… it is the sort of dreary day that I normally adore since it becomes a change from the incessant sunshine. I kept thinking that “the sky is crying” as I dodged wells of water at street corners and played very loud music in the truck to keep me awake. It has been a rough 7 weeks… heck, a rough 3 years to be honest. All of it worthwhile for the well being of such a gentle spirit.

I found myself in route to Funky Karma. It is an incense and tea shop toward Mesilla where I once went in my most desperate and demoralized state of being years back. A reading there brought hope and comfort for me when I saw no possibility for either. After that day, I got my rear in gear, found my little farm here and organized a decent life. It was a movement from despair to delight in a matter of months and I never looked back.

Today, I drove almost by auto pilot and parked in front of the shop. Rain spattering the truck roof sounded like tap dancing and I waited for cars to pass to avoid a drenching, then slipped inside to see the knowing face of a friend. I seem to only visit this shop when I’m feeling disconnected from my own spirit. I am certain my aura betrays my state of being the moment I cross that threshold. In minutes, I was able to relax in safety and have a loving reading that put things in perspective. Yes, I would still be facing hard decisions. Yes, I would need to look beyond setbacks for the blessings often overlooked. No, I would not lose friends nor clients nor suffer more hardship with the business, but I would need to look at other ways to set up the business since its present condition remains stagnant. And most clearly I got it that I must, indeed take better care of myself. period. no guilt, no falling back on being “all things to all people”, no more pushing to exhaustion. period.

So, I started home with sticks of sandalwood, the radio blasting instead of Pink Floyd CD’s and The Police started up with “I’ll be watching you…” and the deja vu hit hard. Going north on Holman Road in a downpour is not unique, but somehow a particular day from my past hit me in the face. My soulmate dog, Namaste’ and I were heading out north in a flash flood to get TCW food from the cooperative when we came across a literal river rushing over the road. “Hey, Boo, we’d better turn ’round”, I told him as I stopped and backed the car up to some gravel. “Too risky to cross that, we’ll go home my love”.

Suddenly, today, I wept, couldn’t stop the tears, sobbed and gasped and pulled over to collect myself. Namaste’ was my reason for living for a very long time. His passing broke my soul.

I had taught a paraplegic woman years ago who rode a wonderful young gaited horse. Her soulmate dog was a large, elderly guy who had actually saved her life once when her wheelchair careened into an irrigation ditch. When her dog passed over, we spoke intimately about how she wished she could join him – her feelings of loss were so great. When Namate’ passed, I thought I would not survive without him. As I felt the eery sense of the past time with him in the rain on the road today, I realized that I had survived and I had been happy in the times that came, even though I had thought I would never smile again.

And the picture of my Mother in her wheelchair that flooded my mind softened… it certainly seems to her that she won’t be filled with joy again… that her body is worn out, her spirit tired. But, whatever her future holds, I know there is the possibility for her to have happy times. I know that I have done the best I can to help her. I know that I will see losses all through the rest of my life. And the lesson I’m learning is that we just keep ourselves going. We just look forward and look for love.

Music really affects me. I suspect that Sting song must have played when I was driving with Namaste’ years back. All my life I have found solace and inspiration and insight in music. A child of the ’60’s, my music is timeless, even though it can be strange and off putting to hear Led Zepplin played for a Cadillac ad… the words of songs that come to me while driving can have impact just as does the reading at Funky Karma that helps me integrate my feelings.

So, play more music! Dance in the pouring rain. Remember loved ones with sweetness rather than sorrow. I hear my spirit speak again and the ache in my neck lightens a bit. I have no idea where on the planet I may end up… I have no clue what I am supposed to do right now beyond rest! The habitual hyper-vigilence does not leave of its own will, I have to subdue it myself. What I want to tell everyone is this: draw power from what you love! Don’t tell yourself your dreams can wait (those who abandon their dreams will discourage yours). If you fall in love, you should want that person, not need them. You have to be your own strength. You have to prioritize your needs so you can be fully present for someone else.

Then, spend 10 minutes laughing. Love is drawn to laughter.

My Mother wrapped her big, bare arms around me and dragged me down the hall to the kitchen as blood poured, warm and sticky from my left arm. I was thirteen years old and my life had changed in an instant. I had fallen through a window and severed everything important at my wrist.

Mamma handed me a small towel. “Wrap it up”, she commanded as she fought her demons of fear and unconsciousness she knew would mean my death. I looked at my arm as I wrapped it, so deeply in shock I wasn’t even aware that I was seeing bones and mangled arteries. Instinctively, I held pressure by squeezing the wrist now wrapped in a dish towel.

That was 40+ years ago. I sit tonight by the window, a hot cup of tea in my right hand. The steam from it makes fog on the glass that gathers and runs down the pane just like the rain outside. We haven’t had any rain for so many months that the high desert was scorched and just ready to ignite. This water is welcomed. This night quenches the red earth, the now green trees and the itchy backs of my horses. They stand outside their shelters to celebrate. The Chaparral breathes the scent of the rain onto the wind. I squiggle my fingers on the glass, remembering, for some unknown reason, the day I fell through that window.

I got my first horse because of it. The accident, that is. After it was pretty certain that I was going to live. After transfusions, vomiting and aspirating during surgery (I had died and was revived) and seeing my tiny, pale, numb fingers sticking out from a cast – my Mother convinced my Father to buy me a horse. They had provided riding lessons all my short life. They had leased horses for me during summers. They had never promised me a horse of my own. So, it seemed that they were hoping this new promise of my own great beastie when I had healed would be the motivation to live and to heal. It was.

We had been living at my Grandfather Hodel’s estate in West Virginia. It was his home’s entry that had a large glass door with a huge glass panel on each side. “Don’t run toward the glass!” my Mother had always said… I ran around the lawns; galloping as if I were a horse, jumping bushes and the concrete edging of the driveway and the swimming pool. And I would jump (like a horse) onto the slate front landing, over the steps and “trot” to the front door; except for that one day.

My thoughts and my dreams were filled with horses. While most young girls found ponies adorable, I was drawn to wild Mustangs, dancing Lippizaners and giant Draft horses. I had a herd of at least 200 plastic horses. I ordered free samples of hoof dressing and fly repellent that I used on my tiny herd members, much to my Mother’s dismay as the oily substances rubbed off on the sofa (a desert mesa) or carpets (pastures). My personal “scent” was “ode de Equus”, it still is.

So, tonight I watch the last glow of sunset die and the dark wetness hug the land. I have fed the horses their fluffed up hay and bran mashes. I treat myself to the tea and some store bought  cookies.  My brother and I are taking care of our Mother. This must be the catalyst for so many memories these days. My Mother had congestive heart failure. She is doing well. It became my turn to help save her life. It became time for me to really understand how she must have felt when I fell through that glass.

I was healing pretty well back then. I remember sitting in the hospital and becoming terrified when my injured fingers started moving on their own. The nurses assured me this was a good thing. It meant that the tendons that had been reattached were trying to work. They also told me that the surgeons had had to retrieve those tendons from way up past by my elbow. This, I did not need to know. At night the hand would “burn”, a strange pain and cramping overtook it. I had no feeling actually in the hand or fingers, but pain was real and deep within them. It is hard to explain. But, the idea of riding again; of riding my own horse was all the motivation I needed to decide to heal and just make that hand work again!

My first horse was a Morgan gelding –  a breed known for its unusual strength and small size. His name was “Mink” and he had come from the Travelers (Gypsies) in Princeton who could heal horses with plants and magic. I had spent the summer after the cast was removed from my arm in the pool doing “therapy” that I hoped would strengthen the shriveled, pale thing that used to be my left hand. As the use of the hand improved, I started riding again. Mink realized I had little strength and almost no feeling in that hand, so he would run away with me, always on a big circle to the right. I would stay on. He didn’t buck or try to throw me. He just ran when he wanted to and I couldn’t shut him down. But, he was my very own horse! I adored him. I persevered.

if your intentions are honorable!

Approach a horse in a state of anger and watch him get away as soon as he can. Approach the same horse with admiration and a calm demeanor and see him ask for attention.

We have physical “body language” we use – we can be taught ways in which to influence horses as if we ourselves are horses, mimicking equine behavior and signalling (I wonder what they truly think about it). And we have, just by innate nature, the effect of communication by human posture and attitude. Horses are wise. They figure us out!

I personally believe in talking to horses. I tell them where I am when I’m mucking or approaching them because I do not wish to surprise them (horses don’t like surprises).

I believe in explaining things verbally and having a set of consistent words and phrases that connect me with my horses. Many a student says, “come on” to a horse when they mean “walk”, “trot”, “turn”, “move over”, “back up”, etc. Horses are smart – use the words for what you mean – “Come on” isn’t very clear to humans either!

And the horses that I teach on listen carefully to the instructions I give to a rider – sometimes my horses misinterpret things when I’ve been simply discussing the mechanics of the canter and will do a lovely depart just from a shifted sitting bone.

There are three ways that we, as riders, learn our horsemanship.

We must have THEORY. We find it in the books and articles from masters of old and in the writings of modern horsemen and women. With theory, we can visualize and conceptualize the principles we work to master as riders. Theory is all about the thinking mind and its connection to the ideals that resonate with one’s own ethics and relationship with horses.

We must have DIRECTION. We need the “eyes on the ground” from an instructor, clinician and/or judge to bring the dynamic perspective of observation – even mirrors in the arena or video taping of our rides can provide the practical means to find positive direction.

And we need PRACTICE. The riding itself, allowing the horse to be our supreme teacher, is an ongoing requirement for progress.

Without practice, theory has no innate value. Without theory and direction, our practice can run off the rails of balanced, connected communication. The combination of these valuable aspects will keep us in rapport with our horses and help us avoid confusion.