Month: April 2024

When I was a little girl, maybe 9 or 10 years old, my Granny was visiting from Austin. At some point during her visit I used the last of the toilet paper roll and failed to put a fresh one on the holder. She reprimanded me for it, and being stubborn and full of hurt I ran off to pout. Later, we sat next to each other on the stairs and she gently told me that my Mom needed lots of help (my Dad was not often home) and that I really needed to act responsibly in order to help her out. Tearfully I nodded and cuddled into her. I had never been reprimanded by my Granny before, and that hurt more than anything else. But I never forgot the message. I do not know if I helped my Mom out more around the house but I have never again failed to sort out a new toilet paper roll on an empty holder.

These days I gaze at my nine-almost-ten year old daughter and I think about that message. I think about strawberries. I think about ipads and tablets and computers we never had in the eighties, and this entitled world we live in.

I never eat the strawberries. I buy them for her. I cut them up into pieces and serve them with yogurt (not sugar dumped on top like my own Mom used to do!). Sometimes she takes them out of the fridge and eats them without even washing them (egads!) She fails to put the dish in the sink. She doesn’t throw the carton away. She needs a lot of reminding to do these things. Sometimes I want to scream and throw my hands up in despair. Sometimes I want to cry because she no longer has her Granny that she adored to reprimand her and teach her life lessons. Sometimes I pick the dish up or throw away the carton for her, simply because it’s easier and I’m tired of yelling. I’m doing her a disservice when I do this, I know. But a Mom can only do so much.

These are the things I want her to remember:

Girl, take the trash out. If it’s full, remove it and put a fresh bag in. Kitchen, bathroom, your bedroom, whatever. You can do this.

For the love of Pete dry off before you exit the tub or shower. A wet floor is disgusting and this is not a hotel.

Please please please take your underwear out of your pants. Will you still be doing this when you’re 22? Please God, help her see the light.

Hang up your wet towel (we are making progress on this one!). I paid a lot of money for these carpets and someday you’ll stand on your own brand new carpet and silently (or not so silently) scream at your own children (and perhaps your husband) to HANG UP YOUR TOWEL. It physically hurts to see it on the floor.

Don’t leave trash in your room. Especially on your bed. Take pride in your surroundings. Someday you’ll be old enough to drive and if your car stinks like take out and looks like a dump no one will want to go anywhere with you. If your first apartment mimics your filthy car I promise you I will not come over to clean it. Or buy you nice things. In fact I will probably stuff the TV remote down the couch cushions and leave crumbs in the guest bed, my towel on the floor and an empty popsicle box in the freezer.

When you are older… please learn to make a bed. When you stay at someone’s house they will expect you to leave the room you stayed in tidy. Again, it’s not a hotel.

Because of this technological age we live in, she is both less mature and more worldly than I was at this age. I was naive and sheltered, protected by my nuclear family in an Army-based world. She can work a computer and a phone better than I can. She can connect online with her friends to play games. She can create a masterpiece in Minecraft. She has lived in the same place all her life and never had to start over in a new town, with new people. She has an older sister and a nephew. I had a brother who tortured me and made me tough. She’s had ponies that have made her tougher.

I would have thought I’d died and gone to heaven if I got to help out at a real life stable every day. She’d rather play Star Stable on the computer than muck stalls. This isn’t to say that she doesn’t run around feral much of the time, outside with no shoes on and climbing fences and digging in the dirt. I had those experiences, too. She is lucky that way. She can drive a golf cart and feed the horses. She can scrub a water trough. In a way she has more responsibilities than I ever did.

I’m not sure she’s ready to read this post. But I’m going to give it to her anyway. Maybe the words will sink in. Maybe she’ll see that I die for her every time she says she misses Grandpa. Maybe she’ll understand more that helping around the house is so important, because I never eat the strawberries.

Recently I have twice been made aware of my inadequacies as an instructor. It wasn’t intentional. And I believe that neither person really believes me to be inadequate. I took the term onto myself, based on what I heard from them. In all my twenty five years of teaching, it never occurred to me what I am lacking.

Both are fellow trainers, riders, and coaches. One has a current lesson program and the other does clinics. Both are wonderful people and friends. But I heard what they said. And I took it to heart, however unintentional it was.

I am a hunter jumper trainer. I am best suited to beginner riders. I love the up/downers just learning to post, the ones learning to canter and navigate a course successfully. Once you master being able to jump a 2’6″-3 course technically correctly and successfully then I am not going to be the trainer to take you beyond that height. I am ok with that. I am more than ok with it. I love the littles, even the adult beginners make me smile with their worries and their joy in the small advancements. Don’t send me an adult that knows their way around a 3′ course. They ask too many questions, have too many fears or too much confidence, and are too high maintenance for me.

I am a certified Level III American Riding Instructor’s Association instructor. I am a graduate pony club student, and I am a student of horsemanship and safety. I am NOT, however, a prior student, rider, or worker of anyone famous, anyone that has shown on the East or West coast, anyone who has jumped in a Grand Prix, or had laborers to make their horses fancy. I was not taught a lot of lateral work or fancy dressage moves. In fact I did not study dressage at all. I did not go to a college dedicated to horse or riding related education. I studied business at Texas A&M University. But when I was 14 I was trusted enough to teach the littles that my own instructors didn’t want to bother with. When I was in college I was hired to teach a show jumper’s small daughter. After college, after six years in the medical event planning world, I was hired to teach beginners at a local stable. I dropped everything and signed up. I found my calling. And I’ve never looked back.

The instructors I learned from in my childhood shaped me in so many positive ways. I learned how to be self-sufficient because my Mom sat in the car during my lessons. Or dropped me off to go with my trainers to shows. I was taught by two of the best people I’ve ever known – a husband and wife team – that taught me how to be and also how NOT to be. I watched other trainers scream and yell and get angry. Mine never did. I watched other riders get frustrated and smack their horses and pull on the reins hard. I was schooled in compassion and empathy instead. I learned how to bathe my own horse, how to wrap his legs, how to clip, how to clean his stall to perfection. I learned never to panic, even when a horse was still wearing a blanket on an 80 degree afternoon. Just go quietly remove it yourself, no hysteria needed. I learned to guide and grow and get on again. I learned to ride when it was 110 or 32 degrees, that drinking water came from the hose and that sweat and dirt made me happy.

I learned that the barn was my happy place. I learned that I wanted to make my own barn a happy place for kids and adults alike. That I wanted my horses to be horses, happy and content and internally always smiling out in their large paddocks with their sheds, grass and a friend.

I learned that presentation matters but not at any cost. I watched other riders with their shiny stirrups and vowed to make mine even shinier. I saw other pony girls show in dirty, torn jodphurs and was appalled. I watched grooms clean muzzles and hooves and boots and copied what they did. I learned that the horse ALWAYS comes first, something my own daughter is still struggling to learn in this entitled world we live in. I learned to wash and condition and brush a tail until it shined.

I learned that I was CAPABLE. From these two trainers, I learned to be kind, patient and compassionate. I learned that HARD CORE and HARD WORK ETHIC are not always the same thing. That disappointment hurts, that dedication and determination are built with time. I learned that safety matters, to get off a crazy horse, your pride isn’t worth the risk. To always wear a helmet because anything can happen. That pride comes in the form of progress and persistence, education and exhaustion from a job well done, not necessarily in ribbons won.

These things are what I teach my own students. I didn’t need to train under someone famous, in an environment I would never have been comfortable in. I didn’t need to leave home, change my address or test my ethics.

One of the most important things I learned is that you don’t have to be wealthy to enjoy this sport. My trainers weren’t wealthy but they were comfortable. They had a house with a lovely barn and yard. Eventually they bought an RV. They were happy and still are. They never had a groom that I know of. As a daughter of a military veteran, we did not have tons of money flowing in either. But my parents did everything they could to encourage my riding. I went to maybe four or five local shows a year. I did not win any major year end awards. I had a medium pony that was diagnosed with navicular disease. I leased two other ponies. Eventually my parents were able to buy me a $1500 thoroughbred off the track that my trainers said was perfect for me, and who would only go backwards at first. I had that horse until he died at 28.

I learned that I wanted to create a barn free of drama, free of high maintenance people. I wanted a safe haven for horses and people alike. I want barn rats, and smiles and friendships. I wanted the love of the horse to be what binds us all together. I wanted the families that would not normally be able to afford this sport. I wanted to teach beginners and intermediate riders everything my own trainers taught me. I now have a house. And a barn and a lovely yard. My husband and I do all the work ourselves. I do not yet have an RV. But I am happy. And so are my students and horses.