Building The Curriculum

I rode out on Saxony for another three hours today. We crossed the bridge of terror again, but we also crossed other kinds of bridges. We did more road riding, going two miles to the barn where Scout boards. We encountered yard dogs, glittering debris in ditches, other horses, oddly-shaped mailboxes, people on bikes, people using leaf blowers, trucks hauling tarp-covered trailers, and who knows what else. Every now and then, Saxony was looky, nothing more. She's not a spooky mare. I'm a spooky rider.

You make the strides you can make. I drove to Sax's barn determined to meet K riding out on my own instead of waiting for her to come hold my hand. I was hamster-wheeling it in my head during the drive and arrived at the barn dry-mouthed. That's what I can do with my anxiety: let it get just too real in its effects even as I know it's unreal in its discourse. I took half a Valium to turn the dial down on myself half a notch. It's strange how a choice like that can convince me - which is why no doctor should ever waste real meds on me. The sugar pill will always work. Still, if I'd had five minutes more to groom and tack Saxony, I might have chickened out and waited for K. Instead, my focus drifted to taking just one chance. I didn't even take Saxony into the ring to warm up. We set off and met K as she left the road, turning north for our barn.

Saxony isn't herd bound, but she does look for the company of other horses. When we arrived at Scout's barn, we had to wait while K switched horses. Saxony called a few times when we were alone. Then, since four of us were going to ride together, she had to be introduced to the horses. I make the stakes too high on every new thing we do. I didn't know how she would behave, but I mostly managed to stay out of the way. Her neck was beautiful as she arched it during her nose-to-nose with Scout. All of that went fine.

Getting to the trail system was uneventful, but I didn't relax into it until we were in the woods. I had to remind myself to take deep breaths and look up. Despite myself, I recognize that Saxony is a good trail horse, she really is. Since this was only our second time out, I can't jump to conclusions, but it seems to me that she's content to bring up the rear. Where possible, I rode beside someone, but it was easy to fall back. 

Saxony doesn't understand lengthening of stride or change of tempo. Asked to quicken her walk, she steps into a jog or trot. And though she seems comfortable behind, it changes when horses in front of her move out. She wants to catch up and makes the decision on her own. That caused me to use the reins more strongly than I wanted, bailing out on my seat, but one thing at a time.

We did some trotting, which gave me a chance to feel how fast Saxony can be. Part of that is the difference in her build and breeding. Scout, a Quarter/Paint/Arab cross, is short-backed, compact and fat, but she's what I've been used to (sort of.) Saxony is a hand taller, longer through the back, and half Thoroughbred. She covers ground. It will take me a while to get used to that. On the other hand, I have a much better awareness of her movement than I have ever had with Scout. It's been a weakness of mine as a rider that I struggle to feel the proper diagonal or know which hind leg is swinging forward. I think riding Saxony will help me develop those skills.

Throughout the trail ride, I made a point of walking Saxony over downed branches, etc., wherever possible because she needs lots of work on picking up her feet. She saw something different in one log, though, and launched herself at it like it was a wide oxer, soaring high and wide in a major overjump. I flew up onto her neck, caught by surprise. I don't know why it didn't frighten me, but it absolutely didn't. Instead, I was delighted silly by the power of her body and the scope of her effort.

I am building the curriculum for us. It will be more of the same for me and Saxony. I need to bring her up into herself and she needs to bring me down into my body. I think we can do it; I think we have already begun.

Twin Peaks

Kate, over at A Year With Horses, wrote in her latest post about the mysterious and special powers of horses. Sometimes it seems thoughts are threads drifting and weaving in space, brushing against one person after another, like something is in the air. Because, watching the horses this afternoon, I discovered a new skill in Scout and came home wanting to write about her almost unique power.

Sometime soon, I want to write about Scout and Dar being in turnout together so I can think about how that has been going while I wait for the next step. Which is: when none of the mares are in heat, my two will join the other herd. D-day, I call it. Dar-don't-day. But for now, the horses are up to four hours of grass. Scout and Dar are getting along well, enjoying their private grazing in the outdoor riding arena. Yesterday I scrubbed out a water trough for them, leveled it in a corner of the arena, and filled it, bucket after bucket. Today I went up to the barn early to turn the horses out. I had a friend with me and a chance to just sit quietly for a while, talking and watching the horses on a beautiful afternoon.

Completely by accident, I discovered last week that both of my horses enjoy Tootsie Pops, so I brought two grape ones with me today.

Twin Peaks is a television series that is permanently enshrined in my little hall of life-changing, mind-deepening, glad-I-was-alive-to-see-it events. Among hundreds of memorable scenes in the show was one early in the series when a character named Audrey (a seemingly sullen, insolent, spoiled Daddy's girl) ate a cherry. Twin Peaks aired in the days before YouTube; otherwise, that scene would have been posted before the episode had even ended.

I unwrapped the Tootsie Pops, went to the fence, and called Dar and Scout over. Dar, all clumsy eagerness, crunched the candy cardboard stick and all. Scout hooked the Tootsie Pop in her mouth and stepped back from the fence. She worked her velvety lips for a few seconds, then stepped back to the rail and dropped the clean white stick into my hand. Just like Audrey, who put a cherry in her mouth, ate it, and then daintily handed back the cherry stem, tied in a perfect knot. Very different implications, but in terms of sheer scale, Scout's finesse was every bit as surprising, I think.

Something so small to see, so small to write about, but it's big how I love experiencing my horses at the life level, just as they are, how they intend to be. Even yesterday, I looked at them and thought, Horses. They're horses. So recognizable to me and yet so not like me. I never get over it.