Tom's Barefoot Horse Account, Part Two

Part Two of Going Barefoot by Tom Muller


The horses’ hooves were trimmed regularly, usually every three to four weeks, depending on foot condition and growth. Tools in use were just a good knife, a rasp and an S-shaped finer rasp to contour the hooves edges. The wall was rasped down over the whole surface in a first step. As this was done quite often (not a lot of hoof material was lost from walking actually), it was not necessary to take off too much, just a few millimetres in most cases.



Then the sole was cut with a very sharp hoof knife. Here less was more as well. If you took off too much the foot became too sensitive and you could see small haemorrhages in the sole, which could easily bring your horse down for a couple of weeks. As a general rule you could say that we cut about two millimetres below the level of the hoof wall, cutting deeper towards the frog. The frog itself was never cut, unless some parts were hanging loose.



As a last step the wall was slightly rounded with the S-shaped rasp, then the hooves were oiled. Oiling was imperative, especially during the dry season. Hooves would become very brittle and small parts of the wall could break out/off, in which case this part was rounded with a knife immediately. I had to trim a few horses’ feet that were so hard I had to put them overnight in an improvised water basin. I could not get any horn off the sole with my knife. During the rainy season all this changed to the opposite, when the horses were sloshing through water all the time.



Now I am no farrier, nor a hoof specialist, I was just an old fashioned horse trooper who had to keep his mount in perfect condition for service. When I had been promoted to officer there were a few things that I would check all the time on inspections and during operations. Weapons you never had a problem with, because they were the life insurance of each trooper, but so was his mount. Especially troopers who passed selection and joined the unit because of the reputation but not because of the love for horses, had to be looked after. Points that needed regular controlling were the horse’s feet and the back (including the saddle, blankets or pads and the girth/cincha).



I can only put down my experiences over the years and how we kept our mounts operational. A few points should be mentioned because to me, they seem very important. The type of horse used for this kind of barefoot “work” is imperative. You need a good working type horse, not too big with a naturally good hoof. The material in the horses paddock should consist of the same material it walks regularly. Now this might be difficult, but what I mean is the following: we operated on sand, so half the paddock was filled with sand; we operated on rocky ground, so we used these rocks to fill the other half of the paddock with this material. It was funny how some horsey and very knowledgeable people from all over the world would be surprised to see our horses rest in the rocky part, three legging it under one of the big Acacia trees.



Regular light trimming, rather than doing things the hard way every eight weeks was the key to success, at least in our case.



There are so many things I could still talk about, not just going barefoot, maybe if you people are interested, I’ll write some more about my horse experiences.





Tom, thank you for sharing. This is great. Informative, interesting, and inspiring. I for one would like to hear more. Friends and readers, please write me at LostTrailRanch@gmail.com if you’d like to send a comment to Tom, or if you too would like to read more.



Thanks again,

Gin

Barefoot horses, a fascinating first hand account

Hello friends and readers.

I’m not “back.” In fact, I never left. But that’s another story I have no intention of boring you with at this point. What brought me out of my hibernation was a story I wanted to share with you coming from a new friend in Germany. Tom Muller and his wife live in the German Alps with their horses, hounds and goats in what seems like a place as remote and beautiful as where my family and I are living. Funny how something so far away can seem so close…

Anyway, Tom wrote recently and briefly shared with me his personal experiences working with barefoot horses. I was fascinated – and hooked – and asked him if he wouldn’t mind writing his story to share with you. I believe many of you (Rio in BC for starters!) will find his story as interesting – and informative – as I did.

The first part of his story follows. Thank you, Tom, for sharing this with us! We look forward to reading more.

Going Barefoot, by Tom Muller

Also noted as the use of unshod horses by the former Mounted Anti Poaching Unit in Namibia.

The Mounted Anti Poaching Unit of the Department of Nature Conservation in former South-West-Africa used the horses mobility and bush savvy of both horse and trooper to combat Elephant and Rhino poaching in the North of the war torn country in the 1980’s. Traditionally mounted patrols were always conducted by the game rangers of the Etosha National Park, the former Chief Ranger being the commanding officer of the South African Defense Forces Mounted Infantry Unit. A special unit was formed to combat organized poaching.

The terrain the unit operated in was mainly flat Savanna, with mountains in the West. Sandy plains often covered with lots of small rocks reached to the steep mountains. The rainy season (summer) was very hot and humid with temperatures above the 40°C mark, while during the dry season (winter) daytime temperatures would climb to a pleasant 30°C while the nights could bring frost and temperatures well below 0°C. The altitude was well over 1000 meters above sea level.

The duration of horse patrols could vary from one to six weeks. The longest patrol lasted 12 weeks. MAPU did control areas with high concentrations of game, would conduct follow up operations, control local villages, gather intelligence and conduct combined operations with the Army and Police. Depending on the type of ops conducted, the horses would be on the move for 6 to 12 hours a day, with troopers mounted and leading their horses alternately. Weight was kept at a minimum. The trooper, with a maximum of 15-20 kg’s of equipment including rifle, ammunition, rations, radio, water and pellets for the horse. Modified McClellan saddles were used and found very satisfactory. Snaffle bits and no curb bits were used.

Now comes the most important part. The mounts! Remounts were bought at farms from the Otjiwarongo region. They were mainly Boer horses with a certain amount of Arab blood (the higher the better). They stood about 14 ½ to 15 hands high and were raised on farms with a lot of mountains and rocky ground. When between 4 and 8 years old they came to MAPU and were trained by the unit. Mares and stallions were bought alike, stallions were castrated by the units vet. Horses that were raised like that had certain advantages that were invaluable. They had bush savvy and knew how to deal with predators, poisonous snakes, and changing weather. They knew how to move and negotiate rough country and flooded rivers. They were tough, hardy and reliable. Most important, they did have very tough hooves adapted to the country they were working in. Black hooves were tougher than white hooves, although a fair amount of horses did have white hooves and never went lame. Two horses shared a paddock of half sand and rocks. Keeping them on the same ground they were supposed to work on, was one of the essential things to keep their hooves tough but not brittle. Big Acacia trees gave the necessary shade and shelter. Feed troughs were put on a concrete slab under one of the trees.

That concludes Part 1. We look forward to Tom sharing his next installment with us!

Thank you, Tom.

Please send comments to losttrailranch@gmail.com. All messages referring to this and related articles will be forwarded to Tom.

Moving onward and upward...

First foal of the season – born in lower ground.

Moving onward and upward…

Life is nothing if not an adventure, I once read.

I, for one, am ready for a new adventure! Perhaps, you ask, outfitting was not enough? Well, it was plenty fun. But my husband has done it for thirty years. He’s had enough. Do you blame him? He didn’t want to ride up the same trail one more time with a pack string and a line of riders following behind him, no matter how spectacular I still find that trail to be. Fair enough. What I find remarkable is his willingness to change, and in this case, it’s a mighty big change!

Horses, I remind him. I have to work with horses. And so, we will continue to do so. Just in a different location, and for a very different means...

On one hand here, we’ve become too comfortable. A bit of “been there, done that,” combined with years of building and setting up our home and ranch so nicely that now we feel a bit sinful living so well at such a young age (can I still call 43 young?).

On the other hand, it could never be comfortable enough. As in, I lost horses due to the altitude and soil bacterium. And not just any horse, like a good old horse that had a good long life. No, I lost foals. Foaling is the highlight of my year. How can I live where I can’t have foals?

And so we pack out bags, and our brand new (new to us, at least) horse trailer and head north!

North? Yes, way north! It’s cold up there, someone told me. Well guess what? It’s cold here in Colorado, if you live at 10,000 feet elevation! I understand where we’re going up there already has dry ground. Here we’re still tucked in under two feet of packed winter snow. Today didn’t even rise up to 30 degrees and the snow fell horizontally. So if you’re worried about our heading to a cold climate, well, I think we can handle the cold.

And so our adventures continue. In fact, I think they’re only just beginning. Every day is a new beginning, remember? We’re off to begin a great journey of which the horse will continue to be a part, or perhaps even a greater focus. Just you wait! Yes, I’m so very excited!

So much to do to make it happen. So much to learn once we begin. For now, no time to sit around and write about it. It’s time to begin it!

Leap and the net appears!

For now, I’m still weaving that net… but don’t be gone too long; I’ll be back soon to share the adventures with you.

Stay tuned for a link to our new site…

Mid winter thoughts on horsemanship

We find ourselves now in the deepest hour of winter, the farthest point from riding seasons, the one passed, the one anticipated.

Though thoughts of horses never cease. Likewise the care is a steady constant, despite the weather, the season, the schedule, the moods.

In this season, we are reminded that there is so much more to horses than riding. We see only an incomplete picture if we merely look at our horses and our horsemanship in terms of time riding. What we do on the ground matters – and I’m referring to much more than “groundwork” here. Or could we extend the term “groundwork” to include all interactions between horse and human? Perhaps in doing so, we learn to look at each simple interaction with new interest and value – each as an opportunity to discover and grow, for both horse and human.

Often it is through our littlest interactions that we both learn and teach the most. Think about it… what happens between us and our horse(s) during times of feeding, grooming, trimming, leading, handling, care of body and mind – both of which may need extra tending to during the slow and seemingly meaningless cold days of standing around waiting which winter often is. For us, in every interaction, there presents opportunities of gaining knowledge and growing through short and simple lessons of understanding horse behavior, subtle communication, body language, herd psychology, manners, boundaries, respect of human, love of human. Yes, I always seek this latter part as well. Love not because I have treats in my pocket (which I do not, nor do I consider the want of treats to be love) but because I am their fair but firm leader, caregiver, direction giver, provider. A gentle rub on their neck rewards them greater than a pocket full of goodies. At least, this is what I strive for…

Still, this is perhaps less a time of hands on learning as it is one of simple observation. The end result, if we are conscious and consistent, is of equal growth. Our minds must grow as our bodies do; skills of our mind must increase as do skills of our muscles. The two must balance each other. Once again, we strive for balance. How often that word is a part of our horsemanship language.

Last week, I received a note from my 10-year old niece, Alex, describing an opportunity she and her group of Girl Scouts recently had with horses. I had the honor of observing this young lady handle some of my horses almost a year ago, especially in helping me care for my broodmare, Tres, and her newborn, Artemis. I watched as Alex could with a most natural confidence and ease lead the mare through the snow with baby following close behind. I watched as my mare, who I have spent innumerable hours observing and understanding, followed Alex with lightness, interest and a respectful distance. Tres was soft, easy, observant and patient. An interesting combination of regard, sensativity and care.

Alex writes of her observation during her experience last week how the horses seemed comfortable with her: “I don't exactly know why. Maybe cuz I'm not afraid of them?? The world may never know.”

Many of us think we might know, and I suppose Alex does to a degree as well. First of all, because she’s right: she is not afraid. Second, because she also is not overwhelmingly bossy and aggressive. Only a fine balance of caring and confident. Something that at even at her young age comes quiet naturally to her, something that many are still struggling with. It is beautiful to see. The horses see it. They are not easily fooled.

I responded, “You know, I think with horses, they have a good ability to sense people. You can’t fake it with a horse. They see only what is real before them. And what they are most comfortable with in humans seems to be an interesting balance of confidence, understanding, and leadership (without any aggression or bossiness). They don’t need words like people, and they are not snuggly like puppies (though they can learn to tolerate this). They read body language, and seek being around a fair, strong, clear personality. They look for people they can be safe with, without being frightened, or feeling they have to be the leaders. Some humans are terribly wimpy, yes, perhaps because of fear, and that’s hard on a horse too. Horses are not aggressive. They prefer not to lead. You have that all quite naturally. For those of us who love horses, it’s beautiful to see.”

Alex shared this insight as well, which I thought many of us can well relate to: “Horses, to me, are kinda like detectors for emotions. When you're around them, they get scared if you are, or happy if you are.”

We will not become better horsemen simply by riding alone. Nor of course, would improve if we only did the thinking – growth requires a balance of both thinking and doing. Winter is the time for me to think: to observe, contemplate, and read and learn the theory, the theory I will then put into practice when the snow clears and I find dry dirt beneath the horses hooves. Many months away.

New Years Resolutions

The start of a new year allows us time and encouragement (read: an excuse) to reflect upon the accomplishments, both large and small, of the past year; and to consider goals, both simple and lofty, for the year ahead. On one hand, I look at making New Years Resolutions as a trite tradition. On the other hand, I find it a missed opportunity if I pass by the occasion to reflect and review, as well as the chance to revel in hopes and aspirations.

We begin to look at the year ahead with dreams of what we would like to work on, within ourselves, and with our horses. With each horse, each lesson, each goal, each accomplishment, we evolve into a better horseman. And in turn, don’t we then evolve into a better person? We could remain stationary. What we learned yesterday is good enough. My guess is, if you’re reading this, that’s not your feeling either. Instead, more often than not, most of us strive for improvement and progress. We are not the same today as we were yesterday. Each new day is an opportunity to develop.

This development is all the more important to us because our horsemanship skills can be viewed as a clear reflection of who we are as a person. I don’t know about you, but I like to look back and see how much I have progressed with my horsemanship. The story reads like a personal growth gauge. The lessons the horses teach us, the lessons we learn interacting with horses, go far deeper than what we do in the saddle.

I allow myself the time to look where I am with each horse, and what I hope to accomplish this coming year. A review session, just me and my memories and imaginings. With each horse, there is anticipation for advancement. The greatest advancement will be, of course, somewhere inside me. I set realistic goals for each horse, each task. I look at each horse, and each goal, as an opportunity for my own growth and learning. Horsemanship does not simply represent physical tasks, but mental accomplishments every step of the way. And something great and mysterious, too, on which my words can only shed a pale light. It is this, I believe, this deeper meaning and relationship, that draws us to work with horses in the first place, and keeps us here, keeps us hooked, keeps us longing.

I begin this year by making a list of each horse, of what I hope to teach him or her, of what I need to work on within myself. It is a long list. Included are words like “patience,” “leadership,” “communication skills,” “increased knowledge,” “refinement,” “lightness.”

Each lesson is for both me and the horse. Each will teach me as I teach him or her. Every lesson is valuable, though we often fail to appreciate the value at first. Sometimes what we set out to accomplish, of course, will be far from what we achieve. The process of the lesson dictates what we ultimately learn.


All these plans, these lofty goals… and yet this year, I am willing to let them all go for the one thing that really matters: my commitment to my mares and finding a good safe place for them to foal, even if temporary, and a new ranch from which to continue our life with horses. Anything less than that is a compromise I am no longer willing to make, a selfish act based on attachment to the past, fear of moving forward, and personal comfort considered without the well being of my horses. The losses have been too great here.

That, my friends, is all I will resolve for my New Years Resolutions. The big move. That is more drastic, more time consuming, more costly, than any other I had considered. And yet… we will pull through, my horses, my family and I. And along the way, I somehow believe that if I remain with an open mind and open heart, the lessons I learn could be greater than any I ever have learned before.

So in all your time dwelling and contemplating and brewing over the New Years Resolutions you may consider for you and your horse this year, please remember too the big picture – the well being of the horse. Ultimately, what could be more important? What improvements can you make for him or her or them? Is it possible that a better life for them would also mean a better life for you?

The changes need not be as extreme as they will be for me and mine, but perhaps one small change to make their life just a little better…

"Identification, please..."

Who are you, as a horse person?

A question I had not considered before, now weighs heavy upon me.

Showing a horse for sale a few weeks ago, the buyer turned to my son who was standing with his horse nearby and asked him, “What kind of riding do you do?” My son looked at her blankly, not understanding the question. He rides. Period. He rides for work. It is his job, something he has had to do, has been expected of him since he was old enough to handle a horse himself. Probably before. At times he loves it, other times I am certain he hates it, but it is a part of who is and what he does. How could he define that to a woman he saw figured a horse and human in terms of disciplines. As in, “I do dressage.” Or, “I endurance race.” Or, “I rope.”

Riding for work. It is different. Our kind of work, outfitting and odd jobs with our horses in the back country. One horse must do many things. Likewise, must the rider. It is harder to define, to classify. We trail ride, we pack, we guide, we horse camp, we train, we teach, we ride to maintain trails, to get to our job in the Wilderness where we then live and work even more closely with our horses. Some days this may require a few dressage moves as we work our string of horses over and around fallen trees and mud pits and washed out trails and swollen rivers. Other days this may require roping or cutting as a pack horse pulls back, snaps the pigging string, and thinks back home is a better place to be. Other days still we may have to endurance race as we lead in our horses in the early morning hours, saddle up ten head, deliver a group of riders and their gear on a drop camp deep into the high country, and do not return home until well past dark.

What kind of riding do we do? Some days it may require all of the above, a little of each. Other days, none. Like now, as all I am able to do is feed my equine friends and family, talk to them, brush them, their thick, heavy and shiny snow coats as they quietly enjoy the simple attention in the warmth of mid day.

What kind of riding do you do? I believe she was expecting the answer to be one specific discipline, one easy and safe label of identification which would allow her to have put her classification of his riding on a neat and tidy shelf where she could comfortably understand it.

We need such boundaries in our lives. It is comforting. Knowledge we can understand, place and fit into a pre painted picture. It is like this for everything in our lives, not just “what kind of rider we are” or “what we do for a living” but in defining “who we are.” We all need to know. The unknown is not a safe place to be.

I make my living with my horses. I read recently that now only 1% of horse owners do. For me, this has been an important part of my identification. Why? Right or wrong, it has been the chosen genre, manner of categorization, the shelf of understanding whereby I could properly place a desciption and definition of my horsemanship, and my self. It has been my safe place. It was easy to grasp and understand and even explain. It was comfortable.

With a large, upcoming move in our near future, it is time to reconsider, recreate. We begin to start anew. Opportunities are not handed to us. We make them. What will we create this one to be?

Somehow holding on to the identification of “someone who works with their horses” is fundamental to who I am. It has been a part of my self definition for only 15 years, but it is something deep and essential to me, who I am, what I am, what I love. For my son, it has been a defining part of his life since he was three. For my husband, his entire adult life he was an outfitter. Even more, far more, a part of his entire life has been based upon working with horses. It has defined him. I find it remarkable he is willing to try something new. He has learned what I am only beginning to learn: he is not defined by what he owns or by his job. He is not defined even by a place. He defines himself, regardless of the opinions and expectations of others.

Being an “outfitter” has been an easy title. Not easy work, but a safe title I could understand, I could use to define and explain myself so others could understand me. As I give this up, I wonder what I will next create. What title will be I be able to use to allow others an understanding of what I do, and far more deeply, who I am? I suppose that is why we do need titles: to give an explanation for something much deeper than our job, our work, our career. It is a matter of self definition.

I seek the next title, the next chapter. I am re-defining my self. I will be what I create, with my husband and son, and horses. Change. It is frightening, but exciting. It is inevitable. A new world unfolds. A new definition. A new self.

“Identification, please…” we are asked. Fill in the blank for job occupation. If not "outfitter" and "guest ranch owner," then what?

I smile as I begin to paint the new picture. I like what I see unfolding.

Baby, it's cold outside

Come inside, little horse.
If I ask him, he will go. He will follow.

My little stallion, Flying Crow. What I wanted to do here was lead him through the kitchen, over by the wood stove, and have him pose before the Christmas tree. It was going to be the perfect photo op for this year’s Christmas card. Warm and cozy for a change. Our winter pictures always seem so cold and snowy.

He would have, too. But his feet were snow packed, icy, wet and slick. And after his first step off the rug onto the wood floor, his foot slipped. He would have gone, and I would have been fool enough to risk hurting him because I really wanted this picture. So we stopped here. I led him no further. My boys smiled and rolled their eyes at my attempts.

I remember my responsibility. I am amazed how he trusts me now. I do not want to destroy his faith in me. Lose his confidence for a photo op? Not worth it. I will remember this too at other times in other seasons, as we run through the mountains, up the trails, through the open meadows and across the creeks. I have a responsibility to lead. I have earned his respect. I chose to keep it. There may be times I need to push him into danger, and I will go with him, we will go together. I will lead, he will follow, he will trust.

Sure would have been a cute photo, though…

Of course, I’m also amazed that my husband let me try. The things they put up with because of our love of horses…

One good horse

We all have heard such stories… stories of the one good horse, stories of that partner unlike any other. This was the horse that stuck by you through thick and thin; who brought you up to the winner’s circle, or safely down the steepest of slopes every time; who carried you home in the harshest of storms; who carried you farther along the trails and trials of life than any other; the one who led you where you never thought you could ride, or who you led away from his dam that very first time; or maybe the one who taught you to balance patience and kindness and softness and leadership. This was the one really special horse, the one in a million, at least for you; the one who stood by you, grew with you, allowed your weaknesses and forgave your faults, and loved you when at last you’d figure it all out just right.

I have not known that one good horse. In retrospection, I see parts of this “one horse” in all I have ridden, all I have intimately known and spent years working with. Or perhaps parts of me brought out, born and developed by each of these horses. In part, every horse has been, or has the opportunity to be, that one good horse for each of us. Perhaps, I wonder, it is up to each of us… What relationship do we choose to foster?

Berkley, who taught me a horse can be as much of a companion and personality as a human…
Apache, who taught me to race bareback and hold on tight around the curves in the road…
Jackson, who allowed to me ride into the herd, and sit back and let go as he’d cut out just the right one…
Ben, who showed me the way on the unknown trails and always knew just where to stop…
Tres, who allowed me to learn lightness, a new method, a new way, and a better life for all my horses…
Quattro, who loved to go and with a mutual trust would let him go, moving at his own rapid pace up the mountain in whatever direction I asked…
Flying Crow, who taught me to teach horses and teach myself in the language of the horse, with his infinite patience and kindness…

Yet with all these horses and more, with all these years living and working together, none have been “the one.” Yet. But all have been parts of the one great horse. And I feel very lucky for that.

Now, Tres is busy raising babies and managing the herd when I am not. Quattro is close to retirement. Crow, my dear little Crow, we have many years to work together still... Will he be the one? And will it really matter? We will both give all we can for each other. That is plenty to ask for. He will have plenty to teach me. He does most days. I suppose every horse does. As every person does, if I only take the time to listen.

So many have taught me so much and sill I have more to learn. Will I ever find one horse that is all these things for me? I think at times I cannot, for perhaps these lessons have already been taught, or new lessons are always right around the corner on every trail, in every stall in every barn. We move on, together or apart, to new lessons, new needs, new relationships, a new set of measures and emotions defining what makes that one good horse.

What about growing together? Yes… there is so much in that. What is it then? Ah… I believe they all are good. They all are so good, each and every one. It is not like choosing my husband. I am allowed many. How rich our lives are with horses!

I’m a late bloomer. It took me a while to find my husband. Perhaps it will take me longer to find that horse, that “one good horse.” A part of me believes, or maybe just hopes, that he is out there. The one. Just like with my husband and son. Another part of me believes it is like the people we meet, each one a special relationship, each one a unique individual with lessons to teach and stories to tell and a history and a future. Every relationship is what we make of it.

In every relationship, we have potential for awesome loves, lessons and partnerships. We keep our hearts open. The relationships I have now, the horses I have now, they are all together that “one” for me now. Who will be next? What lesson to I next need to learn?

It is different for each of us, as are all aspects of relationships. Goodness, however, that vague quality, remains the same within us all, within all horses, and throughout time. Although it is so hard to define, that is our measurement, our goal.

How do we know when we have that horse, that one "good" horse? How do we choose, or do they choose us? Will he come to us, or will we make him?

Perhaps we will make each other... good.

A personal story

I was not a horse kid. In fact, I barely knew what a horse was as a child. I couldn’t even convince my folks to get me a cat. Though I did catch mice from time to time and kept them in a fish tank with a screen over it. Mice can jump out.

As a youngster, I never saw a horse up close, never touched one, never smelled one. Don’t remember seeing a Western, and certainly never went to a horse show. Didn’t know anyone who rode, let anyone who actually owned a horse. The closest I got to a horse was the big gentle giants that pulled the fancy buggies around Central Park. We’d walk by them on the crowded city streets when we’d go down town to look at the Christmas lights, all bundled up and still cold in the damp winter air. I remember being little, holding a big person’s hand so I wouldn’t get lost in the push and crunch of the crowd, and trying to see those horses as they clip clopped past us on the frozen pavement. Peaceful dragons, with smoke billowing from their nostrils. They looked tired, but wise, and deep. I don’t know if that’s the right word for it, but that’s rather how I felt about them. Deep.

I grew up outside of, then inside of New York City. I never really fit in. As a kid, I was quiet and solitary. I’d play in the basement, alone with my Barbies or crayons or ballet. Alone down there, surrounded by cement and the Big Black Boiler which chugged and groaned and then suddenly let out a big clang every once in a while so I could never anticipate it coming and be prepared. Always a little spooky, but still safe and quiet and peaceful, because I was alone.

When I was 16, I remember jogging through a quiet section of the Park on the west side, lost in my own thoughts, unaware of my environment, just focusing on my breath and my rolling, rhythmic feet. Suddenly a beautiful and magical apparition appeared before me: a lovely fit woman clad in proper English attire atop a stunning horse with flowing tail, cantering down the soft trail. She passed me. I stopped. And I watched as she disappeared around the corner and into the trees.

I decided then and there that is what I had to do.

Clairmont Stables, I believe was the name of a real riding stable right there on the Upper West Side, just a couple of blocks from Central Park. By the time I was 17, I earned enough money that I could take lessons about once a month or so. In addition, I saved up enough to buy the right boots and hat and breeches so I wouldn’t look as silly as I felt around all those fancy ladies and the beautiful horses. I tried to be really inconspicuous, hoping to blend in with the wooden walls and sawdust as I had done in the cement of my basement.

I must have taken at least a couple of lessons. Funny, because I can’t remember them, can’t remember a teacher, can’t remember being inside the barn arena for very long, with all those people and horses and noises and smells. I just wanted to take the horse and go out and ride. And they let me.

I don’t know if they still do things like. I wouldn’t! But they did back then, 25 years ago. And it was, well, indescribable. I can’t really find the words to tell you how it felt to be a young woman, in the crisp and cold and early morning calm and soft that can be found in the still sleepy city; so strong and empowered riding her powerful steed across a couple quiet intersections and into the park, and then to run, to run, to run… I suppose most of you know. Most of you already knew. For me it was new. And it was wild and free.

I couldn’t afford to go very often. But I remember when I could, I’d be on the subway so early in the morning, long before the rush hour crowds, dressed in my proper English boots and pants, with my helmet under one arm, holding on to the overhead handle for balance with my other hand. And I would feel so proud. Oh… if they only knew where I was going, what I was doing… they wouldn’t look oddly at this skinny little girl!

Life takes us on our twisted and tangled journeys, and sometimes we have to just go along with whichever direction we find ourselves caught in the current. Other times, we find a goal, perhaps a vision, a direction so strong that we have to do whatever we can to follow that dream. Working and living with horses was that dream for me. It was so strong, so driving, I knew it was right.

I have been lucky at times and struggling more often, but managed to create a life with horses. I live far off in the mountains with my little family of two leggeds, and larger family of four leggeds. It is a wonderful journey every day working and living together, and has been an interesting journey to get here.

I have been lucky at times, finding mentors and opportunities and open doors. Other times, most times, I have worked very hard, staying up late studying and waking extra early in attempt to make the grade. But I have made it work. I have been able to live and work with my horses. I’m not a famous clinician, or big name trainer, or popular riding instructor. I’m just an outfitter. I ride in the mountains for a living. I don’t make much money, but I am so rich inside: I live the life my guests pay to participate in for just a few days, or even a few hours. I feel blessed every time I am out there on top of a mountain on one of these magnificent creatures, and sharing it with my husband, my son, or even with a group of friends or strangers who have hired me to safely guide them.

That twisted and tangled road is still continuing. I’m only half way there, wherever “there” is meant to be. I only know it is with the horse. Our outfitting business is dying. Folks just don’t come to ride in the back country this far away from “civilization” very often any more. My in-laws have been feuding and have divided the ranch. We no longer have the land to graze all my four leggeds. It is time to move on, time to get in the saddle and hit the high trail, to see where it leads. I will follow.

And with my horses, my husband and son and I are going to move on together to build a new life, a new little world. I don’t know where, or when, or what I’ll do. But I know somehow it will be living and working with my horses. I have committed to them. I have committed to this goal. I believe it is right, somehow, yet so frightening too.

I try to be as brave as I was back when I was 17, when I bought my own proper gear and walked into a stable and a world I had never been a part of before. At times I look for the walls to hide along side of, but most of the time, I step up in the saddle and remember I need no walls. I ride, we run, we are free and strong and safe together. Where ever we may ride to. That is where I am meant to be.

Written by Gin Getz, originally posted on the site: Enlightened Horsemanship though Touch

Running like the wind... unintentionally.

After a summer of regular use, trail riding, simply walking on the trails, even for hundreds of miles over the summer season, even in this high elevation and challenging terrain, is not enough for some horses. However, just walking along the trails is the primary part of my horses’ job. Be it taking guests on a trail ride, packing in a drop camp to the back country, or bringing the three of us into the Wilderness for our Ditch Digging Job. Our horses spend a lot of time… walking.

But for my little Arabian stud horse, simply walking did not seem to be enough. To begin with, I could never get him to sweat. A sure sign walking just wasn’t doing it. No matter where or how far or how long we walked, it was not big deal for him. Ho-hum. What next, Ma? And although I’m a reasonably small woman, he still seemed so little. So thin, so frail!

I suppose if I rode him only, put on more miles, or if days were only longer. However, I lack the time or the opportunity… Too much else to do. Sound familiar? We never do find enough time, do we? I suppose that’s why they invented exercise machines. But I just can’t get myself to go there when I live here: high in the mountains surrounded by unlimited miles of awesome horse trails.

Whereas my Quarter Horse is all beefed up from a summer of equal use, this little fellow needs more. So, in a final attempt to buff up my little stud, we’ve taken to measuring out a special supplemental diet. And running.

Figured it would be more work out in less time. And if you’ve ever tried running yourself at 10,000 feet plus, you’ll understand why I thought this could get him in shape.

We’re a mere 20 days into the new regime. Guess it is working. He’s still pretty little and skinny, if you ask me. But he’s getting stronger every day. All this running and extra calories are paying off. So, now I’m left wondering if this was such a good idea after all.

See, last time we were out there, doing great. Obviously we can’t run the whole way. Steep mountains. You’re supposed to be smart. So, we’re out there, yes, walking, but covering some fantastic terrain, up and down slopes where he had to practically slide down on his rump and I got to pretend I was the Woman from Snowy River. And then we hit this wide open park. Wide open but filled with frightening obstacles like snow and mud and puddles and brush and rocks and sudden holes in the ground and drops offs in the seeming smooth terrain… And I ask him to run.

I suppose he really thought he should give this one his all. So he gave it to me.

Part of my job is helping riders feel secure on the trail. “If you horse ever takes off or feels in any way out of control, it’s real easy: just pull on one rein and turn the horse to the side, tight and quick.” I say that all the time, all summer long, and have for plenty of years. It’s always worked. For me, and for them.

Well, tell you what, it didn’t work on this day. Try as I might to pull that horse’s head to the side to come to a stop, not to mention just a bit of control, it didn’t work. He didn’t feel it. Perhaps he forgot I was there. On a technical level here, folks, I was riding in a “loping hackamore.” No bit. Nothing more than a soft nose piece and cotton reins. Just a little more than the halter I trained this boy with. A tool that fools a horse into believing you actually have control, when what you really have is a well mannered horse. I always figured that was enough. On this particular day, at this particular instance it was not. I swear he didn’t feel it at all.

For what seemed like a looooong time, but was probably just a matter of minutes, that skinny little boy ran around that mountainside with me firm on his back, eyes tearing from the wind, one arm pulling desperately on the rein and the other above my head, trying to prevent my hat from flying back, mighty glad for a good seat and outstanding footing from this little barefooted fellow. I was thinking how crazy we must have looked if some tourist was up on the mountain looking down at us running full speed ahead in some random track about this hillside.

Funny, when we’re at a walk, he often stumbles. At a full out gallop, he was smooth as silk. Lightening reflexes. I remember seeing puddles and snow piles and gofer holes and ravines all flying into vision and thinking, “oh boy, this is it…” but he’d manage to swerve around or over or through, just in the nick of time. Impressive.

When I finally did resume control and managed to get his head around and his feet stopped, he was calm and relaxed. Instantly over it. Over whatever got into him where when I asked him to run, he did, thank you, but… he forgot what the word “stop” meant. He wanted to run. There was no fear motivating him, nothing spooked him, nothing wrong. I think he did it because it felt good. Isn’t that what I wanted? Isn’t that what I asked for? He’s an Arab. He wanted to fly!

I never had a horse take off on me like this, and I can’t say I’m very comfortable with it. I was, for a matter of minutes, out of control. And yes, as a horse rider and trainer, we say it’s all about control.

I’d say I’m too old for this. But truth is, it was exhilarating. But foolish, I know. My rule of thumb: never ride a horse over whom you have no control. Well, I’ve got some, but I saw my weakness. We were lacking in a few control issues. Communication issues, perhaps. We’re back in school to polish up these aspects. Ground work. In cases like this, we hope ground work really is the basis for a solid foundation.

The snow and deepening mud postponed our running for the past few days. I think the trails may be dry enough soon. I will find no further excuse.

And yes, he’s named Flying Crow for a good reason. Careful what you name your horse.

Not quite fox hunting, but the closest I've come.

So we’re out there riding, my husband and I, no guests, no packs, nothing to slow us down, and so we run. It’s the end of the season; we let loose. Across the open meadow we urge our horses onward, upwards towards the trees, over uneven ground of flat rocks and drainages and sudden shift and hollows in the ground beneath us. I am watching the terrain ahead, trying to help guide my stallion through this wild obstacle course. Silly me; he does not need my help. His vision is lightening quick, senses alight. All he needs is my balanced seat as he maneuvers across the open hillside full speed ahead.

Suddenly I hear my husband calling. “Up to the right,” he is saying. With wind in my eyes I manage a glimpse and see the big bull elk and the following harem, mothers and young ones and another bull behind them, skirting along the tree line in the direction we are heading.

I pull up the stallion to a halt as the elk cross before us at a deliberate but unhurried run, leaving but not panicked. They tend to smell the horses before the humans. The threat is minimized. It’s the middle of the afternoon and not even hunting season. I swear the elk know.

But now my stallion smells them, sees them, and there are more of them than I thought. I group of cow elk that were bedded in the willows just to our left slowly raise and trot off to join the retreating band.

My steed snorts, with each breath a powerful exhale. His tail is raise, neck swollen and arched, shoulders trembling beneath me as he watches these animals move out before him. Why? What is he thinking? We have run up on elk before; he sees them, smells them, spooks them off quite regularly. But this time it is different. That is what he tells me, what he believes, and he remains an alert fiery ball beneath me. I wonder if he will explode.

We stand and watch as the herd disappears silently into the woods from where they came, leaving one with a question of the existence of the vision. But it was there, and the stud still smells them.

He does not explode, but steps into a quick walk as we turn and return down the mountain. The fox hunt has ended. We treed the wily critters!

Why we love horses

Why do we love horses?
There is something wild and free.
They stir us like the wind.
We let down our hair
Untamed

Stripped of prim and fussy ways.
They touch us silently and mysteriously within.
Stir up these unsettled emotions
Or settle us down deep in our soul.

Ground us like the soil we walk together upon.
At times disturbing, racing, dancing, moving forward in a windswept blur.
Other times soothing, peaceful, warm and earthy.
Soft hair against our cheek
Their musky scent in our nose
An enchanting impression deep in our heart.
They allow us to let go
Then offer to take us there.

Trying to be brave

Truth is, I was scared. But I had a job to do. So in the middle of the snowstorm, I saddled up my little stud horse and headed up the mountain, just the two of us, to check on a fellow outfitters camp in the high country. Four hours later, after a lot of slipping and sliding up to nearly tree line and back, my horse and I returned safe and sound, and truly exhilarated in a way, as I chatted on and on to my husband who came to meet me and help unsaddle my sweaty steed.

Sure, I have ridden alone before. And yes, I’ve ridden in the snow and mud before. And of course, I rode this little stud before. But the combination of the three together was, I considered, more than we could handle. No, I suppose I believed we could. The more I contemplated, the more I understood we both were ready; we both needed the challenge, could handle the task at hand. Probably. So why did I have this terrible stomach ache as I started to get my snow pants and down jacket on and ready for the ride?

I was trying to be brave. All I felt was scared.

Reaching beyond, extending oneself. Stepping outside ones comfort zone. For some, these things come easy. For me, they are labored and worked on, considered from all angles, and stressed about indefinitely until the knot in my stomach can no longer be ignored.

Only by doing it will I feel better.

And so, I push myself, and have learned (or at least, am learning) not to put these things off. Only through facing my fears can I overcome them. No matter how hard I have tried, and I’ve tried pretty hard, they won’t go away on their own.

A roller coaster ride, life and riding both, aren’t they? This year has been a good one for overcoming many fears with my riding and horses. And I suppose, building those fears took years as well. From the ground up, so to say. Starting with my first time being completely bucked and then bucked off again, clear out of the saddle and onto the ground. This shattered the safety I felt on a horses back. I had ridden for years and never been hurt. Ignorance was bliss, you know? I had this false idyllic bubble about me, fragile without knowing, just ready to burst with the slightest poke. And when it burst, it left me not only on the ground and in the dirt, but questioning, always wondering if it would happen again, what else could go wrong, what if, why???

It broke my trust of my “partners.” I have finally regained this trust. I no longer assume a horse would never buck me off, but I have learned to read them better, and ride even better as well. I have learned my fallibility and my faults. This does not mean we can overcome all our shortcomings and be strong, ready and prepared for every horse “incident.” But is does increase our ability to handle what may arise as we work with our horses. And since I do just that, work with them, I did not have the luxury, the excuse of waiting until I felt more comfortable. At least not all the time, though plenty of times, yes. Just ask my husband, who had to ride the rank horses time and time again first before I’d get on.

And so by having to push myself to step up to bat (or into the saddle in my case), I also learned that the best way for me to overcome my fears was to face them. A little bit of “Get over it.” A touch of “Just do it.” And a healthy dose of “Cowgirl up, sister. It’s time to ride.”

Obstacles along the trail

I learned the hard way about solo horse packing. However, the best thing I learned was that it’s really not so hard.

The biggest obstacle is, of course, fear.

Fear of runaways. What if my horses leave me, run for home, and I get stranded out miles from a road on a trail I probably won’t see anyone on for a day or so? What I found out was that after the first night of being tied up next to my tent and being let out to graze at first light, just the two of them quietly eating next to me sitting on a log with my hot coffee in hand, was that only through trials and traumas like this do we really bond. My horses were there with me, in body and mind. Perhaps it was survival. They were going to stick with me. By the second night, in a new camp, I allowed one to graze untethered. When he became frightened, he ran back to me. I learned to trust them. They were trusting me.

Fear of bears. Probably the most common question folks ask. And truth be known, I slept with a weapon by my sleeping bag, just because of the fears others have instilled in me with these questions. Around these parts, a loud noise (and I can be loud) is enough to scare a bear away. I have done that. I have lived in bear country for years, know how rare they choose a human confrontation, and have even chased a bear away by myself. I should know better than to be afraid of wildlife. Respectful and understanding, yes. Paranoid, no thank you.

Fear of being lonely or bored. Well, I’m a solitary sort. I don’t know if I’ve been bored for more than a fleeting moment in my entire adult life. And loneliness is a state of mind. Alone need not be lonely. I had a loving husband and son back home. That is a security blanket to wrap around any time loneliness may poke its ugly face in the “alone” picture. In the meanwhile, I cherish time alone. And besides: when you’re with horses, you are never alone.

Fear of getting lost. Perhaps this could be a true fear if I was in unknown territory. But I had been on this trail twice in my life. It was not entirely new. More important, I know these mountains well enough from years of working and exploring with my boys. And most important, after spending enough time off the beaten trail with my husband and son, I’ve learned enough about survival that “lost” I suppose is a “more or less” deal, kind of like alone/loneliness. Taking an alternate or indirect route might be a better way to call it. But lost? By now I better be able to find my way around. I suppose this is where preparation, planning, and experience come in. Believe me, I’m not trying to brag here. My experience is still minimal compared to many. But I was not heading out unprepared. I knew what I was doing, and where I was going. More or less.

Fear of people. The stereotypical back country crazy man? My fear of people is tested enough back home with my neighbors. On the trail, however, folks are pretty awesome and friendly. As a rule, I stop and talk to everyone I see. There are some neat folks out there. I try to be “an ambassador for the sport” at each opportunity which arises. I think we all should be. However, the opportunity didn’t arise much. I ran into one man on a motorbike on the first day, and a couple backpacking on the third day. They were, as I expected, great encounters.

Now, what did turn out to be the hardest part above and beyond the fear in my own mind was the physical work. Doing the work that I am used to sharing with three: me, my husband, and our son. Going alone in this respect was HARD. Setting up and breaking down camp, lifting the load on the pack horse, lashing down the load alone, preparing meals and cleaning, gathering water... Riding was easy. This other stuff was hard. I learned a few tricks, and a few things I’d do different next time. First, I want a small pack horse! My days of lifting a fully loaded pannier onto a 15.2 hand horse are OVER. Well, truly, I don’t think I could ever lift 60 pounds alone that high. So, I have these fantasies of a couple of little horses or mules… no more than 13 hands high. In the meanwhile, I learned I could load just a fraction of the panniers first. Then lift that small load on the pack saddle. And then stuff the rest of my load into the panniers in place on the saddle, standing on my tippie toes, or on a stump or rock if available. I didn’t bring a scale, but weighed my contents before leaving the ranch, and kept track of what went in each pannier. I actually kept a list, and this worked well for repacking evenly each time.

Setting up and breaking down camp, including pitching tent, stringing up a tarp, gathering fire wood and water, covering the saddles and gear, etc. took one hour in the evening and one hour in the morning. I reckon next time I’d try an easier tent. Simplify! But I don’t know how to save much time there… except share the work load!

And tending the horses takes about a total of ½ hour in the evening and ½ hour in the morning. I wouldn’t skimp on their care. As they’d graze in the evening, I’d brush them out and double check for any wounds or sores (of which there were none). My one mistake here was that I didn’t pack them any treats. There is plenty of good high mountain grass out there; they did not go hungry. But the extra treat also represents extra care and loving, and my horses would have appreciated that. Goodness knows they deserved it.

See? It was not so hard, and will be even easier… next time!

Going alone

I don’t know why I did it, except for some ceaseless, burning voice inside me, whispering, almost nagging like the wind that I had to go.

In part, I did it for myself. In part for my son. In part for my husband. And a part for anyone else who might be intrigued or inspired by what some middle aged woman born in Jersey might do after living in the wide open wild mountains this long.

It was not a big deal, not a long trip. I planned on four days and three nights. I completed it in three days, two nights. And during that short time, I accomplished all I set out to do. I had all the adventure I set out to find. I achieved all the goals I made for myself. And by returning early, showed my husband and son how important they are to me. Brownie points.

It was certainly not about getting away from them. It was just about proving I could do it myself. All by myself. Something I used to always feel I could do before I got married (that was later in life – I was 35). Something I used to feel before my “little boy” surpassed me in height. Now six feet tall and still growing, I surprise myself to hear how often I ask him to help; how regularly I leave the hard, high, heavy work for him to handle; how much I turn to him now when chances are, I could do it myself.

And then there is the issue of proving oneself. To oneself, to ones family. Not so much to prove strength, ability, independence. No, it is far more than that. More important, I feel, was that I wanted to prove to my son that with proper preparation combined with confidence in ones self, a hunger for adventure, and a trust in faith, in whatever direction ones faith may follow… that one can do anything. We can go anywhere. We can be anything we want. Even some crazy woman’s version of Jeremiah Johnson, just for a few days.

My faith is in my horses. My mountain. My boys. My self, including body and mind strong enough to get me through alone. Mother Earth and her wilds, her wildlife. This is my temple. And so, in a way, I set off to a sanctuary, both within and around me.

It was just a pack trip, a solitary journey covering 40 miles in the mountains we call our Big Back Yard. A distance my boys could cover within hours on motor bike or snowmobile (if allowed into the Wilderness…). A horseshoe shaped path around our ranch. Just me, my riding horse, and my pack horse.

No big deal, I suppose. Yet I feel bigger for it. I feel as if I climbed my own Everest. That’s nothing I’ve wanted to do, but this, a solitary pack trip, was. And I did it.

I tell my husband we can not wait for change. We have to create it. If it comes unannounced, we learn to ride the waves. But in the meanwhile, instead of sitting back on the shore and waiting for the big one, we can dive in and enjoy. Change is all around us, with every ebb and flow. It is what helps us see the magnificence in the sun rise, the beauty in the evening light, the joy in every day, as every day is new, and we too are as new as the hour. If we let ourselves. If we remind ourselves. And sometimes, if we challenge ourselves.

Horse Power!

This one is long… but if you have time and any interest in digging, dragging, pulling and plowing with the power of the horse, please take a look at the article I wrote entitled Horse Power at Homestead.org.

If anyone’s been wondering what we do in the high country during the summer season, this will share a little bit of the job with you. There’s more to horses than riding! (and shoveling manure…)

Natural Hoof Care and the Barefoot Horse

I’ve never been one for medicines and doctor visits, for myself, my son, or my horses. I have this underlying trust in beings that for the most part we are strong, healthy and have what it takes to remain so. Yes, I do know this is not always the case; life always keeps us on our toes, perhaps so we take nothing for granted, can appreciate the goodness of nature when things do go according to plan, and become stronger by handling the challenges life throws at us when things do not. The ability to turn to modern medicine has been a blessing, in fact enabled me to still be alive today, but not one I take lightly, or expect to rely on with every given ailment.

That said, you can see I tend to prefer more natural approaches to health and care of self, family, pets and animals. All the way down to their feet. I’m talking about, of course, natural hoof care for horses, or keeping horses in their natural state of being barefoot, without steel nailed onto and through the hoof wall.

The practice simply makes sense to me. As a young girl, I was able to run barefoot myself for summers on end. My feet toughened to the point of tolerating walking on glass and hot pavement, or hiking across rock and gravel. Today, I haven’t been out of the house barefoot in years, and would have trouble walking from here to the barn if I were to attempt it barefoot. I know I’m capable of getting tough again, but right now, those digits are softies.

Why can’t it, why shouldn’t it be the same with my horses? We leave them barefoot all winter without problems. But heavy use, regular work, hard trails, mountains and rocks added to the picture make it a blur of confusion. It could, should, might work…

I started by attempting to hire a barefoot trimmer for consultation. Due to our remote location, after a year of correspondence, I was still without an appointment. Anyway, we are lucky enough to have a farrier with an open mind, willing and able to learn and try natural hoof care trimming, for our sake, and for the sake of our horses.

We then did a bunch of research on the internet and learned there are about as many styles and philosophies on barefoot trimming as there are horse colors. Believing inherently that bottom line, nothing should ever be done that hurts the horse and makes him lame, the more drastic approaches were not for us.

After reading Pete Ramey’s book “Making Natural Hoof Care Work for You,” I felt I found a logical approach that would work for me and my horses. When we pulled their shoes last October and had our farrier trim throughout the winter, we felt we were on the right path.

Then the summer season happened, and as usual, it starts with a BANG and continues rattling clear through autumn. We rarely have a chance to breathe, let alone slow down. For the horses, this means time to hit the trail, and get out their regularly. There is no time to be lame, to be soft, to take it easy, to test the waters. No time to sufficiently toughen up.

And sore they did get. I tell you what, as a horse lover, let alone one who relies on horses for their business, seeing my babies sore because of my choice was a pretty tough place to be… talk about questioning yourself, your motives, your choices…

Then one day, I had a long trip scheduled on one of the rockiest trails I know in this area, which for those of you who know the San Juan Mountains, know that’s saying a lot. And my main mount, my guide horse was sore. Sore because of my decision to “try” the barefoot horse thing.

So what did I do? I turned to my back up. Another barefoot horse. One who was not sore. My little stallion, Fadjurz Ideal, otherwise known as Flying Crow. At age 7, he has never been shod. I trim his feet myself. He gets plenty of exercise (as do so many stallions on pasture, even during his free time he seems to enjoy running back and forth for hours on a path he has packed hard).

I had never guided on him before, nor ridden him on this trail, thus was more than a little apprehensive. But life throws challenges at us at times when the timing must be just right. I rode him, there and back, a full day in the mountains in some pretty nasty conditions, and you know what? We haven’t looked back since. His feet were NEVER sore from that day. Nor from the many days since that I’ve continued to keep him going on the trails with me, working and guiding.

He made a believer of me. A horse can be barefoot. In fact, a horse can thrive barefoot. The footing, the health benefits, the ease of care… it all makes sense to me, and it all can work. But it takes effort to make it work. Commitment. Time. The right conditions. Plenty of rides to allow the horse the opportunity to toughen up. Flying Crow was sore once too… about four years ago when I first brought him home from the stable in which he was raised, and turned him out on pasture. It has taken years. But it worked.

I do not doubt that this would work for all of my horses if I rode them as regularly all year long, and had them as active as my little stallion. I never manage to have all the time I wish I had for each of my horses. When and if the day comes that I do, and believe I’m working towards this, I feel certain I can prove this a success. I will be providing what I truly believe is the healthiest hoof care for my horses by keeping them barefoot.

In the meanwhile, I have my Flying Crow, barefoot and fancy free, running around the mountains with me, naturally. Reminding me (and you) that this can work. It does work and it is working. A horse can thrive barefoot, even in these conditions, in these mountains, with all this riding…

If you have any barefoot stories, ideas, suggestions or experiences to share, please leave a comment or write me directly at losttrailranch@gmail.com. I’d love to learn more and look forward to many a barefoot tales to follow…

The first of summer

So much I wish I had time to share. Yet like with so many of you, suddenly we find ourselves so busy this time of year. Where did this rush come from? Catching us unprepared once again, caught up in the whirlwind of the season, but enjoying most every moment.

We’re up at our “ditch camp” with our horses four days a week, then taking day rides and giving lessons and visiting with guests two days a week, and cabin cleaning on the seventh day…

And yes, I love summer.

However, there is also so much I’ve been anxious to share – especially specifics on horse camping now that we’re out there with our horses again. (Wendy – I took many pictures of the high line and horses at camp I look forward to sharing.)

The next couple weeks are jam-packed, but I’ll look forward to catching back up and sharing much more as time allows.

In the meanwhile, here’s one thing to think about…

As I sit at camp in the early morning hours, bundled in front of the crackling fire sipping my steaming coffee, with my boys still sleeping in the tent and the horses peacefully grazing about me on the high mountain grass, I can imagine no place I would rather be, no life I would rather have.

There is a closeness to oneself one finds out there, perhaps because one has fewer distractions, only seeing if we choose to look and hearing if we choose to listen. There is a universal understanding which comes to us, however we prefer to spend time out in nature. We begin to see the Big Picture, and realize our small but blessed place within that circle of life. And there is a closeness that comes with our horses when we are out there living and working with them, day in and day out, side by side, that can not be achieved back home on the ranch or in the stables.

And so, off to the high country we head with our horses today….we’ll return Thursday evening. May you all have a wonderful week!

Saddle in the rain

Ah! Rain sweet rain! Greening up our pasture and filling the creeks with the sweet flow of spring from which the horses drink.

I suppose the horses all must be singing about the Mud, sweet mud. They must be loving it: they are covered in it! Why bother even running a brush across their backs? I groomed up my little stud today before a ride, then rubbed him down nice and shiny after when I unsaddled. Only to have him roll in the best mud patch he could find within one minute of being put back out to pasture. No exaggeration. I should have known better.

Saddle in the rain. For better or for worse (I’ll try not to be judgmental here, but I don’t know anyone who is fond of doing this) we have to do this a lot. Some years we get numb to it, day after day with the rain pouring in a solid stream from the brim of my hat, soaking my jeans before I have a chance to get my slicker and chaps on. I can’t comfortably saddle up a string of horses and get a pack string together running around in heavy leathers. It’s awkward, cumbersome. So I wait till that work is done before getting my gear on, and all that’s left for me to do is sit in the wet saddle for the next four hours or so.

Sounds like I’m whining, doesn’t it? I’m not. I actually love it. It’s weird (and/or I’m weird) because I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been out there soaking wet in the saddle all day, and I look around at the soft, lush green of the mountain rolled up in the heavy clouds, and I can’t believe I’m so lucky to be out here, riding, working with my horses and my husband and son, as my soggy dog follows close behind. Calling this a job! At times I love it so much I could cry, and if I did, I’d be so wet already no one would notice and tease me for being so sappy.

Saddle in the rain. I know, it can be a bummer, it’s true. Starting the day off soggy, and knowing your saddle will be soaked before you even have a chance to get up in it, isn’t really great. But nothing that can endure the ropes and rubbing and leathers and brush of a day in the saddle that I know of is truly water proof. So you learn to be wet and dress warm. Silk scarves are good. And wool socks. I’m not beyond wearing Long Johns in July. I have these re-usable hand warmers along with a few pairs of extra gloves handy in my horn bag. You do what it takes.

Saddle in the rain. To me, that means get over it, and get it done anyway. And once you’re on your way, chances are pretty good you’ll find it’s not so bad. You might even find it’s wonderful.

Fooling myself

All the affirmations in the world won’t save you from feeling like a fool sometimes. I’m there more often than not.

First, I’m convinced that both I worry too much, and I take myself too seriously. But what can I do about that? I try affirmations, but I just don’t believe them. I have not come close to figuring this out yet. I will keep trying.

I entered a blogging contest. Bad idea for the insecure. I should have known better, but I love writing, and am enjoying the blogging community, so I looked upon this as a fun opportunity to participate with fellow bloggers and fellow horsemen. I spent a week working on the post, then a week after that in anticipation of being a part of the community. When the deadline came and went for the big announcement, I figured I’d again been the fool. Nothing new there…

So of course, I’ve spent the last few days adding this to my reasons for wallowing in self pity and self doubt. Come on, girl. Get over it!

Just when I’m ready to lift myself up again from my self made misery, I receive an e-mail telling me the post actually won first place. If you have a moment, please take a look at it on the Enlightened Horsemanship Through Touch blog and tell me what you think. Only nice things, please.

More on feeling like the fool…

So, this afternoon, I’m out there trying to get you some first hand data together for showing you the next entry in the series on Horse Packing How-To. The next in the series was going to be about teaching your horse to both lead the pack string, and be led as a part of the pack string. I thought it would be a swell idea to explain the teaching process while I’m out there teaching… So, I get my little stallion decked out in a regular riding saddle, rope halter and lead, and saddle up my best mare to work off of. Well, we were looking good for about five minutes. If even. Then the stallion started the sweep: ears pinned back, aggressively following the mare. Ran in front of us a few times, in what looked like an attempt to cut us off. Even ran towards us trying to bite the mare a couple times. The mare of course kicks back and dodges his aggressions, but generally puts up with me as I’m on her back trying to communicate obviously not very effectively with the crazed stallion.

Hmmm… time to re-group. This pussy cat of a stallion, who is light like butter on the halter and lead when I’m on the ground. What’s going on inside that odd little stud head of his when I’m up there on his favorite mare?

We worked it out… only somewhat. I’ll try again tomorrow and perhaps find some insight into his behavior that will help us all figure this one out a little better, and work through it.

And maybe even, in the process, I’ll be able to learn what I’m trying to teach.