Memoirs: A Horse Girl Goes To College

It is really easy to look back on one's life experiences and think, "I wish that I had had this opportunity" or "I wish that I had learned that when I had the chance" or "I wish that my parents had won the lottery and bought me a horse farm and schoolmasters and enlightened trainers" (okay, that last one sounds pretty good), but the truth is, when I look back, I was pretty lucky.  Actually, maybe luck isn't the right word.  I was reasonably opportunistic.  I grew up very close to Centenary College, home of one of the few colleges in the country to offer several majors in equine studies.  Founded in 1867 as a preparatory school, Centenary College was well-known (at least locally in New Jersey) as a four-year college offering a Bachelor's degree in horses.  Of course, I professed to go there for college one day, but my parents thought better of it.  They were not about to fund a trip to college to earn a degree in horses even if it was their daughter's passion.  My parents knew that passion rarely pays the bills, so, although I was disappointed at the time, I am glad that they steered me elsewhere for my undergraduate studies.  However, that does not mean that I missed the opportunity to learn at Centenary College.

The entrance to the main indoor arena and classrooms.  This huge arena and the building did not exist while I was taking lessons at Centenary College.

In 2009, I revisited Centenary College for a NARHA (now PATH International) Regional Conference for therapeutic horseback riding instructors.  The buckskin pictured is not Harley, but looks like it could be his cousin!

Blurry, but at least you get a feel for the Olympic-sized indoor arena.  Centenary hosts Intercollegiate Horse Shows in dressage and the hunter/jumper disciplines as well as the annual AA-rated Garden State Horse Show.

I started taking lessons at Centenary in middle school with one of my best friends.  It was actually her Mom who got us the "in", because she was an adjunct professor at the college.  We started taking lessons with one of the college students, Barbie, who was very unlike the famous doll.  Barbie was tall with a strong frame and a down-to-Earth smile, long, dark, wavy hair, and glasses.  She preemptively joked that her fiance was not named "Ken" whenever she met people, as that was usually one of their first questions.  Barbie was a hard-working college student.  She worked in the barn to help pay for her horse's board and she gave lessons to a few community riders, yours truly included.  She was prepared for the long-hours required by the horse business and had already been assigned numerous responsibilities at the stables as well as landed a few exercise gigs at local professional facilites.  She was kind and personable and exceedingly competent.  I was one lucky young rider to find myself under her watchful eye.

The outdoor arena where I had many, many fun lessons and rides.

Barbie taught us how to safely wrap a horse's legs, give a proper shower to a hot horse, and how to clean stalls to conserve bedding.  She let us ride extra horses during the summer in exchange for helping her clean stalls.  My friend and I would ride three horses a day, cleaning their stalls before we rode.  This was mutually beneficial, as Barbie had tons on her plate, the lesson horses needed to remain fit over the summer, and we were horse-crazy kids who needed to ride.

Even on a cloudy day, the cross-country fields are beautiful.  I remember being in awe of a daunting jump called "The Bear Trap".

I used to hack around this field and enjoyed cantering along the treeline.  I had a few jumping lessons out here, but they were over standards.  I was not experienced enough for the large jumps shown here.

Occasionally, Barbie saved enough money to have a lesson herself.  She bathed and primped her horse before the trainer arrived, explaining to us that you must never enter a lesson with anything but a spotless horse to show respect for your trainer.  I watched her ride her huge Cleveland Bay in a lesson one time.  Her horse's name was Pirate.  He had a black tail with waves just like Barbie's hair.  His tail was so long that it brushed the ground when he was standing still.  He is the only Cleveland Bay that I have ever seen in person.  He was stunning.

Pirate was a project horse, if my memory serves me.  He was big, strong and talented, but nervous for reasons that I did not know.  Barbie told us that some one experienced had told her that she would have her hands full retraining him with the insinuation that she should consider passing him up.  However, that was not Barbie's style.  I remember watching her canter Pirate around the indoor arena.  His hooves sounded like thunder and the wake of his movement through the air made me gasp in genuine awe.  They were so gorgeous together.  Despite whatever haunted him, Pirate had learned to trust Barbie to ride him, just as I had learned to trust her in my horse education.  That was my first glimpse of a horse and rider team that was so much more than a rider on a lesson horse.  I knew that I wanted that some day.

Barbie contributed to my early horse education in many positive ways.  She allowed me and my friend time to practice outside of a lesson by working for riding time.  This also taught us the importance of work ethic and that horses are not just about time in the saddle.  She chose horses for us to ride that were safe, but also challenged our abilities.  I remember riding a mare named Lena in one of my first lessons.  She was a tough ride for me, but a year later I was allowed to hack her on my own.  That was measurable progress to me.

Barbie arranged an opportunity for my friend and me to audit a Centered Riding clinic with a woman named Sandra, a high level Centered Riding Instructor.  I vividly remember some of the ground exercises that we did.  I also remember watching a women sit the trot as she had never done before and Sandra commenting that a very nice "shoulder-in" could be accomplished by rotating the torso.  I did not know what a shoulder-in was at the time, but the image of Sandra demonstrating it on her own two feet has stayed with me.  I also borrowed Barbie's copy of Centered Riding by Sally Swift and read it cover to cover.  I have since purchased my own copy, which rests on my coffee table.

The "small" indoor was the only indoor when I was riding there.  This is where I had my lunge lessons and watched Barbie ride Pirate.  What a beautiful facility and a true luxury.  I would not have an indoor at my next barn of ten years.

Of all these things and the countless wonderful lessons that Barbie gave to me, the absolute best was the series of lunge lessons.  This was her equine studies research project.  Barbie assessed our riding positions and balance before lunge work and then again after several weeks of only lunge line lessons.  I remember learning to post and sit the trot without stirrups and with my hands doing all sorts of exercises as we trotted in a circle around Barbie.  I was nervous at first, but Barbie had good control of the lesson horse and she knew when to push and when to encourage.  I loved her so much that I tried even though I was afraid.  I learned to initiate transitions from my seat and achieve balance in the canter.  The culminating exercise was cantering without stirrups, my arms stretched out like wings, and my eyes closed.  That was a remarkable improvement, as I used to fall off during every stirrup-less lesson at the hunter/jumper barn where I initially learned to ride.  The instructor just told me to hold on tighter with my legs.  Was she ever wrong!  Thank goodness Barbie showed me the light and took the time to teach me true balance and independence in the saddle.  She told us that she got an A from her professor for the research project.  To me, the experience was priceless.

By the time I reached high school, Barbie had graduated and (I believe) moved to Florida to become a big-time horse professional.  My friend and I were transferred to another willing college student for lessons, but it was never the same without Barbie.  She was one of those special teachers whose lessons stay with you forever.  I moved on to a private dressage barn by the beginning of ninth grade and in true dressage-instruction form, I had to relearn everything and discovered that I was doing almost everything wrong.  This included more lunge lessons, but I was very good at those!

Barbie's lessons of balance and confidence have endured keeping me firmly glued in the saddle over the years.  I have borrowed some of her exercises with my own students, sharing the story and how much lunge lessons helped my balance and confidence.  Thank you for taking the time with me, Barbie!  I am forever grateful.

Related links:
"Centenary College's Equestrian Program Teaches More Than Good Riding", The Chronicle of the Horse (2010)

Riding Reflection: The Not-So-Simple Halt

When Harley and I first became a pair, all of his training boiled down to two basic things: go and stop.  He was really good at "going" and, although it was his second favorite, he would stop when I asked.  Sometimes he would stop to help me out, like if I dropped my stirrups to end a ride, he would stop.  If I lost my balance riding bareback, he would stop.  If I noticed a friend at the fence, he would stop.  In our first lesson with my teacher, she asked us to stop next to her and he stopped so fast that she started laughing.

"Well, you said he knows whoa and go.  There you have it."

But a "stop" is not the same as a "halt".  A good halt still has energy.  A good halt has paused impulsion, which is ready to fire up at a moment's notice.  A good halt feels electric.

A rare, nice halt and caught on film (April 2010).

Another moment from the same April 2010 video.  There was a lot of tension in this ride.  We have improved in the relaxation department since then, but, man, is Harley gorgeous.

I used to practice halts more with Harley, but then I backed off of them.  You see, Harley used to be too electric.  He could become very tense, very quickly.  Transition work is great for sharpening a dull horse, but for a horse who is already too sharp, drilling transitions can turn him into a mess.  This was one of the dressage rules that I had to bend and temporarily file on the shelf.  My horse needed to find relaxation within the gaits, then we could worry about transitions.

Now, thinking back over the year, I have definitely worked the halt.  We warmed up with some halts.  I would sometimes ask him to soften at the halt, but apparently the majority of the time, a halt meant a break or the end of the ride.  We stopped often, but the energy was not contained.  This was evident as I practiced a few halts at the beginning of our ride.  Harley could be walking with a nice stretch into the bridle, marching from behind, and as soon as he stopped the air would leak out of the balloon.  The stretch left his neck, the contact disappeared, his back dropped, and, to really rub it in, he would turn his head and neck and look around.  He was "off the clock".  A couple times he tried to lean over and sniff a stray "horse pie".  Oh dear.  If I wanted to use the halt to help build impulsion within the gaits and train collection, I would need to teach him the difference between a "stop" and a "halt".

I decided to abandon the walk.  If this was going to be about impulsion, than I needed a gait that could deliver.  We moved around the ring in a brisk rising trot.  Once he felt limber, I picked a spot on the straight away and asked for a halt.  He stopped, but he did not halt.  I focused on keeping my position the same in the halt as it would be in motion.  I tried to keep a feel of energy in my body.  Many of the first attempts were not successful.  He was being obedient by stopping, but he was not carrying himself in the halt.  I started asking him to trot almost as soon as we halted, so that he would get the idea that we were not on break and we were not really stopping.  Before long, he was trotting from just an upward movement of my seat, but that has always been the easy thing with Harley.  The difficult thing is the other way around.

When I rode in a clinic with a dressage trainer earlier this year, he told me not to sit back too much in the downward transition.  He said that Harley "over-collects" and then has trouble getting out of it for the upward transition.  This causes him to loose the longitudinal stretch and tighten as he tries to compensate by pushing off his front end.  I need to always have a bit of a forward feel to my seat, even in the downward transitions.  This mirrors my teacher's instructions to "float over my feet".  Sitting back too much puts the rider behind the motion and in Harley's case, flattens the horse.  I have ridden bigger, more robust horses who did not seem to mind the rider a little behind the vertical, but Harley cannot tolerate any kind of backward movement from the rider.  My teacher says that everything with the horse should go forward.  I really like her style.

Eventually, he started to stay more and more on the aids.  As long as he did not drop his shoulders, he could maintain a light consistent contact into and out of the transition.  His desire to drop his shoulders felt very habitual.  I tried my best to keep my knees from pinching and lifted my chest to try and help him balance and stay connected.  We took some breaks and went for a canter.  After a nice canter, his trot-halt-trots started to feel like the real thing.  I rode with energy into the halt.  I did not want him to slow down and drag into the transition.  I wanted him to lift himself into the halt.  After a few nice ones, we went back to canter.  This is his reward and was an opportunity to see if he remembered the lesson.  We tried a couple canter-halt-canters.  Once he knew what we were up to, he was all business.  His upward transitions were on a whisper and the downward transitions were very focused and prepared.  He gathered his strides before the halt and tucked his hind legs underneath himself.  None of the halts were perfect, but he was thinking and trying his heart out.  He loved the upward transitions to canter.  I was very impressed by how he rebalanced himself at a standstill to pick up the correct lead.

By this time, he was feeling so handy, that I decided to give counter canter left a shot.  I was determined to feel the halt in the canter for the duration of the diagonal toward counter canter.  As we cantered down the diagonal, I took on the outside rein at the beginning of each stride.  My seat was light in the saddle, even rising up out of the saddle at the top of each stride.  I often use this technique to encourage him to lift his back.  Accentuate the rise.  For the first time, his tempo did not change.  When we arrived at the end of the diagonal he still felt balanced enough to continue through the corners.  After rounding the second corner, he calmly transitioned to trot and I made a big fuss over him.  I believe the halt helped us demolish the challenge like never before.  What a clever horse!

Riding Reflection: More Seat Does Not Mean More

Yesterday was a beautiful day for riding.  Mid-eighties and breezy.  I felt like we had all the time in the world.

I have been working towards a riding goal without really stating it.  I want to use my legs less.  I find that when I apply pressure with my legs, it disrupts my seat which compromises my ability to communicate with my horse.  Leg pressure also interferes with his freedom of movement.  Harley also hates (HATES) legs that go too far back.  I used to put my leg way too far back to ask for the canter.  He would buck or kick or just stop dead.  He was frustrated with me.

"How do you expect me to balance myself for the canter with your leg blocking me like that?  Do you want to canter or don't you?"

So I learned to move my lower leg back to a more agreeable degree and found that swinging my inside leg forward is often enough to initiate the canter.  Moving my legs into a position for canter or lateral work does no real harm, but applying pressure definitely does.  Every rider knows the expression "put your leg on" or "more leg".  I really dislike these expressions and using my legs to keep a horse going.

I audited a Jane Savoie clinic before I met Harley and she spent the beginning of every lesson training the rider to make her horse responsible for gait and tempo.  Everyone.  From the teenager on the 19-year-old thoroughbred to the advanced rider on the baby (his first time off the property) to the riders with the expensive tack and well-bred horses.  Ms. Savoie's message was that if your legs are keeping your horse going, they are not available to communicate with him. 

It is okay to change the position of your legs and apply a leg to ask for engagement or a lengthening, but then your aids must go back to neutral.  Most riders did not have a neutral gear until she showed them the light.  Every rider was smiling after those lessons!  Jane Savoie is as cool in person as she is in her instructional videos.  She talked to the auditors, answered all questions, and even ate lunch with us.  She is a class act.

As I have been working towards my goal, Harley has become more and more rideable.  Although I do have to spend a little time each ride reminding him that tempo is his territory, not mine, he has been moving with more freedom and reaching to the bit.  My revelation yesterday was in the walk.  As part of our warmup, I like to incorporate some lateral work.  Leg yield and shoulder-in are always first as they are the gentle, stretching exercises of the lateral world.  You can gather a lot of information about how your horse is feeling by asking him to try these movements and listening to his responses.  I spend more or less time in the warm up depending on how limber my horse feels that day.  It is just like me touching my toes and relaxing into a couple lunges before a run.

So what I noticed on this day, was that I was sending my horse sideways completely from my inside seatbone.  This was only possible, because my seat was open and my legs were absolutely silent.  I looked down at my inside leg to confirm what I was feeling.  Yup, my leg was just hanging there.  Not pressing at all.  If I tried applying my leg, my seatbone disappeared from the saddle.  As long as I kept my leg slack, my seatbone was available to gently nudge him over.  He stepped over with lovely fluidity.  The shoulder-in felt especially easy.  I tried it in sitting trot, which strengthened my revelation.

I was not using more seat.  It was just that my seat was available to use, because my legs were silent.  My horse could only listen to my seat if it was the primary aid.  I had to trust Harley to listen and resist the temptation to use my legs.  He rewarded me by not only listening, but focusing intently on our ride.  More seat does not mean more!