Memoirs: A Horse Girl Rides Tackless

There are few things in this world that I have loved as long or as unconditionally as I have horses and riding.  When I was in middle school, there was a period of time where I could not take lessons, so I improvised.  My Oma lived near two older, Arabian ponies, the very same ponies that I first touched and sat upon as a three-year-old child.  I brought my brushes and a lead line and (with permission) gave those old horses the grooming of their lives. After a couple visits, I grew tired of just brushing them.  Obviously, I wanted to ride, too.  I poked around the barn looking for a saddle or bridle, but there wasn't much to be found.  I vaguely remember a dusty, Western saddle, which I could never have lifted at the time, and a loose bit hanging on a hook, but this was far from workable gear. So I did what any determined, horse-crazy girl would do; I decided to ride without tack.

First, I tied my lead line to the gelding's halter.  I wanted to ride him, because he was the more feisty of the two.  I saved the mare, the sweet Littlebit, for my sister to ride, if the experiment went well with King.  King enjoyed being brushed and fed carrots, but he wasn't completely on board with the whole riding thing.  He probably hadn't been ridden in a good ten years and did not show signs of missing it.  It took some coaxing to get him to stand on the low part of a slope, so that I could climb on.  I had never mounted without a block or a stirrup, so my first attempts were very awkward and probably hilarious to a bystander.  I wonder if the owners could see me from their house?

Once on King's back, I was cautious.  I patted and talked to him, trying to show the old boy that I just wanted a little time on his back.  I must have gotten on him a dozen times and just stood there, content to just sit, but eventually I wanted more.  One day, I took the lead line-reins and turned King around. Then I gave him a little nudge with my heels.  Unsurprisingly, he wouldn't move.  I tried several times, each time more insistence.  King had obviously mastered the stubborn pony routine long ago and was not the least persuaded by my efforts.  After careful thought, I formulated a better plan.  I slid off his back and walked him by hand away from the paddock gate and the mare (who was actually his sister).  I positioned him on the low part of the hill, so that I could (more) easily hop onto his back.  I knew before I got on, that my plan was going to work.  Suddenly, there was life in the old horse's eyes and a new anxiousness.  He wanted to be back at the gate.  I grabbed mane flung my leg over and clucked.  My pony cantered up the hill eagerly and stopped at the mare.

Victory!

I had done it! I had ridden King without a saddle or a bridle and survived!

And so began many happy visits where I rode King up the hill to his sister.  I dare say, he grew to enjoy our short jaunts, because he became less and less ornery.  I was even able to ask him to wait for my signal to run up the hill and later on, I was able to steer him around the paddock in his halter. He did try to buck me off a couple times when I urged him to walk away from his sister, but thankfully my young legs were wrapped tightly around his barrel and my butt never left his back.  I always rewarded him with carrots when he was compliant and eventually I had my sister riding the mare, so walking away from her was no longer a problem.  I learned a lot from those short, bareback rides and I think of them fondly.

I was reminded of what it is like to ride in a halter a little while ago.  I had not sat on my horse in many, many weeks.  I looked at his blanketed back and the thick rope lead line.  I looked at Harley and asked, "Are you up for a walk? "

Thankfully, he was.  I felt like a kid riding my pony again, but without any anxiousness about how he might behave, because this was Harley, and I knew he would be a good boy.  We walked around the yard and the riding ring, paying visits to the other horses and just enjoying one another's company. Harley snorted with happiness and I felt that twinge of excitement at being on my horses back tackless.

Memoirs: An Old Photo

As I have been organizing and backing up photos and files on my computer, I found an old photo.  This photo was scanned for the slideshow at our wedding.  I cannot believe that I did not remember that it was saved on my computer until yesterday.

This is a photo of my aunt, dear Littlebit, and me, age three.  This photo documents my very first equine encounter.  I am so happy that someone in my family had a camera that day.  I wrote about this experience for the very first post for Memoirs of a Horse Girl.  I swear that I remember it.  Not this moment exactly, but the moment I was placed on Littlebit's back.  It was like a switch turned on and I finally opened my eyes.  I can still see her mane in front of me.  She lived to be well into her twenties on a farm near my Oma (Dutch for grandmother), so I saw her many times growing up.  She was also sister to King, whom I have written about before.  They looked very much alike.  What a delight it was to find this photo again.  I have added it to my "Welcome" post, but wanted to share it here as well.

Memoirs: Evolution of a Horse Girl's Seat

My understanding of the seat has evolved greatly since I first started riding.  The change in understanding was born of a great many changing experiences from changes in discipline to changes in instruction to riding my own horse and just plain miles in the saddle.  Understanding and awareness are dynamic and can always be further developed, so I imagine that this is not really the end of the story, just my realization that there is a story to tell.

The Evolution of a Horse Girl's Seat

1. In the beginning, my seat rests in the saddle when my horse is standing still or walking.  I lower my seat to the saddle when rising to the trot, but my seat just barely touches the saddle in canter.  I let it pop up out of the saddle at the top of each canter stride as if each stride were the beginning of a jump.  This is purely practical, because I often jump courses in lessons and I must be able to rise into two-point quickly and efficiently.  I also need my hip angle to be more closed and in the "ready" position with my shoulders over my forward, bent knee and lower leg.  I have never heard of the "three-point seat" and "seat bones" are not discussed in my group lessons with other kids.  I concentrate more on keeping my seat out of the saddle than in the saddle.  I am more a passenger than a rider.  I fall off a lot, but since I am a kid, I bounce and accept it as par for the course (age 7 to about 11).
2. My mom signs me up for a handful of private lessons at a different barn with a very accomplished trainer who specializes in dressage.  I receive my first lunge line lessons and sit the canter with an upright posture for the first time in my life.  Even though I appreciate the one-on-one instruction, I wonder when we are going to stop doing flat work and set up some jumps.  These were arguably my very first lessons on the seat.  My mom must not have liked that I was falling off so much, but she did let me go back to jumping lessons (somewhere between 9 and 11).
3. I ride bareback on King and my friend's horses.  I learn what it means to rely on your seat instead of the stirrups as I ride King's predictable bucks and gallop with my friend across open fields (around age 10 to 13).
4. I move to a new barn and ride with a creative and knowledgeable college student.  I receive instruction on the lunge line with and without stirrups and reins and eventually with my eyes closed.  I learn that there are two seat bones and they should be in contact with the saddle during all gaits.  I learn that weighting one seat bone can help turn my horse and keep me in balance in the canter.  I learn to "pivot" on my seat in canter on the lunge line.  I feel a door open to my progress as a rider.  I am enlightened! (age 11 to about 14)
5. After continuing instruction with a couple college students and auditing a Centered Riding clinic, I learn that my two seat bones are actually the lower ridges of my pelvis.  I begin picturing seat bones more like rockers than points, which helps me understand that they can have greater contact with the saddle.  My understanding of the two-point position is that I am resting all my weight on two points: my feet in the stirrups.  My understanding of three-point position is that I distribute my weight among three points: my two feet and my seat.  I think that this is basically the same thing as the three-point seat (age 11 to about 14).
6. I find my original dressage instructor and become completely enamored with dressage.  I leave the college students for the private lesson barn.  Despite my previous enlightenment, I learn that I have no idea whatsoever how to sit the trot or the canter.  I go through "seat-boot-camp" which includes lunge lessons at all gaits and lots of no-nonsense instruction.  As my seat improves, I discover aid independence.  I begin to separate the use of my hands and legs as a side-effect of my improved seat.  I become aware of the three-point seat as a triangle of support created by the pubic bone and two rockers of the pelvis.  Painfully aware.  I experience pain due to pommel jamming and sometimes under my seat bones.  I perch in the saddle because I tighten my lower back in order to sit up tall.  I ride some big, strong horses with heavy contact.  We brace against each other and I ignore the pain in my pubic bone region until I am forced to resign from riding a particular horse with a particular saddle.  At the time, I do not know why the combination hurts me, but I find relief in a new mount who wears a more comfortable saddle.  I understand that my seat bones and my pubic bone (the three point seat) are supposed to be in contact with the saddle and I am determined to keep them in place, which leads to lots of muscular effort and tension.  Sometimes I squeeze up with my lower leg to hold myself in the saddle.  I ride with very long stirrups and only rest a feather's weight in them.  I lose my stirrups fairly often, but consider it brag-worthy that I remain stable in the saddle and blame it on my (very) short legs.  Over ten years, I make lots of progress, but the focus is mostly on training the horse.  I consider myself mostly trained as a rider, while dismissing things "beyond my control" (my height, length of leg, and thickness of thighs).  I read Dressage Today magazine, but do not study riding outside of my instruction at the private barn.  Since I do not fall off and I ride a variety of horses with success, I am told that I have a very good seat.  I believe it (age 14 to about 24).
7.  After relocating, I begin donating my time and skills to exercise therapeutic lesson horses.  I sit on a horse who is not dressage trained for the first time in ten years and experience some serious shell-shock.  I dilute a decade of rigorous dressage training in order to meet the needs of some under-schooled and older horses.  I learn to lighten my seat to accommodate the less robust backs.  I start taking more weight into my stirrups and my thighs.  I start posting the trot more and paying attention to my posting diagonals.  I adopt the half-seat when necessary and become adept at adjusting the weight between my stirrups and my seat.  The hours I spent in sitting trot during years of dressage lessons are replaced by trail-riding, basic conditioning in posting trot, and working horses toward reliable canter departs.  Even though I am riding in modest tack, I no longer experience pain and retire my padded undergarments.  I start to relax and learn to enjoy riding and just being with horses again.  I begin reading books and articles about riding.  I adopt self-instruction and I stop losing my stirrups (age 25 to about 27).
8. Harley enters my life and my time with the lesson horses pays in dividends.  I condition and train my former pasture ornament and then begin teaching him dressage and a little jumping.  In the beginning his back is "closed for business", but with time and patience, he begins making a place for me to sit with more and more reliability.  My focus is mostly on my horse, because he is the less educated of the two of us (age 27 to about 29).
9. I read anything related to horse training that I can get my hands on.  I purchase pricey training DVD's including "The Classical Seat" series and watch them over and over again.  I audit and attend clinics whenever possible.  I write everything down.  I reread my favorite books and articles.  I study pictures and videos of myself riding.  I dabble in some local dressage shows and I purchase an expensive saddle with huge thigh blocks.  I try to turn my thighs in from the pelvis, force my toes forward, and bring my lower leg back, so that I look like the dressage riders in the books and articles (age 27 to about 29).
10. I meet my teacher and she blows my mind with an entire lesson on the posting trot.  I swallow my ego and embrace enlightenment.  My focus switches to myself and my riding.  I learn that my horse is more willing and able than I ever imagined once I am riding correctly and he is wearing correctly fitting tack.  I discover the bliss of riding in a saddle that accommodates my physical shortcomings (pun intended) and with a stirrup length correct for my length of leg (age 29 to present).
11. As I begin monthly lessons with my new teacher, I learn that I pinch with my knees and calves.  I learn that I nag with my heels.  I learn that I over-weight the inside seat bone and my pubic bone.  I learn that the horse really wants me to sit to the outside of the canter lead, so that he can lift his inside shoulder.  I learn that my lower leg is way too far back.  I learn that I pull down on my horse and tip my upper body forward.  I realize that despite my years of not falling out of the saddle, I am not really in the saddle, and I lose my balance all the time.  I look at my chewed up ego on the ground.  I am enlightened again.
12. I learn to relax my thigh muscles and open my seat which allows me to sit closer to my horse.  I learn that there is a thing called "neutral pelvis" and something else called "muscular bracing".  I realize that I employ the latter in my riding, but this realization is guilt-free.  I am guided to achieve neutral pelvis by my creative, patient, and uncompromising teacher.  This transformation takes years and is something that I constantly reestablish in my riding.  I make the commitment to be mindful of neutral pelvis for the rest of my life.
13. One day, I am sitting in the saddle and my teacher asks me how many points of contact I am making with my seat.  I count five.  FIVE.  I learn that the pubic bone and two seat rockers have been joined by the tops of my femurs.  Combined with my feet in the stirrups, I am working with seven points of stability.  I am always striving to improve my consistency, but I am at least aware of the five-point seat.  My stability is improved and possible without bracing or pain.  My horse finds my seat inviting and lifts up to fill the space between us and the saddle.  I have learned to ride on a cloud.
14. I ride and reflect and wait for the next period of enlightenment.  Although I used to feel like I wasted time in the beginning of my riding journey, I have learned not to regret past experiences.  I appreciate them as stepping stones which have ultimately led me to my understanding and awareness of the seat.

A nice example of my seat in neutral pelvis with a length of stirrup that supports my upper body.  Harley is only 15.1 hands, but my leg is still inches from the bottom of his barrel.  Thankfully, the short flap on my saddle accommodates my short legs and the wide seat allows me to find the five-point seat at last!

Memoirs: A Horse Girl and a King

There are lots of different types of horse girls.  Some grew up riding their first pony or friend's horse, some were born into a farm setting where learning to ride was like learning to walk, some rode lesson ponies with supervised instruction like dance lessons or piano lessons, and others only dreamed about ponies by reading books, watching movies, or drawing horses of every shape and size.  I was a combination of the last two.

I was fortunate enough to have riding lessons funded by my parents beginning at age seven.  I only rode during the nice parts of the year, like spring and fall, unless I begged for the occasional ride during the off-season.  I once made my Mom drive me to a scheduled off-season private lesson in a blizzard.  Since we lived in a valley, this required that we drive up and down a very steep mountain.  I am sure that it was not a full-blown blizzard or the rode would simply not have been passable, but it was definitely snowing and there was a good accumulation on the ground.  I was determined not to miss the lesson, because it was scheduled with an instructor who was usually overbooked and unattainable for me.  There was a reason she was overbooked.  She was very, very good at teaching horses and riders.  I felt my riding improve in one lesson as she schooled me on a snow-white horse named Cloudy, whose soft, white mane stood up from his neck before toppling over to one side like a short, fluffy cloud.  I remember learning how to perform a decent canter depart and his big, bounding strides.  I thanked my Mom profusely for driving me to that lesson and did not beg for another.  That ride carried me through to the springtime.

I appreciated my lessons, but even at a tender age, I wanted more.  More horse time.  More saddle time.  More experience with these creatures that captivated and inspired me.  I was opportunistic and not shy when it came to horses.  A couple Arabian ponies lived near my Oma's house on a former breeding farm in the middle of the suburbs.  My Dad had taken me and my sister to see them before, but now I had a plan.  Armed with my grooming kit and some nerve, I asked the owner if I could brush her ponies.  She did not hesitate in saying "yes".  I probably resembled my aunts who many years before me had asked her the same question.  Of course back then, there had been an entire herd complete with a stallion and brood mares.  By the time I came along, the farm was reduced to a small lot in their backyard.  The rest of the acreage had been subdivided and developed into housing with multilevel homes and manicured lawns.  Only two ponies remained, a pair of chestnut Arabs with white blazes and socks.  They looked similar enough to be twins and were most definitely siblings, probably full.  The mare, who was the first horse that I ever sat upon, was named "Littlebit" and the gelding was named "King".  Littlebit was very gentle and sweet, so I assigned my little sister to groom her.  I decided to take on the responsibility of grooming King, as he was less tolerant and not affectionate or enthusiastic about our visitation.  Both horses were most likely in their twenties.

Grooming and visiting Littlebit and King became a regular routine when we visited my Oma.  My sister and I were each armed with a grooming kit with all the essentials and we brought carrots.  The horses were well-fed, but looked like they had not received regular grooming in quite some time.  When they realized that our visits included a thorough currying, brushing, and carrots, they began to meet us at the gate.  Even King started to enjoy our company, although I thought that he always tried to hide his pleasure.  I would catch him letting his chin hang while I brushed him, and he starting letting me hold his feet for cleaning without trying to wrench them out of my hands.  True to my lesson barn instruction, I always finished the grooming session with the soft brush, which made King's red coat gleam in the sun.  He was a backyard horse, literally, but the years had been good to him and he was still spirited and handsome.  I always felt like his somewhat distant personality was really an indicator of his protective attitude toward Littlebit, as those two horses spent their entire lives together, side-by-side.  I felt an understanding between us.  Not exactly a mutual adoration, although I really liked him, but there was something there.

Before long, I was no longer satisfied with just grooming King.  I had been daydreaming about riding him and I had a plan.  My Dad trusted us to visit the horses on our own, so I felt confident to make my own decisions about the Arab ponies.  I would like to think that I planned ahead and brought my helmet, but I cannot remember.  Hopefully I did, but I was probably also worried that it would be a dead giveaway to bring a helmet to groom the horses.

My plan was simple.  I didn't have any tack, but I had a lead line and King had a halter.  I fashioned reins and a headstall from the lead line and halter and found some high ground to help me leap onto King's back.  I made him stand on the down slope so that it would be easier for me to spring onto his back.  This took a couple attempts, but from what I remember, King was mostly cooperative as I jumped and scrambled and used his long mane to help pull me up.  Once aboard, I felt elated.  It was the first time that I had ever been on a horse outside of a lesson or guided trail ride.  Feeling like a renegade, I imagined that King was my own horse.  I took it slow, only sitting on his back for a short while and then dismounting.  Mounting from the ground became easier with practice and King did not seem too bothered by me sitting on his back.  The next step was moving forward.

I knew how to ride, but my early riding lessons were pretty raw.  I knew how to use my heels to make the horse go and the reins to make him stop and turn.  I did not know anything about the coordination of the aids, using legs for steering, and the seat.  Since I took lessons at a hunter/jumper stable, I spent most my time out of the saddle, except when walking.  From watching other riders, I actually thought that your seat was supposed to pop out of the saddle at the end of a canter stride.  Riding bareback and without a bridle was completely foreign, but I was on a horse and that was all that mattered. 

I nudged King with my heels, but he didn't move.  I tried again and clucked, but King just kept his ears back to me and didn't budge.  I told him to walk, clucked, kicked with my heels and probably also pushed with my seat for good measure.  King took a few steps forward and then put his head down and started to buck.  My smile quickly changed to gritting my teeth.  My legs instantly clamped around his barrel with my feet reaching under his ribcage.  I had a deathgrip on the reins and his mane.  With no instructions to follow and no tack to cling to, I found myself acting on instinct.  I pulled up on the reins which planted my seat firmly on his back.  The more he bucked, the harder I pulled myself onto his back.  King had a funny way of just bucking in place.  He didn't run or twist or spin.  He just bucked in place with his head down until he realized that I was not going to fall off.  He did this quite often when I rode him.  It was something of a ritual.  Usually he only bucked the first time that I got on, but sometimes he had an encore performance in mind.  King kept me on my toes.  When I realized that I could stay on a bucking pony bareback, my confidence soared.  As soon as King stopped bucking, he gave in and started walking forward.  I clucked and kicked him to speed up and he responded by trotting and then cantering up the hill to the gate of his paddock.  Then I walked him back down the slope and we did the same thing again.  There were no circles or jumps.  There was no flat ground, let along an arena!  Basically the only thing that there was to do was ride back and forth, up and down the hill.  I never worried about posting diagonals, leads, or my riding position.  I rode forward against his neck as he leaped up the hill.  Sometimes he made it up the hill so quickly that it made me laugh out loud.  Although it did subside, he never completely gave up on the bucking thing.  However, I still believe that he enjoyed running up the hill.  For a few fleeting moments, we were on the same page and of the same mind.

I may not have learned any of the finer points of riding from King, but his lessons definitely gave me something that I could not get in structured lessons.  King taught me to just go with the horse.  He taught me to rely on myself and trust my instincts.  He also satisfied a very real need to be one with an otherwise unreachable being.  He was not always fun and definitely not easy to work with, but he built my confidence as a young rider and gave me an immense sense of accomplishment in the process.   Every horse girl needs a horse like King.