I drove home from Denver through a mountain snowstorm on my way home Monday. It was the last day of summer and it was my son’s 24th birthday; after so many nights on the road this spring, I was eager to get home and ready for some real summer weather. I was returning from a weekend clinic in Des Moines IA; it was a wonderful clinic—everyone did well and had good fun, with one minor exception.
The clinic was at Jester Park Equestrian Center, an exceptional facility that is part of a large state park. They have a perfect indoor arena for clinics—extra wide and long with plenty of room for riders and good seating for spectators. A full clinic makes for a busy arena but all of the horses were so good that things progressed smoothly throughout almost the entire clinic. During the ground work, the horses were all so good that I could hardly find a victim for my demonstrations.
It’s rare that in an arena full of horses at a clinic to have all the horses be well-trained and obedient, but that was pretty much the case in Iowa last weekend. After all, people come to horsemanship clinics to further their goals and learn to deal with their horse better. So I expect some riders to have “issues.” Generally it doesn’t take long to get a handle on the exuberant horses and usually after 15-20 minutes of guidance and instruction, the horses all fall into the routine, regardless of their “exuberance.” But at the Iowa clinic, everyone had a pretty good handle on their horse from the start of the clinic, so it was all about simply getting better. And there’s always plenty of room for that.
Many of the people in the clinic had already done lots of groundwork with their horses and it really showed in the strong relationships they had with their horses. Still, as with riding, there’s always room for improvement. The actual groundwork techniques people use is less important to me—at my clinics, there’s always some people with “fancy sticks” and “magic wands” and “wonder halters”, with various techniques learned from various trainers, ranging from clever to clown-like. What’s most important to me is that the people understand what they are doing in the groundwork, what behavior they are influencing, what the correct outcome is and why a particular technique works (or doesn’t).
I always start my clinics with groundwork because it gives me a chance to get to know the horses and their people; their authority, their confidence and their competence. It’s not to say that the horses or people that are good at groundwork are good at riding—that is certainly not the case. Sometimes you have a horse that has a lot of time and money invested into its under-saddle training but none in groundwork. These horses might be total brats on the ground but wonderful under-saddle. And the opposite can definitely be true. But after teaching literally thousands of horses and riders, I can make a pretty good guess of what level the horse and rider team are at, from watching them from the ground first.
As the clinic progressed last weekend, I had increasing confidence in the horses and riders and I found the group to be very consumed with learning—both in terms of physical skills and intellectual learning. We talked a lot about horse behavior, the science behind training horses and the subtleties of good horsemanship. The questions were astute and the progress was considerable. By Sunday afternoon, I had a comfort level with this group that allowed me to relax, sit back and enjoy the clinic.
We were working on cantering—everyone working at their own level; some not even cantering but enjoying the learning and watching. I think we were working on perfecting the canter cue and departure. The riders were working at their own pace—some walking on the rail, some cantering round and round, some just cantering on the straight-aways. I was sitting back, enjoying watching everyone work—coaching riders independently as they came around—when things went suddenly wrong.
Unbeknownst to all of us in the arena, just outside the rail—in the attached horse barn-- a worker accidentally bumped into an air compressor, knocking loose one of the hoses. Suddenly there was a very loud hissing sound and the three horses nearest the barn aisle spooked, spun and bolted. Although my back was to them at the moment, between the sound of the released compressed air and the sound of the hoof beats, it got my attention real fast. When you work with an arena full of riders—15 to 20 riders is normal for me—you learn to observe with your ears.
At any given time when I am supervising an arena, some of the riders will be behind me. Although you learn to always position yourself in the arena to visualize the maximum number of riders, there are always some horses that are behind you. To compensate, you learn the sound of normal hoof beats—to listen to the cadence—so you know what a horse is doing even when he is not in your direct sight. In this instance, my mind registered the sound of the bolting horses before I figured out the sound of the runaway air hose.
Of the three horses that bolted, two of the riders managed to stay on their horse and bring them to a stop before reaching the other side of the arena. But one rider lost her balance as the horses changed directions and had an “unscheduled dismount.” My eye is trained to watch the rider fall—a lot of information about the potential for injury can be gleaned from watching the fall closely. She hit the ground pretty hard but in my mind, the impact was less conducive to serious injury. Still , the breath was knocked out of her and if you’ve never had that happen, it is very frightening.
Naturally, we took all precautions and we had good medic support at the clinic with EMTs, a nurse and a physical therapist. It was decided that the rider should get checked out before remounting and therefore she ended up missing the last hour of the clinic. Before she left, she said to me, “I had SO much fun!” Imagine saying that right after you hit the dirt! What a trouper!
I made a point of emphasizing to her that her horse had done nothing wrong—he’s a great little horse and had not missed a single step during the clinic. He had worked hard, done his best and was a very nice horse. I wanted to make sure she would not hold it against the horse or be unnecessarily afraid of him. After the clinic was over and I was headed for the airport, I called her to make sure she was okay. She was—no broken bones, just a bruised hip and some sore muscles. But something she said in that phone call affected me profoundly and it is that statement that I wanted to share with you.
Earlier that day it just so happened that I sat next to this rider at lunch and we had the chance to chat a little. I had discovered that she had two young children, I think she said 5 and 7— a girl and a boy. She was feeling guilty that she had left her husband at home to deal with the children alone on Father’s Day. I remember saying, “Hey, that is what Father’s Day is all about!” I could tell she felt a little guilty for taking some time for herself and following her own dreams, but I was proud of her for doing so. I was much older than her before I realized that I could do things for myself and still be a good person.
What she shared with me after the clinic and after her trip to the emergency room was both surprising and incredibly meaningful to me. She shared that she normally did not wear a helmet when she rode but that she had on this particular weekend because she knew how I felt about it and so she did so out of respect for me. She also shared that she would never ride without a helmet again because she had figured out that no matter how good her horse was (and he was very nice), stuff happens. And she has two beautiful children and a kind and generous husband that she needs to be around for. Why take the chance?
Truth be told, it was hot and humid and wearing a helmet was perhaps not the most comfortable thing. But on the off-chance that something goes wrong—something totally outside your control and influence, isn’t it a nice insurance policy to protect you from preventable head injury? My heartfelt thanks goes out to this rider for sharing her thoughts with me; I’ll never forget it. I don’t really know the impact I have had on someone unless they share it with me.
And BTW, thank you to all the kind souls who have asked me about my son, who is recovering from a near-fatal head injury that he incurred about a year and half ago. I am pleased and proud to report that he is defeating all odds in his recovery and he is well on the way to resuming a normal and productive life. I am so proud of him and so grateful for all your genuine concern. As it turned out, I made it home in plenty of time to celebrate his birthday.
Right now, I am high in the air, on my way to California for my last clinic this summer (I have a few clinics in the fall). I am hopeful that this clinic will be just as fulfilling as the other ones I have done this spring and I am equally hopeful that my summer break will include some long over-due time riding my own horse and just having fun with horses.
Ride hard, but ride safely,
Julie
