Community Stories

The Spanish Riding School’s Barn Cat and Other Things that Remind Us the World Isn’t Over

I am isolating at a friend’s farm for a few days, and storms rolled in over her back pasture for the past two nights. The night before last, the thunder gurgled before sunrise. Lightning flickered through the window, illuminating the room in white, a stark contrast to the occasional golden headlights of cars passing on…

Not Out of the Game

Patrick Overlund O'Brien

In this time of quarantine, we’ve all learned to live differently, each in our own way, reflecting on what’s important in life. But for me, it’s not a new normal. I feel like I started this journey long before COVID-19 arrived. For the past year, I’ve been in recovery from a traumatic riding injury—and I’ve…

Birthdays, Bears and Horses

Caelan Beard

It had been a while since I’d been to a seven-year-old’s birthday party, but from what I remember, they didn’t normally have bears in them. Teddy bears, sure. But black bears? Nope. It probably shouldn’t have come as such a surprise. It was the middle of July and I was working at a trail stable…

Déjà Vu

Thomas Gumbrecht

The house I grew up in was a charming little Cape Cod in a post-war development of similar homes on the North Shore of Long Island, NY. It sat on a lot measuring 60 X 100 feet, but it seemed much bigger to us. Behind the maple tree in the back yard, the terrain dropped off…

Who Says You Can’t Get Married at the Barn?

Lisa DeMasi

On Thanksgiving weekend I sat atop Shadow, one of the two lesson horses I ride, just outside the indoor, wallowing in the delight of being at the barn as I chatted with my riding teacher and a couple of other riders. Getting married was on my mind. My fiancé and I had been engaged a…

One Magical Horse

Jody L McBrien

“Lots of bugs this summer! That’s probably why this horse has glassy eyes,” was the diagnosis a local vet gave when I had a bony three-year-old inspected for sale. I happily believed him, as I’d already fallen in love with the dull-coated Quarter Horse who was routinely pushed from the communal feeding trough by stronger…

My Ugly Darling

Heather Malcolm

“I got a horse you need to try out,” dad said, for seemingly the hundredth time. My go-to response kicked in. “I already have a horse and I don’t need another.” “Just take a look,” he replied. We walked out to the paddock. Upon first glance, the horse in front of me was decidedly unimpressive.…

Motherhood and Horses

Elyse Schenk

“Horses will always be waiting for you.” It’s a well-intentioned reassurance often uttered by loved ones who’ve never experienced the isolation of a hiatus from horses. It’s the same one my fiancé offered me after the doctor ordered me to stop riding due to minor pregnancy complications that could worsen by the turbulence of a…

Lessons in Aging from My 16-Year-Old Quarter Horse

Karena Garrity

My horse is my extra-terrestrial, like in the movie E.T. He has seasonal allergies, I have seasonal allergies! He has a touch of navicular; I have plantar fasciitis. He needs pads in his shoes, I wear pads in my shoes. He coughs when we canter, I have an asthma attack. As we’ve gotten older, so…

“I always knew I wanted to be a judge”

Kim Ablon Whitney

It’s been nearly 25 years since I got my USEF judge’s license. Yet, I can still easily remember the young girl I used to be, sitting ringside with a notebook and a pencil, “judging” classes for fun. When the jog was called, I nearly shook with anticipation, waiting to hear whether I had recorded the…

THAT SUCKS!

Amanda Hensley

When people find out that you’re a horsewoman with an autoimmune disorder, they have a tendency to offer helpful advice. The world is filled with well-intentioned people, after all. But sometimes, well, most of the time, those well intentions make me want to punch you in the face. Since the last article about my disorder…

Tales of a Working Student

Marina Callahan

My first boss was a middle-aged man from Munich. With the charred end of a cigarette hanging from his mouth, he’d regale anyone willing to listen with the story of how he was dropped on the shores of the United States by his wealthy father 30 years earlier. He wheezed between words as he coughed…

Note to Truck

Mary Lynne Carpenter

I searched for you for two years before I bought you sight unseen off the internet. You were an older model Ford F150, nine years old to be exact. You looked like you had been well-cared for and sported low mileage. I’d saved up the cash to pay for you in-full at the dealership. My…