the start of the horse addiction

One evening, my Aunts were at our house talking with my Mother. They were discussing their childhood memories of riding horses. At the conclusion of the discussion, they had decided to all go together and take riding lessons. At this point I did not really know what it meant, I was only three. In the coming weeks I heard thier stories about riding, they were going to be in a show and possibly, a fox hunt as outriders. One of my Aunts had decided it wasn't for her and did not continue with her lessons, but for my other Aunt and Mother and soon, me, this was just the beginning.


My first memory of the stable is still vivid in my mind. My whole family went to watch my Mother and Aunt ride. My brothers and I stayed with our Dad in the viewing room. The viewing room had a huge dusty window that we would look out to watch all the riding while perched on wobbly barstools. The room also had a vending machine, which had been incentive to sit as quiet as we could while we were there. There always was a distinct barn smell which can only be appreciated by people who love horses, dust, hay, leather and horse sweat. We would travel once a week, what seemed to be a million miles, to watch them ride.


After a few months my Mom and Aunt were going to ride in a show, we, of course, were going to watch. This is when my life would become a life full of horses.


At the show my Mom had a friend who had her own horse, she asked if I would like to sit on her horse, his name was Poppy. I can't remember who housted me up on Poppy but I do remember I did not want to get down. I was in love. Poppy was the first horse I sat on and would later be the first horse I jumped and fell off of. After this particular day I begged my parents to let me ride and take lessons, I was told I would have to wait until I was four, but I could have a lesson for my birthday. I am sure they thought I would forget by then...I did not forget.


I started my lessons around my fourth birthday. Soon after I started to ride, my Mom and Aunt both purchased horses. My Aunt bought a mess of a horse, clumsy, klutzy, lazy and not bright, ironically named Lucky. My Mom bought a horse that she had been riding for lessons, he was huge, in hindsight, I was small and he was probably only 15'3 hands high. His name was Bud, a well built, kind and gentle, beautiful Palomino which I soon would also ride.


I was able to ride in schooling shows in the coming years and I was able to ride alot of different horses of which I remember every one of thier names.


This was the mid seventies. Helmets did not have straps, there were no half chaps, full chaps came in brown suede and everyone wore rust colored breeches with rubber riding boots except for shows. People wore beautiful wool sweaters and tweed jackets to the barn, it was a privilage to ride and all dressed as if it was respect for horses.


My Mom and Aunt were invited to ride with the Hunt, I was too small to ride with them but we all were invited to join the brunch that followed. It was incredible, all were dressed in hunt coats, ascot ties, leather boots and light colored breeches. There was always one man wearing a red coat, I always assumed he was in charge, which he was.


After some time, I assume a couple years, some strange things had been occurring at the stable. Horses were getting sick and some had died. The care went by the wayside and the owner of the barn had been acting questionably. Later we found out, much later for me, he had been making horses fall sick to collect insurance money. He would later be inprisioned for these cruel acts. We had to move our horses, the quicker the better. Not really knowing anywhere else to go, my Mom and Aunt had started to talk to another trainer who was planning to leave as well and they decided we would go with her.


Before we moved on with our new trainer, my Mom had bought a new horse and we no longer owned Bud, which was devastating to me since I was riding him also. The new horse was purchased by my Mother out of pure pity. He was on a trailer headed for what we called The Meat Packer. He was small, skinny, we were told six and rideable. My Mom spent many months training him and getting him in better health. He was an pasture accident when a stallion got loose and no one wanted him, he was an Andalusion Quarter Horse cross that was not to do well in the world of tall lanky throughbreds. She later found out he was only three and possibly had a rider once or twice. She named him Andy.


We traveled from barn to barn with our new trainer, went to shows where we all succeeded and brought home many ribbons and trophys. Our new trainer was getting a very good reputation with her three students doing so well at the shows. She would collect a few new clients here and there, but it was always just a a small group of us.


After about three years, my Dad had taken a job in California and we were soon to move. When our trainer found out she asked my parents to leave me with her to show for the summer. I wanted to stay and show, but, like any sound minded good parents, they said no, I was only seven.


We moved our horse to California with us and I began to ride him as there were no available school horses anywhere we boarded. I continued to ride and show as did my Mom. Eventually I even dabbled in jumpers and dressage with Andy. I had him until I was nineteen years old. He taught me everything I know.
I rode at a few stables while living in California and rode as many horses as I could. I was able to ride with different trainers of all levels and discplines. We rode up hillsides, swam in creeks and galloped in fields. It was a lovely place to ride which only added to my life long addiction to horses.