Arriving at the new ranch was a bigger adjustment than it had been going from the first ranch to Red Tail Ranch. I was still fairly green in the ways and means of having a horse – so dependent on others for knowing what to do and how to do it. Even the horse knew more than I did, though I couldn’t see that then.
We were yet again on leased Stanford land. Spanning many hundreds of acres, most of the boarding was in a pasture arrangement. The mares were separated from the geldings. There was an out of the way, easily unnoticed, set up of stalls and small paddocks where some horse’s lived regularly, and a few found refuge when they needed rest or doctoring of temporary injury or illness. Even further afield on the far side of the gelding pasture on Coyote Hill Road was a flat pasture for horses too fragile by age or serious injury to live in the general population.
The well traveled Deer Creek Road divided the ranch as well. The mares and the main facility with amenities were on one side and the geldings were across the road. Anyone leading or riding a horse across it had choice words for impatient drivers braking too close or generally driving too fast. Such drivers were not impressed by our horse mania delaying their passage elsewhere. Other drivers addressed our crossing cautiously, maybe even enjoying the beauty of the horses.
The comings and goings of horses and humans could feel very crowded at certain times of the day. Our small Red Tail band found its place keeping our mixture of geldings and mares living in the pastures. Our group, which included the informal mentor and a couple of friends, shared a large tack shed that was offside to the rest, near a catch pen for the mares. The existing ranch social order absorbed us and we soon expanded our friendly associations, helping each other with horse care.
Within the large total group of horses, the ones who belonged to our early morning crew happily joined the parade from the pastures to take his or her place at the tie racks for special feeding, grooming or hoof care, no matter which human was in charge of the task. It was like this with all the horses, they knew the routines of their people and positioned themselves accordingly. Many of them were tacked up for riding or led off to arenas for training until they all eventually ebbed back into the pastures and pens until human tide rose again.
The peer pressure to ride my horse was heavy from people I knew least. Admittedly, my own desire to fit into that world felt almost jilted by my horse unable to bear consistent time under saddle. Like a dreamy bride planning her wedding before she even had a committed groom, I collected tack and accessories for riding – even an expensive custom saddle suited to the equestrian persona of my future. Accoutrements for myriad activities and responsibilities relating to the horse accumulated in my tack shed nook.
Testing the progress of healing and to exhibit the seriousness of my equestrian character I took Vegas out on the simple ranch trails a couple of times, but he was not entirely comfortable, physically or psychologically. My knowledge of how to ride was still a vestige of having been on horses trained by others. The limited parameters of those experiences allowed me to have the pleasure with none of the work – and therefore none of the real knowledge either.
Riding Vegas showed me how little I really knew about horses, even after immersion into equestrian ethos. Normally, one would engage with a trainer or riding instructor or both in order to improve both horse and rider for the equestrian experience. Yet, with Vegas’ mostly unsound condition I couldn’t have asked much more of him than I did. And even that was [probably] too much. ( Why I didn’t try to learn on someone else’s horse I don’t recall.)
With a goal to ride, but with a horse in no condition to be ridden my relationship was bound to a different plane. My work with him was for a return to soundness. This turned out to be a longer row to hoe than I ever imagined and while progress was made my consistent riding experiences and ground work activities, other than hand walking, were delayed. I had managed to bring his weight up to normal, though his hooves were in bad shape and one in particular gave him a lot of trouble.
My hope and determination for his soundness didn’t wane and concentrating on his hoof care seemed the logical tack. This became rather an obsession. I was introduced to a woman that the informal mentor knew and considered to be a more authoritative source of knowledge because she was completing the course certification of the particular method we were referencing. I engaged her to trim Vegas and also tried to learn as much as I could to be able to take over the responsibility of trimming. It was daunting. The ocean of information was deep and knowing what was what with confidence didn’t come easily. Between the hoof care and the training and riding the variety of opinions and beliefs of what was right and what was true were a storm of conflicting views.
My loyalty cleaved to the ways that were attractive to my imagination of my equestrian identity and my own philosophical and intellectual temperament. I read book after book, attended some expositions demonstrating techniques and philosophies presented by the popular and celebrated experts. Little by little my opinions and beliefs developed to match what promised a successful relationship with one’s horse. Attempts to develop the necessary skills trailed along behind them.
The vast equestrian order supports endless subordinate sects of devotion and conviction. Distinct breeds of horses and specific disciplines of riding or driving them for pleasure or sport or transportation or labor all existed in their niches. The variations of purpose, custom and exposition could be as powerful as any religion for its devotees. The common ground of horses generally kept a kind of peace among so called horse lovers, but the particulars often flamed into judgemental gossip among groups, between individuals within groups and outright critical activism against some in some cases.
How horses should and shouldn’t be used, how they should or shouldn’t be managed or trained, who should or shouldn’t have a certain horse or ride within a certain discipline and more were all up for debate and defense and criticism. As I judged others, in silence or whispers, no doubt I too was a subject of similar judgement. The horses were at the mercy of it all, some faring better than others and none with full recourse for their own preferences and self-interest.
My husband eventually came into the gravitational pull of the horse. He came to the first ranch to see what was so captivating me, and then saw the appeal for himself. He was able to recollect memories and eulogise his California ranching relatives living and dead, grasping the thread that connected him to his birthright of horsemanship. His quest was to pursue endurance riding. He connected with a champion endurance rider who lived in our area, took lessons with her and finally felt ready to get a horse of his own. He travelled to Colorado with an experienced friend to look at prospects bred to endure on the trail. He decided on a three-year old bay, a Polish Arabian gelding who was delivered to the Bay Area ranch. Our investment in the horse as a means to happiness was now a family affair. Nearly every day, I drove to the ranch before work and took care of our horses. On the weekends my husband worked with his and I with mine.
My mind was always on horses and the daily interactions made up the story of my purpose. Highs and lows were measured by the level of cooperation of the horses or my ability to overcome a problem. The equestrian complex put expectations on the horse including a good portion of responsibility on him to interpret the communication to him in our favor, and when he didn’t oblige we felt justified in diminishing him to various degrees. This last in spite of the mantra of the most revered horsemanship “gurus” that mistakes were never the horse’s fault.
The challenges and limitations of boarding the horses gave way to a not uncommon conversation of owning one’s own equestrian property where home for horses and humans existed together. The fantasy was replete with perfection. Since our affluence seemed sustainable with room to grow I felt secure enough to see that for myself. My husband could envision this too – at least he went along with it for me – and there were appealing ideas of owning a city house and a country house and other real estate opportunities.
We found a place of about a hundred acres several hours north of us and made arrangements to go look at it. Extenuating circumstances eliminated that initial option, but we decided to go explore the area anyway. Finding natural beauty and small town charm along with campuses of higher education which we trusted to harbor the culture and intellectual discourse of our custom, we could see ourselves established there in some manner. With an appetite whetted for ever expanding material success and the badge of equestrian status we found a homestead on 18 acres and put our money down.