There is better than stupid, bad horses

(Mike and Annette Tolbert have a small horse farm in west central Florida that sits on 55,000 acres of the Withlachoochee State Forest. Annette is a retired grammar school teacher and Mike is a consutant for strategic marketing communications. They have too many horses, four dogs and a cat).

Well, I don't know about you, but when you get to be my age, sometimes you get tired. Sometimes you get tired of just about everything. Even if you love your career and work, a rest would be good. Even if you love everything outside your work, like family and friends and riding horses, you get to a point when you just want to stop for a while, sit down and take deep breaths. I think I am at that point. But, even if I knew for sure that I was there, I am not certain I would know exactly what to do.

After all, both my wife and I have built our lives around doing stuff...always doing something...sitting still is hardly an option.

Maybe that is why I have so much loved riding my horses. You aren't really sitting still because the horse is moving. But, you are sitting. You still have to think, although I must confess that being in the saddle has often caused me to day dream, which I suppose is some form of thinking. I think of winning the Lotto and what I would do. I think about my clients and how we can do more and better. I think about my children and how I miss seeing them. But, it is not all day dreaming. When I am riding my horse, for sure, my pulse and heart keep beating and a lot of the fun is when I can get that adrenalin pumping pretty good by getting my horse to move along at a rapid pace.

But, mostly I love getting on my horse and breathing fresh air; moving along trails on him, up hills and into valleys in such a smooth way that you almost feel as if you are floating. If you, too, have a great horse, you know what I mean. On the other hand, if you are so unfortunate as to have one of those horses that is a chronic pain in the ass--and there are lots of them out there--I hope one day you can enjoy riding on the back of the best. If you put up with a nutty horse, you certainly deserve to ride one that is wonderful.

The first horse I rode was a black stallion. I talked about him in an essay a couple of days ago. But the first horse I owned was a chestnut and white paint mare named Deal, Painted Deal. What a great way to get started. She took very good care of me, understood my limitations and seem to make exceptions for my inexperience. There was a time when I staged a horse show inside the Gator Bowl at Jacksonville before a football game. There were 70,000 people in the stands and as I sat on Deal I was scared to death. Man, that was a lot different that strolling down quiet trails. But Deal took care of me...my adrenalin hit an all time high...but she took care of me.

And, there was another time I rode an iron gray quarter horse mare named Purdy in a parade on New Year's Eve, just before one of the big football games. She was prancing on the pavement and along the riverfront when some drunk with a huge balloon stuck in a pin and burst it right at Purdy's face. Oh shit! It scared me out of my jeans. But, Purdy took care of me.

Of course, there are always exceptions. There were a couple of occasions when Purdy could have done a better job of taking care of me. The first was back in 1992 around Halloween. I was riding her out where I boarded early one morning when the 12 year old girl who lived with her parents at the ranch came running out and said she was going to be late for her school bus, which was about to stop for her about 1/2 mile away. Get on, I said, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her onto the horse behind me. My good intention was to race her up to the bus stop. Now you have to know that this child was an excellent rider. It didn't matter. She tightly wrapped her legs around Purdy and pushed her feet up close into her private parts. That's all it took to set off this horse. Yahoo. High into the air and down. The force of it all threw me off and the child as well. She landed on top of me. The pounding of it all broke three ribs. Again. Damn.
I don't know to this day if the little girl made her bus.

Then, there was the time in 1995 when I hauled Purdy out to this ranch where later in the day there was going to be this huge barbecue for a candidate for mayor, who was also my client. I thought I would take advantage of the opportunity to enjoy a morning ride in a beautiful spot. All was going fine until a strong gush of wind blew dust and leaves everywhere, and in the process, blew off my cowboy hat, right over Purdy's neck and under her feet. Okay, here we go again. Up in the air and down on the ground, this time in an ant bed. Besides the bites, I broke my collar bone in four places.

You'd think that I would learn.

Actually, that is the last time I have had broken bones. Trust me. I remember each and every bit of pain every time it has happened. And, as hard as I try not to, I still think about those breaks and pains every time I am in the saddle. Not enough to keep me from riding. But, enough to keep me from riding stupid, bad horses.

It's About How You Look, Not the Pain

Well, it is a drizzly wet and gray day outside my office window here at Spirit Woods Farm. A black bird is perched on a rail of the round pen just off our red barn, and the horses that I can see from here are quiet, in their normal positions of heads down and noses to the grass as they graze.

In my real life, I am not a farmer. I am a consultant for strategic marketing based on communications. For the past six years my focus has been on internal communications that help create a more employee based and engaged culture for a corporate organization. Sounds boring, but it is really exciting, especially when you can help senior management see that the life blood of any successful organization is the spirit of its people, and then show them how to tap into that wonderful resource to drive positive change. And, this morning, as part of my work stuff, I have been sitting on hold with an airline attempting to change my flight reservations on Sunday from Tampa to Denver and now from Tampa to Winnipeg. The music on hold is getting old, which is why I am using this time to write some more here.

My wife runs our small farm. We call her the manager and C.E.O., and in fact she carries business cards that say just that. She takes great pride in presenting one of those cards to someone. It has been an interesting journey from a gated community on a golf course in Jacksonville to this farm in Brooksville. About the only thing similar is that we have lots of gates here as well. Annette taught second grade for about 38 years, and she has put the same passion and energy into this farm that she did into the classroom. Our horses are much like her young and impressionable students, and she treats each of them as if he or she is the most special horse on the property. Each horse has a separate dinner menu, depending on its age, sex and other factors. I don't really think it matters, but she takes the time twice a day to dole it out in exact doses.

I ride a single horse, Rebel. He's a black and white Spotted Saddle, about 16 hands, and is like driving a Cadillac in the forest. Annette rides several different horses, sometimes a pair of different steads in one day. It is pretty amazing to me when I think about it. This tiny little woman who had never ridden until 3 years ago tacks up these huge horses and moves them around the property and forest trails like she has been sitting in a saddle forever. Annette is always looking to learn something new, both about riding as well as farming. Question after question after question to whoever can give her an answer. We are fortunate that we have a number of nearby neighbors who are veteran accomplished riders and always are willing to help and teach her.

And, she never tires. I am at that age when things in my body hurt, like my knees and that small spot at the base of my neck between my shoulder blades. After I ride for about 90 minutes I have to get off and stretch. About 3 hours is plenty for me. But, not my little wife who will ride from sun up until sun down if she can...and sometimes she forgets to come in until she sees the moon sitting up there as a reminder.

In fact, one of her riding partners has a small light on top of her helment just in case she does not get back before dark. I have discouraged Annette from following that lead because I also want to discourage her night riding. There is just too much that can go wrong to take the chance. Besides, we live in Florida where the day time weather is very good, even when it is blistering hot.

I remember the first time Annette was thrown. We all go through it, you know. It was right at the time she first started. Our friend put her on this beautiful Palomino in the round pen. I watched for a while as she walked him around. She was doing fine and the friend was in there with her, giving instructions. So, I went on about my business. A short time later, I was walking through the barn and at the other end of the aisle, I noticed Annette and the friend walking toward me. As they passed, both sort of nodded. I stopped and turned around to say something, and when I did, I saw the dirt and mud all over Annette's backside. And then, when I approached her, I saw the pain on her face. She had taken a tumble...but she sure did not want me to know. That tough upper lip kind of thing. She was afraid I would not let her ride any more for fear of her getting hurt. (Like I can keep her from doing anything she wants to do.)

Recently, she hit the ground for a third time. Determined to ride a new horse, she took him into the front pasture to try him out where she would have more room. My suggestion of first riding him in the round pen was unheeded. She was doing just great, walking him and then she got him into a beautiful gait. Annette was feeling her oats and so proud of herself. Then, she kicked him up a little to get him into a cantor. It was pretty. But, there were two problems. First, she did not pay attention to her position in the pasture, which was near a tree on one side and closing in on the fence in front of her. When she did see what was in front of her, she turned him like she would do her other horses by laying the reins on his neck good and pushing with her leg against him. But, the second problem did her in. Black Jack, the horse, has had reining training, and that normal direction from Annette was overstated to him. So, rather than simply make a nice round turn, Black Jack quickly veered to the right as he thought he was instructed. And, you got it. Annette was tossed.

As I ran over to where she lay on her backside, I could hear her moaning in pain. I noticed as I stood over her that she had landed in some horse manure. I looked down and asked, "Are you okay?" To which she replied, "How did I look before I fell? Was I sitting straight? Did I look good?"

Affairs with mares in my life

Of all the certainties that I have learned in my 63 years, none is more definite than the notion that people who have horses really love them. That is certainly true for me, although I can confess that my own passion is incredibly over matched by the absolute devotion--even obsession--that so many people enjoy.

Because I know that millions have a love affair with their horses, just as I do, I am hoping that in this space I can share with you some of my own experiences; experiences that often guide my life and have such a great impact on its quality. I share the belief expressed by Winston Churchill (and often attributed to Ronald Reagan) that the outside of a horse is good for the inside of a man.

There is just something about a horse; so large and strong; so graceful and soft, and my God their beauty can be breathtaking. When you sit atop one and race across an open field or along a mountain ridge or through the woods you can field the energy beneath you as the wind blows over you. It is so soothing and exhilarating both at the same time that you often forget potential disaster is only a foot slip or unsuspecting spook away.

Today, my wife and I live on a small horse farm that sits on 55,000 acres of the Withlachoochee State Forest in west central Florida, not too far from the Gulf of Mexico. In July, 2006, when we closed on the farm, we had only three horses that we had boarded in Jacksonville. Getting our own place and living with our own horses was a big step for us, especially when you consider that my wife taught second grade for 38 years and had never spent a single day around horses before she retired.

But, here we are, and as the days passed during the last year, we have added a horse here and a horse there. In fact, we woke up about a month ago and counted 21 different horses on our ten acres. And, did I mention that we also started with two dogs and as "farmers" soon found ourselves with five, plus a cat?

Now, I know from talking to others that what happened to us has happened to many others. It becomes an addiction. Just one more, okay? There has to be some kind of group therapy out there, a 12 Step program, for people like us.

Our "herd" is made up of gaited horses, mostly Spotted Saddles and Tennessee Walkers. We also have a couple of minis, a 16 month old filly, six month old colt and another filly how is four months old. When I started riding and for the first nearly 25 yeas, I rode quarter horses and paints. But broken bones and creeping age caused me to discover gaited horses and it has extended my life.

Let me make it perfectly clear that I am no cowboy. I don't ride to show, and you could not pay me to race around barrels at break neck speed. I ride only for pleasure. That has been my only motivation since I got a late start in the saddle back in about 1980. And, it has been so much pleasure; riding with friends through forests, tip toeing on ledges 13,000 feet up the Rocky Mountains on a horse you just met, or prancing among the tree tops in the Great Smokies.

Horses happened to me because I reached an age in life when I knew that I had to find something to do that would get me outside and exercised. Golf was out of the question. Too boring and too little patience on my part. In fact, today I own a home on the 13th fairway of a golf course, but I don't own golf clubs. No way I was going to become a runner, either. I claimed asthma as my excuse, but it was more like laziness that got in the way. Nope to tennis, too.

And, so I thought, what about horses? I'd never been around them as a kid or young adult. In fact, I had a respectful fear of them that dictated distance between us. But, why not try? So, on one spring weekend in 1980 I rented a horse and went on a beach ride along the Atlantic Ocean in North Florida. I fell more in love with what I got to see from that seat on top of the horse than I did with the horse, enough so that I decided to give it a further go.

Now, you have to understand that one of North Florida's great and legendary cowboys is a friend of mine. His name is Elmer Rudd and he has raised world champion quarter horses all with names and pedigrees that equine academics would recognize instantly. Elmer even sold Roy Rogers Trigger II. He has belt buckles as big as waffles, and his hands are the size of an elephant's ear. So, I of course called by cowboy friend Elmer and told him I wanted to buy a horse.

"Whoa. You don't know that," Elmer said to me. "You don't know anything about horses. Come out here to the ranch and let's talk." And, so I went to Rudd's 4E Ranch and we talked. Try it out first, before you spend a lot of money, he cautioned.

Then, Elmer took me to one of his barns where he introduced me to a solid black and very shiny stallion (another confession: I did not know it was a stallion, and even if I had, it would have meant nothing to me). Ride this guy, said Elmer, to see if you really like it. He's a nice horse and his owner owes a ton of money in back board. Elmer then sold me a used saddle for $150, showed me how to put it on from the left, gave me a quick lesson in cinching up and then gave me quick instruction on putting a bit into his mouth. With that, he basically said, good luck.

I can remember things about those earliest days that should have driven me away from horses and toward something like badminton. One day, when I was riding this shiny black horse down a road near Rudd's ranch, we came to a pasture where there were three other horses. They ran toward the fence and started whinnying. My horse responded and pulled his head toward the three, who by now were pressed up against the fence. Old friends, I thought, letting my horse work his way toward the three horses and the fence.

Wrong. I learned later, after I got up off my backside and finally got control of my horse again after about 30 minutes, that one of the horses was a stud and the other two were his mares. My own stallion posed a serious challenge...but remember that I did not know anything about horse behavior, much less stallions. You can bet that this story was told over and over again around the farms and ranches in North Florida for some time.

On another occasion, I took my 8 year old son out to the ranch to show him the horse and watch me ride. I saddled up, walked the horse and then started into a great cantor. It was great, and I knew that my son had to be impressed. Then, I hit the ground with a huge thud. What I later learned was the "D" ring on my used saddle broke, causing the saddle to quickly roll sideways to the left, slinging me to the ground. I was momentarily knocked out and when I came to, the horse was standing over me. It was not his fault. My son was horrified.

Now, it is time for my dinner on this Tuesday night at the end of October. The horses have been fed. The sun has almost set behind graying clouds and soft winds that move the grass like the waves of the sea. And, so, I am going to end this for now with an ambition to start again, maybe tomorrow.