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?"