Cue the Inspirational Music

Success is best after prolonged failure.



Hi. I'm awesome.



You know the music at the end of The Lion King, when Simba dramatically walks up a rock and then makes a lot of synchronized noise? I’ve been feeling like that all week.

Last weekend Surya and I went to our fifth event, and our fourth at Beginner Novice. If you recall from previous episodes of Eventing is Hard Dammit, we were eliminated at our first three BN competitions due to disagreements regarding direction of travel during the jump phases. I arrived at Flora Lea very nervous. Our goal was to 'not get eliminated'.

The event looked easy when we walked the course. No combinations on cross-country, nothing less than a 6-stride in show-jumping. Which of course increased the pressure to do well. Oh well.

Happily, at each subsequent show, I’ve felt less nervous before dressage. After the first two, I realized that dressage with Surya is almost entirely dependent on the work we’ve put in beforehand. I simply go in and warm up exactly as we do at home. This time, my trainer told me to sit the trot in warm up, as I’ve recently had more success with getting her to bend and engage sitting than posting. Two minutes before going in, I asked “should I just sit the test?” “If you think she will spook at the judge’s box less.” I gulped a little, since I just figured out how to sit the trot without losing my stirrups two weeks ago, but sat back and went for it.

We got a 34.5! That put us 7^th. So far, our dressage scores show an encouraging trend:

Fairhill: 46.0

Flora Lea: 40.5

New Jersey Horse Park: 38.6

Carousel: 38.1

Flora Lea: 34.5

Evidently we improve by at least 0.5 points per week. Hopefully we can keep it up!

When we got back to the trailer Surya loaded herself on to take advantage of the shade, and I sat down to stare dramatically into the middle distance while gathering my concentration for the jumping showdown. When I went to tack Surya up for jumping, she was not her usual sleepy self, but stood with her ears pricked forward and all four feet on the ground.



Soon.



I went into show jumping determined the repeat the round we had at Carousel. Surya had other ideas. Instead of uncertainly trotting the first jump, she took up a canter at the start flags and powered straight over every line. We had one rail down at the second jump, because I saw a long distance but held to make sure she went over. I needn’t have bothered. She was committed.

When we walked to the start box Surya knew what was coming. She jigged into the square, and stood with her whole body tensed in anticipation of running. I let her go; she locked onto the first log and exploded into action. She did not look at a single jump. For the first time, she and I wanted the exact same thing. She took me to every question and landed running. But she wasn’t running away. Before the water we made a wide-turn, and I asked her to slow to trot. “Hey-ohhhh”… she came right back.

We did the second half of the course faster. Up the hill to brush, over a table. Across a ditch she regarded as terrain. The tempo of her feet pulled us toward the end. She launched herself over the last rolltop and galloped through the finish flags.

Run, Surya. It felt like flying. It felt like freedom.

A sign I saw driving home from the barn. It was oddly appropriate.

Personal Best

Try, try again, blah blah blah et cetera.

New Jersey Horse Park, unrecognized, event 3 (for us)

The dressage went acceptably, despite a misunderstanding of the order by the steward a very rushed 2-minute warm-up. Stadium, however, did not. The mare was scared of most of the jumps, running sideways twice at jump 2, and jumping 2 feet higher than necessary over everything. To make it worse, the course was at the edge of skill. After the fourth jump, we took a hard right, then immediately a hard left, and came up to a SCARY green oxer painted with weird swirls. Surya stopped and spun left, and I very nearly went flying over her right shoulder.

Elimination. Thankfully, as we were competing unrecognized, we were allowed to run the cross-country.

I’m usually not afraid (see previous posts re galloping out of control). So when we walked up to the cross-country warm-up and I started shaking, I was shocked. This does not happen to me.

Surya and I paced waiting to go into the start box. “I am not afraid,” I told my trainer. Inside my head I echoed “I am not afraid.” Then, “ok who am I kidding?! I’m afraid. We. Are. Going. To. Die.” I couldn’t feel my fingers. This was not good, cause I kinda needed them to use the reins. I muttered angrily, “either you are incompetent, and you need to get off the horse now, or acknowledge you’re afraid, and do it anyway. No middle ground.” I breathed and concentrated on feeling my fingers and toes and knees… and nose. “Be in here.” Miraculously, I felt warmth spread from my fingers and call me to run. My vision tunneled to see only the first log and the sounds around us muted behind the rushing of our blood. When we stepped into the start-box, Surya stilled with her ears pricked forward. The steward counted, “3, 2, 1…” I turned and genuinely grinned at him. “Thank you!” Then Surya and I leapt out of the start box and had a clear cross-country run.

Carousel, unrecognized, event 4 (for us)

We warmed up for dressage by stretching down and then collecting. Surya was an angel, and we had our best dressage test in a ring! We continued the improving dressage score trend! We scored an 8 on one of our circles!

THEN WE WENT CLEAR IN STADIUM. I put emphasis on this because it hasn’t happened yet, and I am so proud of Surya. And myself. It was not an easy ride. Surya tried to run out of the first three jumps. But, I kept her straight. The good thing is that once she commits to a jump, she NEVER drops a rail. Our distances were good, and we rode four related distances and a two-stride. I can feel our skill improving.

Cross-country. The moment of truth. The first five jumps went well. However, after jump 5, there was a large playground to our left. There were many screaming children on swings. Surya turned and booked it to the right (jump 6 was straight ahead up a hill). So we took a little bit of a circuitous route to jump 6. Thankfully, Surya doesn’t regard ditches as jumps, just part of the natural terrain. She extended her galloping stride a bit and then took off to the right again. The next step was to go through a gap in a line of trees and hedges to approach the 7ab combination. Surya, not understanding that and wanting to distance herself from the evil flying spawn (children), saw the starter jumps off to the right and proceeded in a full-out run. I stopped her by running her directly into a hedge. She halted abruptly and tossed her head, snorting.

Somewhat recovered, we trotted through the trees into quiet open fields, leaving the Circus (as the first part of the course came to be called by the people from my barn) behind us. Surya trotted down toward 7a with her head as high as it could go, frazzled and upset. She launched herself over the jump. Then, I made Mistake One. I could feel it happening. Instead of sitting up immediately upon landing and collecting her stride, I remained in two-point and let her fly at 7b. She ran out to the right and attempted to gallop away again. I reined her back and we popped over 7b.

The next obstacle was the water jump. All we had to do was trot through. And there I made Mistake Two. As we approached the water Surya started trotting sideways and refused to go in. At that point, she was frazzled, unsure, and obstinate. I applied leg as hard as I could and smacked her, insisting she go forward. She refused twice. Eliminated.

Eventually, we stopped directly in front of the water. Surya reached her nose down, sniffed, and walked through calmly. I should have let her trot up to the water and stop. She would have gone in. She wouldn’t have stepped backwards.

After we exited the water, the stewards let us finish the course. We jumped the remaining jumps straight and with enthusiasm. Surya galloped up the hill to the last jump and leapt with room to spare. She was a good girl.

I am a little frustrated, because I know what two mistakes I made, and I knew as they were happening. This is an improvement over our last events. I know what to fix and how to fix it. To be fair, we’ve never encountered these situations before. I’ve been to exactly as many events as Surya has.

Overall, we had an excellent dressage test, a clear stadium round, and a great cross-country except for two mistakes on adjacent jumps. It was our personal best elimination! Next time’s the charm?

Eventing: We're Doing It

Eventing is hard.

Surya and I have evented twice now. We went Starter Rider at the Fairhill Horse Trials on May 5^th, and then Beginner Novice Rider at the recognized Flora Lea Horse Trials on May 26^th. The week after the first, Surya was exhausted. This week, Surya is excitable and liable to canter at the application of leg instead of pin her ears.

My horsemanship, Surya’s abilities, and our combined knowledge have grown so exponentially fast in the past four weeks that my head is still spinning.

Here is what happened:

Fairhill

At Fairhill, Surya and I entered the grounds with our heads high and our backs tight. She behaved like an angel. Despite my assumption that I would not be at all nervous (see previous post re my propensity toward feeling no anxiety), I behaved like a spooky horse encountering crowds for the first time. We entered the dressage arena and the judge rang the bell in Surya’s face as we passed the judging booth. However, we performed the geometry of the entire test despite the fact that Surya hated the judging booth. I regarded this as a great triumph. We did not score well in the judge’s book, but we did in mine. (* Judge’s Comments: He is very strong. Do you use the same bit for cross-country? Well… be careful and trot your jumps. In the future, I would try a gag. Thanks a LOT! Way to give confidence to the green-as-grass event rider!)

Our jump lesson two days before the event was… eventful. We tried a running martingale on Surya, who hated it and flipped her shit when she hit it over jumps. Though we removed the martingale, she spent the rest of the jump lesson launching herself in the air. I did not do a good job staying in the saddle and spent each jump airborne, then slammed back into the irons on the backside. So, warming up for stadium, I will admit to a little teeny bit of nervousness. Just a smidge. Most of it was related to fear of going through the start flags at the wrong time. Happily, we trotted and cantered our stadium test clear. Surya was unafraid.

Cross country started with a flyer over the first log and then Surya romping for a good twenty yards. That was fun and I laughed. Then we took off for a while. Unfortunately, she ran out of the fourth jump. We trotted the fifth, but she stopped. She tried to stop at the sixth, but I had enough and made her jump it. We trotted again through jump eleven, and then cantered home. Overall, a successful first trip… but I had no braking power and my arms burned from trying to stop her.

We did it! We completed an event! We are official!

Intervening Time

The week after Surya had a day of rest, then a dressage lesson, then more rest. She was very nappy all week and picked back up her head-tilting habit (instead of bending her neck she just tilts her head). The week after that I was out of town for work, and my trainer and ARF rode her. Then, jumping boot camp.

We jumped Thursday, Saturday, Tuesday, and Thursday. Also, we tried new bits. First, a single-joint Wonderbit. Then, a French-link Wonderbit. I could slow her down with both, but she lost her mind a little if I touched the bit in the air. I am not a good enough rider to only touch the bit exactly when I want to. So that was out. Then we tried a full-cheek Waterford, and she loved it and I loved it. She plays with it more than the Baucher, and listens to speed control.

I also looked at pictures from Fairhill and realized that I need to work on my ‘going up’ jump position. Instead of folding/squatting and reaching forward with my arms, I stood up in the saddle. To practice and try to remedy this, I went to the gym, took 3 pound weights, visualized cantering to a jump, and “folded” 50 times. I think I’ve improved my jump position. At least, I’m getting better at releasing. Surya is forgiving of the Waterford, but she still doesn’t like me to touch it over the jump.

Flora Lea

Maybe not the best idea to do a recognized event so soon? Whatever. We had the best dressage test we have ever done in a dressage ring. Surya finally sucked it up, put her head down, and got to work! That being said, our score was still not good. But who cares. We now have something to work with!

Stadium was a problem. The very first jump had brush stuck all through it, which Surya had never seen before. I got her over it, but I had to stuff her over the rest of the jumps as well. Then, she ran out of the second vertical in a two-stride. Twice. Oh well.

Cross-country had a lot of scary stuff on the jumps as well. The second jump was brush, and she ran out. She came to a halt in front of a log with mulch before leaping it from a standstill. I brought her to a trot in front of the water, which she took as license to trot sideways before finally going in, completely unafraid. Then, a few more jumps and we cantered up a hill to another brush jump, and she ran out. We circled and she launched herself over it. Not really sure how I stayed on that, but I think all the squatting helped since I just folded over her neck and pushed on my irons to stay with the motion. And that is how we got eliminated.

Weirdly, I really don’t mind. We went very fast on cross-country and jumped complicated things and it was fun! AND we had a great dressage test!

The Next Day

We went BACK to Flora Lea with our other trainer and schooled the jumps. Surya tried to run out a couple of times, but we addressed the problem and I think I am more prepared to point her at a jump and make sure she goes over it. Plus, we jumped novice jumps, and now Beginner Novice looks small.

The Day After That

Dressage lesson. I thought Surya would be exhausted from the show and subsequent two-hour cross-country schooling, but she came out wanting to canter, and we had an awesome lesson.

Right Now

Surya is resting today. Jump lesson tomorrow, rest on Friday, dressage on Saturday, and then our third event at the New Jersey Horse Park on Sunday!

I am excited for Sunday. I don’t really have more to say about this. I can’t even say we have improved significantly each event. I mean, that’s true, but we have learned so exponentially that each event seems worlds apart. My head is reeling. Surya is up. I am psyched.

Last Comment

Appropriately, our colors are black and green. Bright, bright lime green. We are the Green Team.



Om nom nom nom.



Cookie for ME?!



Transitioning Into Competitors

Surya and I will attend our first event in two weeks, and we (well, I) am excited! Our goal is to complete the event. Going for blue will come later. But, in the interest of fostering a future winning streak (ha), I am concentrating on preparing for the competition season. In our last lesson my trainer commented that in order to be truly competitive in dressage, we need to work on Surya’s consistency in the bridle and our transitions.

Transitions are important, blah blah, yeah yeah, we all know. Over the winter, we did a lot of walk-halt transitions to extend our warmup when it was cold and to encourage bending even before we started trot work. Our downward transitions have steadily improved from full-stop-on-the-forehand to moving forward into the bridle. In general, though, I have eschewed work on transitions in favor of work on the bit, suppling, and bending.

I have especially ignored upward transitions. My approach has been to expect Surya to get it over with as soon as possible. Namely, I ask for canter, you canter, or you get smacked/kicked/named Acting President of the You-Are-in-Deep-Shit Committee. Not surprisingly, this approach improved reaction time and minimized fights over forward motion. Also not surprisingly, Surya does not particularly enjoy upward transitions. Sometimes she will pin her ears and swish her tail before I remind her of her pending application to juvenile delinquency camp. When she does comply, whether from walk to trot or trot to canter, she wrinkles her nose, throws her head in the air, and lurches forward into the faster gait.

Shockingly, I also do not enjoy upward transitions. They are uncomfortable before, during, and immediately after. They are an unfortunate intermediary between what I was working on (such as trotting), and what I would like to be working on (such as cantering). But, it is time to add transitions to the list of things we are schooling.

The past three weeks, I have spent the first ten minutes of each ride doing sitting trot and canter without stirrups. I like the schedule quite a bit. It warms my legs up (fast!), and gives Surya a chance to putter around in a pony trot before I go back to posting and am capable on insisting on a “big girl trot.” The other upside is that my sitting trot is vastly improved. Don’t be too impressed. By vastly improved, I mean improved to the point where I have a decent chance of keeping my stirrups on my feet and keeping my butt connected to the saddle.

This means that if I concentrate very hard, I can sit in the saddle, keep my back straight, and ask for a transition to canter without leaning forward and throwing the reins away. However, I still have a tendency to wish the transition to be over as soon as possible. Grit my teeth, clench my fingers, squint my eyes. My whole body screams “I’m uncomfortable, just go!” Surya reflects my body language, I reflect hers, and we reflect each other in one tense unhappy bundle.

The solution is obvious. I need to ride through the transition, before, during and immediately after. I need to breathe and stay with the uncomfortable feelings. If I always insist on rushing, no matter how fast her reaction time, Surya will never learn balance in transition and will always lurch forward. If I only have good technique and position when things are predictable and smooth within one gait, what kind of rider am I? There is a difference between insisting on immediate reaction to my application of leg and insisting on transition to a higher gait no matter what kind of balance she is in. I need to bend her, squeeze her to contact with the bridle, then apply leg and ask for the transition. Only then should I end her world if she doesn’t respond.

It will hurt. I will want to close my eyes and wait for it to be over. But I need to be unafraid to breathe and feel. The pain is good. We are not really hurt. Surya and I just experience an explosion of feeling when moving up. Our natural reaction is to shrink from intensity. Instead, we need to embody full awareness, and meet the challenge with equal power. Instead of a transition from one kind of work to another, I want the transition to become a moment outside of gait. A full stop to the music, a pause, a breath, before resuming in greater color. I want to love transitions. I want to want to ride nothing but transitions. Because dance is call and response, transformation from one step to another.

Cross Country Schooling!!!

Vulnerability is a difficult concept for me. I don’t like it and I decide against feeling it. In general, I am unafraid. I guess this is a coveted feeling in horseback riding.

But a few of weekends ago, something happened to shake my confidence. I usually go on a trail ride around the edge of the farm property before my weekly jump lesson. That Saturday, the weather was atrocious. A mixture of snow, rain, and hail dumped drearily from the sky, despite the fact that the calendar read March. I decided to go out anyway. We were jumping outside- why couldn’t we go on a trail ride?

Surya and I started out the gate and along the fields adjacent to woods bordering the property. These woods have historically been scary to Surya, and we have had more than one spooking “incident.” It hasn’t really fazed me. Beyond the woods along the backside of the property, there are suburban houses backing to the property, and Surya has found the need on occasion to spin 180 and bolt. This has upset me, resulting in anger and cursing, but again, hasn’t shaken my underlying confidence.

That Saturday, Surya power-walked alongside the woods, with her back tight and her head in the air, ready to leap for joy or run for her life. Suddenly, a branch on one of the trees cracked loudly to our left. Surya spun to the right and bolted back the way we had come. I lost my left stirrup, but really was in no danger of falling off. I sat back in the saddle and checked the reins hard. No response. All right. As we traveled along at a full gallop I evaluated my options. We were charging slightly downhill on leaf-covered rutted ground. There was maybe a horse-and-a-half length between the fence on our left and the woods on our right. A short field-length ahead of us, a gate was swung open and blocking our path. Under normal circumstances, I would have used a pulley rein and yanked her around in a circle until we stopped. But, I could feel her stumbling slightly. She wasn’t in any danger of slipping going forward, but I was worried that if I yanked her toward the woods she might fall down instead of coming to an abrupt halt.

Basically, it was up to Surya what happened next. THAT was scary. What was I scared of? What if she jumped the gate? I could probably stay on, and then we would have an open field coming up and I could stop her. What if she took a 90 degree left turn at a gallop? I could still probably stay on. I was scared of her trying to jump, but doing it wrong and getting caught on the gate. I was scared of her running into a tree. I was scared of her not being able to make the turn and smashing into the fence. Essentially, I was scared of her doing something stupid and not taking care of us. Staying on was my responsibility. Directing was my responsibility, until she assumed control. Staying upright was her responsibility. Did I really not trust her to do that?

This went through my head in a split second. Then, still having no brakes, I held on and waited to see what happened next. Surya galloped up to the gate then came to a halt that would have made a reining horse proud. She lowered her head and snorted. I considered that an adequate warmup and then went in the ring to have a jump lesson in the hail.

The next weekend, ARF was nice enough to go on a trail ride with me. I kept Surya’s neck engaged and bent the whole time, but she was predictably bored. The following weekend, Surya and I were leaving the farm and going cross-country schooling for the first time. I needed to have a better stop-gap measure should she spook at the scary things off the farm and choose to bolt again. The Friday before we went, I took the afternoon off work, put on my nifty new safety vest (required for cross-country but I guess useful for trail riding too), and went on another solo trail ride.

Surya was very up, and determined to spook and run despite the sun being high in a cloudless sky and absolutely nothing happening on the farm, in the woods, in the backyards of the houses, or the wheat fields on the other side of the property. She tried to spin and bolt four times. This time, though, I was prepared, and continued to spin her in tiny circles as soon as she pulled 180s. I was happy that she tried her best to act like an OTTB instead of a sensible mustang. It gave me the chance to insist on forward movement and her listening to me no matter what, and restored my confidence and sense of invulnerability.

However, it didn’t really answer the question- do I trust her? Of course there are all kinds of trust.  The most basic concept of trust is the expectation of a certain behavior from someone. I trust that Surya will not deliberately try to unload me from the saddle or hurt me on the ground. I think she has trust in me that I won’t put her in inextricably bad situations. If she didn’t have trust in me, there is no force on this green earth that would get her to go forward when she didn’t want to, load in a trailer, or accept clippers.

That is basic trust though. The same kind of trust that a business acquaintance won’t pull a knife and shive me when shaking their hand. Or maybe the trust that a friend will speak well of you when asked.

That is not life trust. Life trust is an extension of each other. That whatever the situation, you will get through it together. It is not a guarantee that nothing bad will ever happen. But it is knowledge that you each will support the other through it, that the breathing of one will suffice for both.

I didn’t have that belief in Surya. I have trust in myself, or the brazenness to go leaping in anyway. To Surya, I was acting as a director, refusing to cede any control, rather than as a partner.

When we got off the trailer at the horse park where we were cross-country schooling, Surya had her head as high as it could go. When I got on, I bounced off her back it was so tight, as she pranced and looked at everything. We warmed up and she slowly relaxed and listened. Then we entered the field and our trainer had us trot over some logs. There was a dawning of understanding on Surya’s part. “Ohhhhh THIS is what all this stuff is for! Jumping! Alright, woohoo!!!”

As we got deeper in the park, we started cantering and jumping larger obstacles. Toward the end, we jumped a coup and a rolltop. I was feeling very unsure. Again, not of my ability to stay on, but of Surya’s ability to take care of us. As we approached each, I asked “Surya, can you jump this?” The answer was unequivocally yes.

And just like that, I trusted her. With my support, she pointed herself toward the jump and leaped with room to spare. We were true partners!

ARF has told me frequently that cross country is “just you and the horse.” I thought she meant that there are no distractions, and it is nice to be in a quiet open space while horseback riding. But she meant it much more viscerally. It is you and the horse, as one team. Nothing else matters, and you each depend on the other.

We were both unafraid. But we were also both unafraid to be vulnerable, because the other has our back. She was unsure and I was sure. I was unsure and she was sure. We are a team. And, cross country schooling for the first time, we got each other home safely.

Connections

It is still not spring. But it is almost here. I can feel it coming, a whisper, a humming, a drumming that will explode as soon as it stops this damn snowing.

My favorite songs address that same approaching intent. They meander, spiraling notes and flinging points, free and directionless until one seemingly randomly emphasized beat is followed a little while later by another, and then another, and it has created a pattern, and then the notes fall down, down, and up into the pattern, and the song is suddenly deliberate, and growing.

Stand, Blues Traveler

Listen to 2:05 to 4:30.

  

Little Lion Man, Mumford and Sons

Listen to 2:22 to 3:33.

Surya and I are at a similar tipping point in our dressage.

Show Number 4 went quite well. Surya was tense and more reactive than normal, but she was way more relaxed than the constant spooking of the last three shows. We got a 63% in the Starter Horse USDF Test B (and 3^rd in the class), and a 36%, which translates to 64%, in the Open Division USEF Beginner Novice Test A (and also 3^rd in that class). We jumped a clear round at starter height, and got just one rail at the very end of the Beginner Novice round as a result of me misjudging a distance and asking her to wait when we should’ve jumped long.

I was a little disappointed in our dressage scores, but unsurprised at the results. It seems, even doing a new test involving cantering, we can consistently score in the 60s. At home however, by ourselves, we are achieving a beginning. Surya is lifting her back and the base of her neck, going through to the bridle, and starting to really engage her hind end. The feeling is unique. There is a tipping point just before we get there. She tries to go faster, she tries to ignore my leg and go slower, she bears down on the bridle, she lifts her head, she tilts her head, she swings her haunches out… and then she lifts her back and I can direct with the slightest of pressure. It is perfection. We breathe in unison. Surya still gets tired quickly – 15 minutes without getting overbent is about her max – but we are consistently achieving connected self-carriage.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t get that “schwung” going at the show. Because she wasn’t connected into the bridle, I rode defensively. My hands were exaggeratedly wide to maintain a connection with her mouth, my legs added speed and threw her onto the forehand instead of adding impulsion, and she fought every transition. It wasn’t terrible. We didn’t struggle as much as the last show. But we didn’t tip over the edge into connectedness. It’s okay. We just need more practice at showing.

Wednesday night no one was at the barn. The setting sun glowed red through the beige windows at the top of the indoor arena. Several pigeons have taken up residence in the rafters over the course of the winter, and occasionally a light grey feather would drift down through the soft lighting. Or sometimes poop.

I started the ride with walk-halt transitions, and then proceeded to sitting trot. Once my legs were shaking with exhaustion (about 10 minutes later) and Surya was lightly mouthing the bit (she likes sitting trot… what? Maybe because I don’t make her use her back end and trot with engagement?), we picked up the canter. We have directional and speed control in the canter, but for months we’ve focused on using the canter to improve the trot, or keeping her nose up and shoulders and haunches aligned to jump. This past week, we started asking Surya to lift her back and engage more through to the bridle again. Asking is a very delicate process and she doesn’t always understand what I’m getting at yet. The right lead is easier. If I bend her slightly to the outside so as to get her really straight, and then apply leg while keeping the reins steady, she lifts her back and the base of her neck. That canter is beautiful.

We cantered for 10 minutes faster and slower, and then moved into trot. Surya got right to work, engaging her back and her hindquarters, pulling through to the bridle but not bearing down on the bit. When she started to get tired we walked on a loose rein to cool down.

As Surya meandered as slowly as she could around the arena (she knows when we are done, and sees no need to perpetuate an interest in movement), I could almost see spiderwebs of ideas taking form. I thought about connecting our trot work to the canter, the drilling I’ve been doing at the walk to the trot, and the feeling of her lifting her back to increased engagement until every movement feels as connected and vibrant as one perfect step of trot.

In all the trotting, and cantering, and not driving with my seat, and keeping my legs still, and my body straight, and my hands steady, and her bend correct, and her impulsion sufficient, and the myriad technicalities, we’ve been learning to play scales, notes upon notes, in increasing precision, in increasing complexity. But, now, we have a song to sing. A refrain, to hum in the background, until it becomes chorus and verse.

Cross-Country Jumping

We jumped in the field!!! We jumped in the field!!! We jumped in the field!!! We jumped cross-country jumps in the fieeeeeelllldd!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The main challenge was not getting too excited and accidentally (on purpose) telling Surya to run very very fast. She was scared of nothing.

We jumped in the field!