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Holly Covey

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Nothing On Earth That Compares

Photo by Beth Rice.

I was just going to say, let’s all just take a breath, and stop being crazy — when a tragedy occurs, and it’s all going sideways again.

Because death affects us all very deeply.

After Ashley’s death in July, my very first cross country ride was at Loch Moy, and after a fairly good show jumping round, we went directly to cross country. Up there, in warmup, I was trying to not get too excited, and was sweating because it was really hot, and feeling a bit weak — then it hit me.

This could be it.

This could be the last time I do this. Right here. Right now. It makes you really stop to breath for a few seconds and think about what you are about to do, where you are going, and what is coming.

So all the sweating and anxiety may not have been from the heat.

I don’t know how my horse just goes and jumps all these things for me. I am grateful he does, and I’m grateful he knows to somehow squiggle, hop, step over, or negotiate an obstacle when I’m really stupid up there on his back.

So I looked down at the mane of my horse, my wonderful, super, loyal friend who has always looked out for me and done everything I have ever asked him to do. And I am grateful for his friendship. And I touched his wither with my hand, and petted him, and soothed myself. “It’s all right,” he said to me. “I know how you feel.”

And I asked him if he was OK to go today. And he said “Sure. Whatever you want, mom,” as he has been trained to do, and I have schooled and lessoned and jumped and galloped and walked on trails in the woods with him. “Sure. Whatever you want, Mom.”

And all this stuff goes through your head literally 30 seconds before start. So you find a way to concentrate on what you are doing, on getting your reins shorter, getting the whip straight in your hand, a push to the watch button, a look at the volunteer starting you with a “Thank you,” and you may as well get on with it.

So you start off. And you say, well, if it’s not good, I’ll quit. So you jump fence 1. And it’s alright so far. And you head toward the big table that is fence 2 and you say, if I am going to jump this, I am not going to approach it or jump it scared or thinking I can quit, or want to stop. That’s not the right attitude here. I need to get my head in this game right now – because it really is all or nothing.

So I channel my inner Scarlett O’Hara, and decide I’ll think about it tomorrow. And you saw my distance, sucked my leg on, softened my hand, poked my butt in the saddle and my chin up.  And when I landed, I thought, “There,” and looked for fence 3.

And so it goes. One jump, one obstacle, one question at a time. Concentrate. Adjust. Get the job done right – not just done. If you’re going to do it, do it as well as you can, be as ready as possible, train hard, school hard, think, prepare, ride to the top of your game. Every jump. Every single cross rail.

If you have done it a million times. Or if it’s the first time.

Of course, there will be bad, sad, horrible days we can’t even.

And there’s no reason for it and there’s no explanation that makes sense or gives any comfort. We don’t know when our Maker says, “time’s up.” We just don’t.

And then there will be days that there is nothing on earth that compares to a great ride on a stiff course that you really nailed, that your horse and you grew a little on. You think about it as you work or drive or wait somewhere, and ride those jumps again. Over and over. And your day is bad, your work sucks, your life is crap, but you have that.

There will be days that there is nothing on earth that compares.

In honor of my friend Melanie Tallent.

The Zen of Painting Jumps

This one needs me.

There is a place in this world for every person who takes a brush in one hand, and a can of paint in the other, and wanders into the sun seeking change.

There are jumps out there on every cross country course all over the world that need you. They lay there, naked and afraid, until you come with your brush and your can and save them.

It is often a lonely journey, this quest as an eventer-volunteer-jump painter. A single worker bee, seeking the light, takes the paint and changes the world (or maybe just the color of the big table this year).

Painting jumps allows you to think as you splash and spill. You think about bringing gloves next time. You think about falling off the stool as you climb down from a really big jump. You think about the meaning of the universe.

Many events all over the world need jump painters. And it’s a great time to get your volunteer hours, to commune with your cross country muse, to make a difference and satisfy your artistic, creative urges. Well, sort of.

Don’t get me wrong. It can be hard work. It is often hot — the better to let the paint dry. Your arm gets sore from holding the brush. There may be bees, gnats, mosquitoes, deer, stickerbushes, poison ivy, or irritating non-workers who stop by to criticize. Take them all on with a zen philosophy of, “I’m doing it — and you’re not.”

There is not much art in painting or staining a great big Intermediate or Advanced table a plain brown. But it looks imposingly beautiful when you are done, and stand back to check for spots you have missed. At touch here, a swipe there, and it’s done. You do get a certain satisfaction in completing a job, seeing it stand there, proud and ready to do its part as a part of a big important course for the event.

Of course, it is also done with a group, and in that case, can be great fun. What is better than being out on a cross country course for hours with happy people who enjoy doing the work too. You are all making the event happen. It’s the start of a great party! And you get to be there at the beginning of what will become a great event.

There is something mystical about big jumps out in a field without horses or galloping string or decorations yet. They stand there waiting to be a part of a Big Deal. They await their photographs and horses like grand servants in an outdoor mansion, graceful and elegant yet ready to serve.

But until you go and worship them with your paint and brush, they are not ready. You get to fix that. So be a painter of jumps, no matter how big or how small. The course waits for you. Go.

And Go Eventing.

 

The Smells of Eventing

The middle of a field in fall. Photo by Holly Covey.

You open the tack room door on the horse trailer – and the smell hits you. Or the truck door. Or the car door. Pe-euwww.

It’s that smell of sweat and horse manure. It is the thing that makes people turn around and look at you in the store. Push their grocery cart past you quickly. Wrinkle their noses and pull out a tissue to cover their mouth.

We get so we don’t even notice it, and sometimes, that’s a good thing. Horse smell is an odor I don’t ever want to feel badly about.

There are so many smells that remind me of eventing – the poopy/sweaty one, of course, but also the early morning smell in the fall of dewy, cut grass. That’s the smell of fall events to me, and it stirs my soul, because it means cooler weather and big galloping and big jumps.

Fall has a definite odor of promise, of dreams coming true, of strength and purpose. You can stand in the middle of a field at Fair Hill and smell it coming.

The smells of eventing include that wonderful smell of fresh horse breath when you put the bridle on your favorite. The smell of leather, well cared for, and fresh boot polish. The smell of a musty, opened-once-a-year secretary’s booth for the event everyone can’t wait to attend.

There are other smells too. The smell of freshly cooked hamburgers and hotdogs, the smell of french fries and ketchup, the smell of carrots and apples and horse treats once you open the package you got for your horse at the trade fair.

How about the smell of the good Wawa food you finally get to wolf down in the truck driving home from the event, or the smell of the strong coffee you just had time to carry to the truck and stick in the cupholder before leaving in the morning?

Or the acrid smell as you walk your course of freshly-stained cross-country jumps. The sharp and clean smell of newly-painted show jumps, gleaming in the morning light and shadows. The gentle perfume smell of the nicely-dressed officials who are the only clean people you run into all day.

The only place I couldn’t really think of a smell was dressage — which probably is OK, since most of the time dressage sort of has its own smell, if you know what I mean. Unless the volunteers are eating something really delicious, like chili, or freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

Our eventing world is full of odors, some we love and some not so much. Yesterday, I checked the winter blanket stack, and opened up a container that alas was not washed before being packed away for the summer. I’ll let you all just close your eyes and imagine that smell. Darn. Nothing a little soap and water can’t fix, though.

Instead, I’ll leave you with these thoughts: think of the smell of your horse’s breath, and the wet grass this morning. What smells of eventing to you?

What I Did On My Summer Vacation, Or I Survived Rebecca Farm

Yes, I went to The Event at Rebecca Farms in Kalispell, MT., last week (July 25-29, 2019), and I survived to tell about it. Of course, four plane flights, two shuttle rides, and 10 days out of my life were given up to this particular event, but there were so many great takeaways that it was well worth the trip.

I did not compete, but went in a support capacity for the Area II Young Riders squad, which included CCI2*-L riders, a CCIOY3* rider, and two Training Three-Day Event riders.

  • First of all, to have an event reach “Destination Event” status, it must have no less than 1,645 portable toilets, and they must be sited in the background of every spectacular photograph you take.
  • Horses who ship 30 to 40 hours are going to arrive tired, sore, and stiff, and are going to need care, experienced help to get un-stiff and in competition shape, and there’s a right way and a wrong way to get all of that accomplished in just a few days before a major championship competition.

    Photo by Holly Covey

  • Golf cart arguments are always solved by losing the key.
  • Walking helps you make friends and learn about different parts of the world of eventing. It helps you lose weight, too.
  • Chapstick without sunscreen is useless.
  • People are dumber than bears.

    On a trip to Glacier National Park, I watched a tourist unable to open the bear-proof trash can (just a couple of snaps) and drop garbage on the ground. Really? Photo by Holly Covey

  • Horses who really love what they do are incredible and deserve respect and the best care possible.

    Two incredible Young Rider horses – the venerable Paprika from the Jennie Brannigan barn, this year with new rider Sydney Shinn; and on the right, Buckharo, Kate Chadderton’s ride, 20 years young, with Jules Elliott.

  • Teenagers have a capacity for operating without sleep that is amazing.
  • Finding your favorite pair of scissors on the last day of the event after losing them on the first day is like success/not success. You only needed them about 7,498 times.
  • People who come to compete at Rebecca are serious campers. They know how to park all by themselves, don’t need no stinkin’ parking nazi, set up next to their stalls, get the awnings out, get the stalls bedded, get the grill set up and the motorbike out of the trailer before you get the first bite of your Montana Cristo sandwich at the food truck. I know. I watched this while I was in line.
  • It stays light until after 10:00 p.m. so you tire long before it’s dark there, so why not walk your cross-country course at 9 p.m.?

    The polo field at “dusk”. Photo by Holly Covey

  • Wear a big hat during the day. It looks ridiculous but saves your face and eyes from wind and sunburn. Actually, some of the big hats I saw where quite beautiful!

    Max Corcoran directs the Young Rider jogs quite stylish in her big hat. Photo by Holly Covey.

  • The Broussard family, the volunteers, and the officials were incredibly kind, welcoming, and fun to interact with throughout the competition. Having things take place over a week’s time gives everyone time and space to relax – a positive over the hurry-scurry of the east coast’s one-day events.
  • Whoever does the scheduling at Rebecca is a flat-out Rhodes Scholar genius.
  • The volunteers at Rebecca are Ah-Maze-Zing. They enjoy the farm, the sport, and the people and it shows.
  • Kalispell has a Starbucks and a Panera Bread. Thank goodness.
  • Mountains are beautiful.

    A typical view at Glacier National Park. Photo by Holly Covey

  • Eventing is a great sport everywhere. It’s even better when it’s at an incredible venue with people who love it, too.

    Big crowd for Young Riders show jumping. Photo by Holly Covey

 

Mid Season Takeout: What Are Your Eventing Friends Doing?

Ever have “one of those days”? Of course you do. You’re an eventer.

The day the wheel comes off the truck while you are hauling to a lesson. (My friend Cindi.)

The day the horse trailer tire shreds on the interstate, and you can’t find the Trailer Aid jack thingie, but you’ve got a bale of hay, and run your trailer’s good wheel up on $30-worth of second-cutting alfalfa flakes so you can get the spare on. (Cheryl.)

The day your newly-set show jumping course gets completely obliterated by heavy rain and straight-line winds. (Me.)

Then, you go on social media and you are heartened by the amazing and fun things like Al Rayne’s creative pool platform (using a cross country jump. Yes. Only Al. I’m waiting for Boyd to copy this. It’s in his wheelhouse.)

Watching a good friend KILL it at Devon’s eventing showcase with a 5th place finish (go, Jules!) after you had to REALLY convince her to enter the competition a month ago by repeating, $50,000, $50,000, $50,000 about a hundred times ’til she relented.

Watching the Jack Russell Terrorists kill a snake in the arena where you have to RIDE. Um, we hacked in the field instead until I got fuel for the tractor so I could drag the bloody parts out. Somehow jumping an oxer and landing in snake blood didn’t make me wild with enthusiasm. Worried a tad about juju there…

Watching Young Riders post really fun and uplifting reports on their events, almost always crediting their horse for their success, and blaming themselves if they had failures. (But of course we know there really isn’t any failures in eventing. Just education.)

So a mid-season update isn’t about what you won. It’s about what your friends are doing, what disasters you overcame and surmounted, and laughing at the funny stuff, because none of us get out of this alive, anyhow.

There is a limited amount of time to get to the Promised Land (wherever and whatever that is for you). For some, it’s a clean round at Beginner Novice (Stephanie). For some, it’s slaying the Advanced dragon; others just want to see one of their horses on a team or competing on the world stage, and are willing to wait.  (A really long time – Melissa.)

Photo by Melissa Stubenberg.

The beautiful days are really beautiful and fun and make you so forget all the crappy ones.

So, while we journey through the 12-hour days of light, and riding time is easy to get and yet still seems to have to be scheduled in, we all still  just want to get to a lesson without drama on the side of the road. I’m with you, sister.

Go eventing!

Too Hot To Ride

What to do with cross-country jumps when you get a pool and it’s too hot to ride and train. Perfect. Photo by Laura Rayne.

When I ride I am always trying to produce results for the agenda, and I know as an adult amateur I’m not alone.

We all try hard to make sure we are keeping our strength and endurance up, our horse’s condition up, our skill sets up to par in the few minutes we have each day to ride. Mostly we do this to avoid embarrassment at lessons in front of our trainers, who stand with patient dismay when we jump the offset oxer backwards.

Another big motivator: really, really hot weather. Getting up early to ride is a requirement and if you are in air conditioning all day it’s even more important, because you can’t breathe if you wait til 6 pm. And if you can’t breathe, you get stupid.

Take Monday. Predicted high heat. So of course I get up early to ride. But I had 67 new emails overnight for work and Young Riders, so I did them all first while coffee is mainlined. Then I finally get outside, an hour after I intended to start, and get the right horse tacked up.

So of course, I drop the fly whisk first lap of the first trot set and am too far from anything resembling a mounting block to stop and pick it up. Next, I forgot to hit myself with the people fly spray, which I discovered as a fly bit my leg right after dropping the fly whisk.

Then, it seems really hot and the helmet is causing my head to sweat, and the face sunscreen is dripping into my eyes and stinging them. And I go to wipe away the sweat with the hand that has the Wind-Aid on it. (That’s some strong breathing stuff if you don’t know, and has lots of tingling stuff in it.)

Now I can’t see at all and my eye, that I wiped with the Wind-Aid, is on fire. My horse is however still dutifully trotting along, my watch is beeping because I’m supposed to start the canter set, and I am trying not to fall off because I can’t see. All this and not really 10 minutes into riding yet this morning. Can I get a do-over?

It’s my own fault. I entered the event in July knowing I would have to do this in summer heat, and I deserve the penance of stupidity (seriously, who drops a flywhisk at a walk?)

I think summer teaches you that success has a lot to do with self-control. (That, and a good alarm clock.) But all good sports require self-control to develop training habits and keep going towards goals. I read somewhere that you have to keep moving if you set a goal.

Yep, I’m moving. I’m moving sweaty saddle pads to wash in the washrack, I’m moving the switch on the fans to “on”, I’m moving the horses into their stalls for the hot afternoon, and I’m moving my sorry butt to an air-conditioned couch to watch a baseball game on TV. Sorry, not sorry. Kiss my ass, summer!

The Art of Riding in the Rain

Photo courtesy of Holly Covey.

Perhaps you only ride when it’s nice. After all, a good portion of the eventing community does just that — going south in the winter to avoid poor riding weather at home further north.

But if you never ride when it is pelting rain, or taste snowflakes as they slap your face, you never get to feel the strength you really have inside you.

Adversity makes us what we are. It is all of who we are, really, as eventers.

That does not mean that we need to be iron warriors or some kind of crazed outdoor freaks, able to survive in all weather. Rather, eventing is a sport that requires a certain amount of preparation and ability to roll with the weather that an eventing competition day brings. Our sport is an outdoor one, and we have to be ready for that.

Those of us on the east coast have been very familiar with weather and how it can affect us. About 20 percent of the events in our region were cancelled last year, a ripple effect that even hit the income level of our national organization. Weather definitely changes things.

More than once in my life, I’ve hid in the corner of a stall, or in the front of my horse trailer, feeling miserable and small as rain poured down on the roof. You relish the last few moments of being dry before you step out in the downpour.

You know your horse doesn’t seem to care — after all, they are out in the pasture in all weather and often don’t seem to mind wet weather, grazing away in a downpour. They are built for earth’s variances, while us humans seem to be always finding roofs to hide under.

Riding in the rain means resolve, and preparation, and confidence in yourself that you can keep your balance and encourage your horse, no matter what the condition that comes your way. As a working student I clearly recall days when rain made the arena a lake, and yet nothing changed — riding went on.

Somehow when you are young and fearless, this seems fun. It’s before you’ve been hurt, or had a terrible accident, or had a horse die or get injured, and your life is changed forever, that you feel that way — bulletproof, waterproof, emotion-proof.

But it is those days of unknowing splendor in the wealth of confidence you rely upon when the adverse days arrive. Riding always has risk, riding in the rain even more. Those that are afraid, that decide not to run, that weigh those risks and wait for another day — that’s when risk figures larger than confidence. And that’s not a black mark — it’s the reality of an injury, a destroyed confidence, a block or limit to ability on the day.

The problem with confidence is you don’t know how much you have until you need it — so much like experience (re: the famous Jimmy Wofford quote). And sometimes, it’s not even confidence you need, but some sort of “what the hell” feeling that goes way back in your soul, to the reasons you were attracted to competition in the first place.

You try really hard not to let the dare devil part rise above the practical risk part, because you know in the end, emotion doesn’t have much of a part in success. Hard work trumps emotion almost all the time in this sport.

So what part of your gut do you listen to? The part that questions, “the ground is really sloppy, is he shod well enough, do I have the right studs, is he fit enough?” Or the part that answers, “we’ve come so far, we’ve ridden all winter in the cold, the rain, the mud, the slop, and the wind blowing down our neck. I’m not giving up now!”

There isn’t a way to make these decisions easily and I wish I could give you a roadmap for the process. You decide on your own what you feel, how you want things to go, and whether your horse is ready for this, and whether you are ready to ride him.

But you don’t know how good you are if you don’t test yourself at least a bit. It’s the quest in us — the thing that makes runners start marathons, climbers top mountains, the thing that started your life with horses — can I do this? Am I good enough? Will my desire translate into actual doing?

And so you try. You put on your jacket, pull on the gloves, and step out into the rain, and you and your horse are in it together.

It means everything. All of who you are.

Go eventing.

 

Rewards for Winning: Look Past the Ribbon

Unique prizes offered by Waredaca to its starter horse trial competitors. Photo by Holly Covey

For many riders, winning an event means the culmination of a dream. The importance of the achievement dwarfs the color of the ribbon.

And, to be truly fair, winning does mean you’ve done a great job and you and horse together figured it out. And even if you don’t end up at the top of the leaderboard, a really great effort should still stand for you as an achievement of note.

Last year, my very best event, I finished 9th, just out of the ribbons — but it was truly a great event where I made no mistakes, jumped double clear show jumping and cross country rounds over a course myself and my horse had never competed over before. In addition, it was the first event that my horse had stabled overnight at, too. There was no ribbon for that weekend, but I was thrilled with myself and with my horse because it just came together.

You may think that is all there is, but if you compete recognized USEA events, that is not all you gain. Because the USEA pulls out juniors and amateurs from open divisions, I actually placed as the third-highest placed amateur, and received USEA grading points for that placing. In addition, because the competition was a championship, the Area gave double points to any placing, and these points were enough to scoot my horse up the leaderboard on the Area II Year End Awards, too.

So while you may not get much more than a ribbon sometimes for placing at recognized events, bear in mind that the points you gain that are recorded do go down on your record and your horse’s record, and that is part of the entry fee you pay, too. Those rewards are important, and not always seen.

At a starter or unrecognized event, the prizes are even more fun. I attended an event in my area that has a wonderful promotion with a sponsoring feed company where kids get “bucks”, cute fake money, for things like “starting the event”,  “completing all three phases”, and “picking up their dressage test”, and of course, winning a ribbon.

The little barn group I went with had most of the riders under 12 and when I marched back to the trailer after my competition was over with the bucks in hand they all figured out they had to ride well and finish the event to get their bucks, too.

(Here’s the program set up by Waredaca.)

Of course, it’s just for fun, but I like the incentives. Picking up a dressage test means you are interested in what the judge had to say about your performance and how to improve your riding and scores. Starting means you got up at 4 a.m. and got to the barn and got your pony on the trailer. Finishing means you didn’t stop trying and cry when your pony stopped at the ditch or black pipe, but stayed on, gave him a pop with your crop, and got the job done the second or third time.

These small victories should be rewarded, and mean something. Competing today as opposed to 20 or 30 years ago I think requires a bit more of a rider. The rules are definitely more complicated. The performance level expected is higher. Winning is harder. Placing is harder. Doing well is harder. So I’m for the rewards for the small things, which in the end, are really big things – or lead to the big things.

Unlike regular horse shows, eventing competitions base your performance on getting it right the first time – there are no additional rounds to perfect the course.  In addition, dressage requires memorizing a pattern and displaying it for a judge. And finally you have to send your pony or horse down over a cross-country course that he has not seen and must jump at first asking – by you, the rider – without a trainer coaching you at the rail 15 feet away. I am in awe of a 10 year old that can do that! I couldn’t do it at that age!

Many, many Olympic medalists, USET team riders, international competitors and national champions have beloved memories of getting a clean round at Beginner Novice as a child rider, or finally remembering a dressage test without mistakes, or getting a recalcitrant pony over a nemesis ditch.

Those feats alone requires a dedication to purpose and a certain amount of self-criticism. These are hugely important concepts for young riders in particular to gain, and that is why eventing is so attractive for many families as a worthwhile youth sport. We all need to remember this. All of us, the professionals at the top of the sport, the owners of upper level horses like Tim and Nina Gardner who supported young rider Alexa Lapp with national champion event horse Cambalda, the officials, the judges, the organizers. Youth sport helps make good adults.

So if you are an organizer, a parent, or a supporter of the starter and unrecognized events, or interested in any other way — it’s worth pointing out that rewards in this sport are often intrinsic.  Any time you’ve got a kid who placed well, even if they didn’t get into the ribbons, but overcame a difficulty or just made a day without mistakes — it’s to be celebrated, no matter what color the ribbon, or even if there is a ribbon. And if you’re in a position to offer awards, and contribute to youth competing in eventing, do it. It’s needed.

Go eventing.

The Aging Eventer: What to Expect from Experience

As you age as a rider, pain becomes your motivator. Photo by Kayla Benney.

The answer to the question, “What can I gain from this?” can easily be answered by the Aging Eventer. “Pain.” Pretty much that is the state of most of my days, and most of the days of my Aging Eventer friends.

As you fossilize, yet continue to ride, you do gain all sorts of great experiences — and injuries, big and little, that follow you along the way. You body reminds you that you have done this before, and it usually hurts — as you slam painfully on the ground, and your intrepid mount scuttles away with empty stirrups flying in the breeze.

Do we muscle through these times? Yes. Do we pay for it later? Yes. But is it worth it? Yes, always yes. At least for me. Even though I have suffered through some very sore Mondays and Tuesdays at work after not-so-great weekends at events.

Often, the pain is a reminder that I should have done something differently. Made sure the stirrup pads were cleaned out before mounting with gummy mud on my boot soles. Changed to the rubber reins. Forgot to put the “Equitation In A Can” on my saddle. Walked the course more than once. Paid attention. Rode better. Been more fit. Jumped more at home. Took more lessons. Checked the dressage test one more time. Clinched the front shoes. Paid for the hock injections. Bought the nicer breeches. Gone to the bathroom before cross country. You get the picture.

Jimmy Wofford says pretty regularly that experience is what you get just after you need it. I’m a living and breathing Eventer Example of that rule. I am often wondering how on earth I’ve competed this long without knowing what I should be doing, or been eliminated more times for forgetting my armband. I wonder at my ability to keep liking this sport many times (and my family shares this wonder, trust me, I constantly am reminded of their skepticism).

You’d think, with age and experience (and treachery) you could make a case for being satisfied with what I have done. But no. There are more courses I want to ride. There are better dressage tests and show jump rounds out there and I want to see if I can do them. I don’t want to wait a minute longer to see if I can get to the Promised Land. Yes, I still — after many years of failure, many years of denial, many years of Not Quite There Yet — still want to event successfully.

The deep need to continually test oneself in this sport isn’t something we in eventing own alone. Although we laughingly refer to ourselves as routinely crazy, I think all horse sports do attract people for life. The goals are good ones. Most of the time they make us better horsepeople, better riders, and yes, better people for the dreaming and achieving.

Do you think you will event past age 60? Me neither. At least I never thought about it. I just thought I would ride until I couldn’t. And now that I am over that hill (way over it) and starting down the slope, I wonder every time I put foot in stirrup how is it I still do this. Riding now is as natural as breathing, as it should be for being well over 50 years of my life. Should I give it up? Should I let go? How much of a hindrance am I to my horses now? Because now it gets harder to get up from the falls, and it gets tougher to shake the fear of the subsequent pain if I do lose proper vertical order.

Pain is a great fear, but it is also a great incentive. I do a lot of two point, ride without stirrups, sit the trot practice and continue to really work on timing and fitness of both me and the horses. But the best thing to just keep doing is to RIDE. As much as I can. One of the problems is there isn’t much help in the way of what to do and how to do it correctly at this state of existence, since most of the people I know (who have more experience than I) are way younger than I am, still in flexible and functional bodies, and can’t relate to my creakiness.

Will I be able to hold my own against riders who are way less than half my age — more like one third? Maybe not. Yet, I don’t compete or want to compete for those reasons. I really just like to try to complete all three phases without penalties and believe me, that is tough enough in this sport!

So if you are not sure you can still keep going — or if you are young and seeing us Fossil Eventers still trying out there — know that it’s because we are just not quite done yet dreaming the dreams and reaching the goals. We may, or may not, get there. Just don’t let the ibuprofen bottle be empty.

 

We’re All Eventers Here: Me, Myself and I

“I know you are alone, so the minute you leave to walk the course, I will break my halter and get loose.” Photo by Holly Covey.

“Usually, I had to be in tears — that was his clue to finally get on the trailer,” said one of my fellow Event Alone Club members. Are you also a member of the Event Alone Club?

Last weekend, after pronouncing herself covered in wet mud and nearly electrocuted by her electric fence, all just prior to loading up for a schooling show, my friend admitted she was quite ready to beg for someone to come along and help.

And I too have been there. The last event of the season, I lay on the ground gasping for air after having a loss of Proper Vertical Order at Fence #11, and my first thought was, “How will I get home if I can’t drive?” Because of course I was alone. Isn’t that your first thought if you go to an event by yourself, and fall off? Of course it is. Not, “how hurt am I,” or “what is bleeding now,” but how will you get yourself back in the truck and return home?

Oh, I know you all out there have family. They are forced or enjoy going to an event. Good for you. There are those of us who don’t have enough family to ruin, or our family is just too darn smart to be caught in the truck at 0-dark-30 on the way to a competition. We’re the proud card-carrying members of EAC, and we embrace the sole survivor mentality.

Mostly, the horses know this. They are very aware there are only one set of legs and arms in the vehicle, and do their best to find a way to take out one. Step on your foot while unloading from the trailer. Bash your arm while you try to bridle them. Refuse to load when you leave, but run you over to get on to go home. Pinch your hand on the butt bar, blow hay down your neck when you tie them, poop all over your hunt coat which falls off its hanger during the ride ….

Not only the horses, but of course the vehicles also come gunning for us. I have EAC friends who have left the ramp down on their trailer and driven off, fully loaded and ready to go. Flat tires, oh the tires, so many flats, so few tools and nice good looking (single) good samaritans …. Alone, at night, side of a busy interstate and no working jack or credit card. The Cursing-At-Your-Truck app works good, though.

And the barn. Oh, the barn. It hides stuff you need when it sees you alone heading off to that show or event. The cross country bridle. Horse boots. Haybag. Water tubs. Pitchfork. Your bag of beautifully polished boots, setting next to the helmet bag, on the bench you have to walk past sixty two times in order to load all the other stuff you need. More have gotten home only to report they left their saddle on a saddle rack in the parking lot. I have heard of horses being forgotten … nah, nobody does that. Do they? (Or did they?)

To earn your Sole Survivor badge, you have to come home with something bloody, something broken, some lesson learned and some experience gained. At times, all four happen at once, and in a split second; other times, it’s a long drawn-out nightmare that takes all weekend to conclude. Would having a friend along help?

Sometimes, it might. At least a second pair of eyes to check on things left in the barn aisle before you drive off; a second set of hands to hold the broken butt bar in place until you get it hooked; a second pair of legs to run back the four miles from the end of the parking lot to the secretary’s booth to get your number in time for dressage.

It would be nice to have someone in the passenger seat, who would bring cookies and hot coffee along, not need to stop to go to the bathroom at the world’s dirtiest truck stop, or want to disappear the instant you pull onto the show grounds. Just someone along for moral support. Who could warn you when you are about to swear at the organizer for blocking your parking spot.

A person however inexperienced, who could say things like, “that safety vest bulletproof?” and, “does the horse actually jump THAT high?” And other confidence-producing masterpieces of psychological support. A person who does not worry or make you anxious unless they really think it is critical that a braid that fell out gets immediately redone even if the dressage judge is madly ringing the bell for you to enter. A person whose sum total of support consists of keeping the truck passenger seat warm all day. A person who drops your phone in the water bucket as pretty much the first task they complete upon arrival at the show grounds. Yes, these are the people we think we need.

So instead of begging, we just are so stubborn and “focused” we just decide we can go it alone. Don’t need no stinkin’ help. And off we go into the sunrise, ready to do what it takes to be a Sole Survivor. Do you have what it takes? Can you do it all by yourself? Be a proud member of the Event Alone Club, join us in our suffering and discover the truth about eventing — that it’s really a lot easier to (kidnap) bring along friends!

Take Good Care of Your Jumps! A Few Tips for Safety and Economy

Jump course winter creativity! Photo by Holly Covey.

Everybody’s got jumps — but are you taking care of them correctly?

Sounds crazy, because jumps take a beating on a daily basis in most event barns, but there are some things you can do to help keep your jump course alive and well for years of use.

To begin with, most barns that have a great set of jumps start with high quality obstacles. It doesn’t matter if you get a nice set of wooden jumps or vinyl, if they are well made and properly constructed of good materials, they should last if you are careful how you treat them.

For wooden jumps, in the east, it’s usually a good idea to look for pressure-treated wood components that touch the ground. They tend to last a bit longer and are more resistant to moisture and subsequent rot. But eventually everything gets some disintegration going, especially if they are outside or stored with ground contact.

When standards get loose feet, they are even more subject to damage; so when your standards start to become wobbly, it’s best to get them repaired or replaced. When a standard does not hold a rail securely, your horse doesn’t get a fair shake at making a proper effort over the jump; a tippy standard can come down with just a light tap, taking with it any other components of the jump and causing an unneeded crash.

With the price of lumber skyrocketing, it’s probably a good idea to make sure your wooden jumps are carefully stored for the winter if they are not being used. If you can put them inside — great. If there’s no storage indoors, they will keep alright outside, but the key is to get them off the ground, by putting some scrap lumber underneath of your stack, or some pallets. Then cover them securely. In most climates this will be okay for a few cold months.

If you bring your outside jumps into the indoor for the winter, now’s the time to check over all of the joints, the feet of the standards, check for splinters and cracks on the rails, etc. Your friend is some Number 50 coarse grit sand paper to smooth the chips and splinters, and a cordless drill with some wood screws in 4-inch or longer length.

To help loose feet stay tighter, you can place a few screws in your feet to hold them until you can get them repaired or replaced, but new screws won’t hold old, rotten wood.  Make certain you are screwing from good wood into good wood; if any part of the sharp end of the screw is visible, back it out and reset it to avoid it cutting someone’s hand when they pick it up.

Winter isn’t really the time to repaint — and here’s why. Most good quality exterior paint has temperature parameters. Any colder than the recommended temperature, and the paint just won’t seal, and it is hard to get it to dry evenly, too. So wait for warmer temperatures for painting — if you have peeling paint and really want to see fresh paint on your jumps, you can sand them a bit to smooth out the surface until you get a warm enough day.

Things that are split or broken shouldn’t be used, and you’re smart to replace them or set them outside the ring, so a horse isn’t injured on them. Especially in a smaller indoor arena, there is usually less space to avoid a jump if a horse is wrong to it. Be careful that things are safely set so there is room for a horse to go past without getting caught on a cup edge or standard foot. This isn’t always possible but some trainers use their shortest rails to keep the jump widths small and then they fit better in the arena.

If there is one thing that really wrecks a set of jumps, it’s dragging them — anywhere. Always try to carry your standards when you move them, rather than drag them, even if it’s just a couple of feet.  Yes, this is often hard to do, but it will save your investment!

When I pick up a standard, I tip it slightly to get a hand under a foot, then swing it over and carry it off the ground with both hands near the base. Use gloves so you don’t pick up a splinter. That method works for most schooling standards (single standards) or light wing standards. If your standards are too heavy to lift, cut them down, or consider using schooling standards and not wing standards for some jumps and exercises at home. Even vinyl standards should be lifted to be moved; it’s safer for the jumps’ integrity. Jumps are heavy — lift carefully. Those of you who jump really big stuff have to use the 6-ft. standards and I feel for you!

A little side note here. If you have jumps that so heavy or large in size that you find you aren’t using them much, because they are hard to move — do something about it. Make them smaller, retrofit their size, cut them in half, or sell them to a big strong person! Your jumps need to work for you.

When you move boxes, do it with help so that each end is lifted the same and not dragged or slid over the ground. This loosens the screws in the box sides, helps the plywood to splinter away from the frame, and makes it unlevel when you place it under a jump. If you don’t have help, lift it and carefully tip it on it’s end, then bear hug it to carry it — this works with small quarter and half rounds, boxes and walls that are under about 2 feet in height. I’m a little taller than 5-ft. and I can carry many jump components like this. Bigger obstacles will need two people to carry to avoid damage. And if your stuff is too heavy to lift and move, get rid of it and get lighter things that work better for you! Life is too short!

Stack jumps carefully when you move them. Photo by Holly Covey.

It’s better if you are moving walls and boxes by vehicle to turn them on their tops. It keeps the frames tighter, and if you use a moving blanket it won’t scratch the tops. When you slide a box on the open bottom, it can just cause wear and tear on the frame and screws that hold the outer to the inner. If you an aqueduct wall with an arched center, tip them on the tops while transporting. But don’t store them upside down — that allows any moisture to get inside. Instead, put them back on their feet and cover them securely.

Poles are the hardest to keep pristine, because they get so much use. They are constantly in the dirt, either as ground lines or when a jump is taken apart for flat work. I try to keep my good poles up off the ground if I am not using them, but it’s hard to do, as I’m always wanting them down for trot poles, etc. So when you know you are not going to use a pole, set it up so it’s secure and in a safe place where it won’t fall on someone, off the ground, and under cover if possible. Remove those you are not using to a safe spot outside the arena. Stepping on a hidden rail on the ground, covered with dirt or grass, has turned many an ankle!

Carry jump rails from the middle of the rail; don’t drag them and don’t try to carry too many at once (too hard on your arms!) I try not to drop poles on their ends — it can split them. I think it also goes without saying that broken or split poles should not be used; not even for a ground line! A split pole is like a spear, it’s really dangerous around the feet of a jumping horse. Instead, set them safely aside, and some day when you have the time, take out your saw and trim away the broken ends to have a good shortened “skinny” pole — usually 6-ft. is a good useful length. Sand the raw edge a little to prevent splintering and voila, you have a new skinny jump rail. Lastly, keep your poles or rails painted and sealed because they take so much abuse and are often in the dirt. I sometimes use a clear sealant over paint just to try and keep the color to last a bit longer. I repaint my rails about every two years in my climate, and my jumps are outdoors.

I remove the flowers from my boxes and the floral decorations in winter. The wind blows them around and I don’t want to chase after them. They get dusty and tired looking in an indoor if not periodically washed off and let’s face it, it’s hard to wash anything in the dead of winter. So I remove them to an empty feed sack (a bit stiffer than a plastic garbage bag and keeps the flower stems from being smushed) and store for spring. Instead, I’ll use fun things like old Christmas trees (work great for filler under jumps) which often last a few months. Or painted wooden fillers, even some large goose decoys! Anything that is safe and a bit more weather resistant, and heavy enough to withstand winter winds and precipitation.

Jumps are expensive and an important investment to your business. It makes sense to be careful how you move them and store them to keep them working for you for many years to come.

 

2018 in Pictures: A Year of Ups and Downs

My year in eventing, in photos. I’m bringing you all along for the ride. We had some triumphs, we had some setbacks, and we had some fun. Take a look!

In the spring, we had mud. I got the tractor epic-stuck here near my back field.

When I finally got to compete through the raindrops, things went well at this schooling horse trial while I waited for better weather to spend more money to enter the recognized horse trials.

Conditioning was a struggle — here Hamish eyes my “Stifle Mountain,” a mound of dirt to walk up and down, that we created on my flat ground.

Fundraising for the Young Riders of Area II paid off this year — we had a Dream Team in the 2* at the North American championships in July who won gold. So excited when I got my Eventing Magazine, I stopped in the backyard and photographed the cover of the kids and shared it on Facebook before I got in the house after work.

Lucky made a last attempt at eventing, here pictured at Fair Hill, but we had a bad moment cross-country schooling at Windurra later that month and decided not to event any more. He was much happier. A major plan change for him!

Guess where I went in September! It was amazing at WEG — up the hill to the rocks — had a great time on the cross country course meeting people from all over the world, and finished off the day with a generous pickup truck ride up the hill from the course builder and course designer.

Lost my sweet old dog this year. He was with us from 6 weeks to his 16th year.

 

 

 

A new volunteer tent at Fair Hill was so much fun!

Fair Hill’s footing was perfect and the weather was awesome.

Lucky re-routed to dressage and lo and behold he found his niche. Winning First Level Team at the PVDA Chapter Challenge show in November (Team-mates Mogie Bearden-Muller on the left and Brooke Baker in the middle)

Last fun of the year was a superb clinic at Kealani Farm in Cochranville, PA, with Olympic three-day team rider Joseph Murphy.

Notches in Your Eventing Belt

Riding alone. Photo by Holly Covey.

There are a few things eventers should have under their belts. Experiences that shape you, make you, test you and confirm you really want to do this sport. Here are a few — how many notches do you have in YOUR eventing belt? Add a few more from the list in 2019!

1. The number of horses and riders you should sit and watch jump the same cross country fence: 100. We call this being a Jump Judge, and you do it when you volunteer at an event. I don’t think anyone can call themselves an eventer until they have performed this rite of passage. And 100 is a minimum.

2. The number of sunburns you will get in your lifetime while doing Number 1: four.

3. Audit an entire clinic with an Olympic rider in a hurricane, heat wave, snow storm or flood. There is something about nasty weather that makes toughing out an educational event beyond crazy to truly insane. As soon as it is clear we are ALL pretty much all insane, the experience will change you.

4. Compete in pouring rain. If you’ve done it you know what I mean. If you haven’t, and you stick with this sport, you will.

5. Lose badly … by doing something dumb. If you’ve done it, you know what I mean. If you haven’t, and you stick with this sport, you will.

6. Win something. No matter whether it’s small, or large. An eventing win is like nothing else in sport. It’s a terrific high because so many horrific lows push you down. Savor these like the notable life experiences they are.

7. Experience maddening frustration. Lost shoes. Lameness. Forgetting your course. Missing a cross-country fence. Forgetting something. Not speaking up when something is wrong. Maxing out a credit card for fuel to get home and not having any money for food.

8. Find two lucky packages of stale crackers in the truck console to eat when you have no money, are starving and have a long drive home from an event.

9. Riding alone, keeping the faith, eye on the prize, feeling sore or tired or alone and unmotivated — yet tacking up anyway. Every day.

10. Using duct tape for everything.

11. Using haystring for everything else.

12. Loving your horse more than anything and doing everything for them you can think of. Including buying new tack and horse blankets when your boots have holes in them.

13. Watching every big event online from the first horse to the last.

14. Going to Rolex every year. And not being able to say, “Kentucky.”

15. Being the best horseman in the room.

16. Being the most humble rider in the lesson.

17. Being the hardest worker in the barn.

18. Paying attention, reading the rule book, respecting officials and making it a habit to be polite and friendly to everyone at every event you attend, riding or not.

19. Understand the horse as a partner, and be able to sell them on when they don’t have fun doing eventing.

20. Make a young horse.

21. Keep an old horse going well.

22. Provide leadership to a young rider.

What’s on your list? Share your experiences! What do you think makes an eventer?

Hey Mojo … Where Are You?

What mojo looks like at the end of the year. Photo by Holly Covey What mojo looks like at the end of the year. Photo by Holly Covey

What mojo looks like at the end of the year. Photo by Holly Covey.

In keeping with the theme of New Orleans, let’s talk about the mystery of mojo.

So when we talk about “mojo,” I think we are talking spirits, endeavors, emotions, ambitions, and forms of non-thinking activity. Does that cover riding jumping horses well? I think it does.

We get the mojo when we first dream of riding a horse; then we want to ride a horse over jumps; then we want to compete; then we want to win; then we want to get on a team; then we want to win with the team. That’s sort of an unhealthy progression of “wants,” but it is fairly accurate if you know anything about eventing or grand prix dressage or jumping, that is, competing horses at the highest levels.

Those who are most successful probably have the greatest amount of mojo flowing for them in the best most advantageous direction; but alas, for the vast unwashed horde of the REST of us, mojo is a fickle mistress.

Half the time, we don’t recognize when the mojo is flowing our way; we’re halfway through the greatest cross-country course of our lives before we realize we’ve jumped all the obstacles so far basically in stride and had no scary short ones yet. The other half of the time we spend anxiously awaiting the mojo to arrive, after six chips in a row in the Novice show jumping round that your husband finally showed up to view.

Mojo and me have a tricky relationship. I need it and hope it sticks around when it drops by, but it never seems to want to stay very long. I am jealous of my friends and others whose mojo is more consistent and much friendlier to them, who seem to be able to summon it when needed. These are the people who never fall off, whose leg looks like a queen’s, whose helmet is never dirtied, horse never misses a change, saddle pads always remain clean. I hate them.

Many people do not believe in spooks, or mojo, or the Easter Bunny, but I am here to testify that in my life, I have ridden horses that do believe. Unless you have super velcro butt saddles, you had better respect the believers that you sit on. They know mojo is alive and well, and lives in the corner of the indoor with the wheelbarrow and pitchfork. It does not matter that they have seen these a million times. Your horse believes, therefore, it lives and can pounce exactly when you are trying to improve your shoulder-in.

So mojo is the thing that makes the horse spook; well, not exactly. It’s more like the thing that doesn’t; it comes to calm and provide direction. Still not believing it? Ah ha. Well, there are convincing arguments in life for just about everything. I mean, just because someone tells a lie and everyone believes it doesn’t mean it is true. And, just because something is true, and no one believes it, doesn’t mean it isn’t truth. Mojo is like that. It’s true even if you don’t believe.

It’s enough for me that my horses believe in it. I’ll trust them to judge it, I’ll take it when it comes, I’ll try to get it to stick around a bit more. Perhaps mojo is just really hard work in disguise. Yah, that’s it. I’ll bake it some Christmas cookies, leave a stocking out full of goodies for it, and pay it respect; maybe that will help. That, and two-pointing without stirrups three times around the ring. That makes mojo happy. All the ribbons and awards, and pictures and applause — just a way of acknowledging mojo stuck with you for the year because you worked pretty hard to keep it around. I think I’ve found the answer to the mystery of the universe. It’s a dirty saddle pad and sore legs, isn’t it?

Go eventing.

Conquering the End of Season Blues: There’s Still Lots to Do!

We’ve almost come to the end of the 2018 eventing season. The frenzy of jump lessons, dressage practice, gallops and cross country schooling is almost done. So what’s left to do?

For one, you can take off your helmet, comb your hair, and make plans to attend your Area and local association meetings, which usually take place at the end of the year. Most groups need input and welcome any member to attend. Even if you don’t think you will be needed, it’s still fun to enjoy each other’s company, sit down without worrying about leaving a horse in the trailer, and think about the future.

There are still a few more recognized events to be held — Area III has dates right up to December 1 and then the year starts up again in January. Maryland, California and Texas see their last events in mid-November. But for the rest of us, it’s pretty much the end of our official eventing season.

The sad part of this: a fit horse and no place to run! So find a few things to keep you and your Event Horse ticking over.

The indoor schooling shows will begin soon if you are in a northern clime — these are wonderful for brushing up on dressage and jumping. Look around online at your local hunter/jumper circuit or dressage circuit, check through the calendars of your area CTA, dressage association, or Pony Club — chances are schooling shows are listed that might fit in with your plans to keep up your training.

You can take a look at the start of the 2019 eventing calendar online at www.useventing.com/competitions — just scroll down under the 2018 dates and the 2019 events will be listed.

Don’t forget “No-Stirrup November.” If you’re going to improve your riding, schooling without stirrups is a great way to get better. In our area we have a trainer who is offering “No-Stirrup” lesson specials — or get together with friends and practice together.

Hunting and rides with friends. Photo courtesy of Holly Covey.

Fall is traditionally a great time to get out and do paper chases, foxhunting, or trail rides — no bugs, footing is soft, and it’s fun to ride with others. Your horse will enjoy the change in scenery, too, from the pressure of competing. Do you have a friend who keeps asking you to come along on a trail ride or go cubbing (young hound foxhunt)? Now’s the time to do it!

Why not do a deep clean of your tack room? Take a good look at your tack and check over the reins, cheekpieces, and stirrup leathers while you’re at it. Look at all your billets high up underneath the flap, too, and check your girth buckles. Sometimes in the hurry-scurry of the season we miss cracks and worn places, and just a quick check can save you a bad fall if your girth or billet breaks at a crucial moment.

If you’re done for the year, consider sending your coats to the cleaners, and check all your helmets — take off the covers, look over the shells, check the buckles and harnesses. Just a look-over won’t hurt, and if you see anything that concerns you, take it to your local tack shop or helmet sales professional and have it checked out. You just can’t play around with a faulty helmet.

I usually take stock of my jumps, too. I pick up and put away the flowers and blow-away things, like cones, and store most of the dressage arena away. I will keep out the corners, just in case I want to practice figures to get them the correct size, but I anchor them with cement blocks so I don’t have to go over to the neighbor’s to pick them up after the next storm blows through.

Fall — time to put away jumps for the winter. Photo by Holly Covey.

Any jumps that need work I pull out of the ring, put in the workshop, and keep for a rainy day to repair or replace. In my climate, I can jump almost all winter, so I don’t remove all of my jumps, but I will stack poles and standards I don’t need in a dry place to keep them from splitting in wet and cold weather.

If you’ve parked your trailer for the winter, it’s a good time to check over the tires, wheels, brakes, hitch, roof, doors and windows. Fix anything needing it, make sure the openings shut tightly to keep out moisture in the winter. Check the spare, too.

If you work out of your trailer’s tack room, now is the time to de-clutter it, throw out all the old envelopes from the season’s events, and vacuum the floor, gooseneck, and corners; remove anything susceptible to moisture or cold, like tack, clothes, grooming equipment or products, and blankets. I usually put some dryer sheets in my trailer tack room to prevent pests, and keep it fresh after I’ve cleaned it. I still use my trailer in the winter but I don’t need to keep quite as much stuff in it when going to lessons or schooling shows, so I don’t close it up or park it.

Hopefully by now you’ve taken advantage of all the pre-season blanket sales and picked up a full wardrobe for every Event Horse in your barn (like my Event Horse — he has more clothes than I do). My local blanket cleaning/repair lady does an incredible job on waterproofing and repairing rips and these additions to the cleaning bill are always a good bargain in my experience — they prolong the life of an expensive turnout blanket and keep your horse from being damp.

Winter riding. Photo by Holly Covey.

I always get right to the point in coat hair growth that I say, “golly, I think it’s gonna take three hours to dry this horse off,” before I finally drag out the clippers. I hope to get to the clipping earlier this year! Some people love clipping, some hate it. Judging by the number of bids I put in on the donated body clips to the fundraising auctions, I’m in the latter category. Really, I don’t hate clipping; clipping hates me. So I compromise with just a hunter clip or bib clip on my hairiest Event Horse if I can’t find the time for a full on body clip.

The end of the season has important tasks, but one of the most important is to take a break from the training and enjoy a quiet fall ride, reconnect with your horses, take the time to think and reflect on the season’s ups and downs.

Keep working, keep trying, keep training with an eye toward the big picture. You might have had some disappointments this year, and maybe some triumphs. Savor the season’s results — all of them — and don’t worry about next season quite yet. There is time. You will get there.

Go eventing.

Fall … end of season blues. Photo by Holly Covey.

 

 

 

This Year at Fair Hill: A Glimpse Behind the Scenes

Photo courtesy of Holly Covey.

I have a friend who entered a dressage show on the same day as cross country day at Fair Hill, and I was shocked. Who would do that? Then I realized; there is a whole ‘nother world out there that does not think Fair Hill International is the most important event on the planet. Geez. Who knew?

It is said that the road to Kentucky goes down Gallaher Road. That’s for the competitors. I think for volunteers, our best time of the year also goes down Gallaher Road, too.

My oldest volunteer pin is from 2002. That for sure puts me in at 16 straight years of living and dying on that piece of gorgeous land at the corner of Gallaher Road and Elk Chapel Road in northern Maryland, but I also go back a few years before that. We think that I have been helping with the cross country course about 20 years. Wow, that is hard to type.

This year’s Fair Hill International renewal is now in its 30th year. While those of us who have come to know this event as our “home” international CCI feel like we have accomplished something, really, it’s not ours. It’s everyone’s.

There are people I’ve never met at Fair Hill who have worked hard every year doing something you and I don’t know about, but they are there. Every year I volunteer, I meet someone for the first time and we swap war stories about how many years we’ve been doing it and the Monsoon Year and other fun memories.

Not every job has been glamorous and gotten a photo on EN. Lots of jobs that go completely unheralded in putting on a great CCI and sporting event in the country are terribly difficult.

There are trash people and parking people. There are people who cook food for the volunteers long before a horse arrives to feed us while we work desperately on setting up. There are people who just run around on gaters and golf carts doing whatever. I am very envious of those people!

There are people who unhook their trucks from their horse trailers and go get cornstalks and mums and equipment and tables and chairs and set it all up. And have the time while doing their job to help others with questions, answer emails, make phone calls, straighten out problems and direct sponsors to their booth space.

There are people who spend hours on the phone months in advance getting sponsors, collecting checks, doing bookwork, accounting, advertising, and other minute detailed paperwork involved in an international sporting event.

These folks of course are all volunteers (most of them anyway) and love what they do. But they all have lives and kids and houses and jobs, too. And some have horses that still need feeding and stall cleaning and riding. At home. That other place you go to sleep and find clean clothes.

While we as volunteers are delighted to return year after year, we also know the importance of bringing in others to help and learn the essential jobs. Creating a family and experience goes that way. We have fun, too, in the midst of all that work. We’ve learned that if we didn’t, it made it hard to justify the time and attention. We all look at each other on Tuesday and compare the energy levels — pretty darn low.

Then … trailers with big logos come rumbling down Gallaher Road, horses start arriving, and riders start walking in, and trainers, and all the luminaries of the sport, and and we’re energized. They’re here! It’s starting!

While we don’t know how things will work in the new location, scheduled for 2020, right now and for next year we will continue at the Gallaher Road location for the CCI2* and CCI3*. As the FEI changes and moves its rules and proposals forward, we as volunteers are at the lowest end of the food chain. We follow as ordered.

But we are darn sure going to have a good time doing it! And our world, the third weekend in October, will always go down Gallaher Road and stop at a place we love to enjoy together. See you there!

 

A Manual for Wet Weather Hoof Care

Mud! The bane of farriers everywhere. Photo by Holly Covey.

My farrier told a story of shoeing at a stable this year where a teenager’s horse continually lost shoes. After the umpteenth time replacing a lost shoe, he asked the rider what she was doing to prevent it. She replied, “Nothing. That’s your job.”

I was aghast when I heard this – because it most certainly IS our job as horse owners and managers to keep our horse’s hooves in the best possible condition, and that means keeping the shoes on for the horse’s benefit. Not only that, but shoeing is one of the highest costs of horsekeeping – it behooves you as a horse owner to protect that investment!

The hooves are part and parcel of keeping the horse’s whole body well and require good nutrition and proper environment to be at their healthiest. The “proper environment” part is where the young teenager lost the meaning of horsemanship.

In times when there is a lot of moisture on and in the ground – such as this year in the east – it’s on us as horsemen to keep our horses’ hooves healthy by being careful about turnout in muddy and wet conditions.

Why Wet Weather Wreaks Havoc on Hooves

The horse’s hoof tends to be hard in arid conditions and soft in wet conditions. Moisture makes the hoof more “deformable.” Remember, a horse is ALWAYS on his feet, so the hard tissues (the horn and outer hoof wall structures) are subject to continual stress. When these soften, the interior structures of the hoof bear even more pressure, which tends to soften the entire hoof, and leads to a pancaking — a flatter hoof shape because the structures soften and spread.

Soft walls don’t hold nails well, and shoes loosen and are subject to loss. A soft hoof has even more difficulties with things such as white line disease, thrush and pathogens that can be absorbed into soft, mushy tissues, leading to abscesses, etc.

Mitigation Strategies

Preemptive avoidance: Persistently wet conditions can reshape a hoof, so to manage the moisture, performance horses who are turned out do need to be given a drier place to stand at least a few hours during the day or night. This allows the hoof to not be subject to continual moisture and gives it time to keep the moisture at bay. It doesn’t always work, but it helps to keep the horn tougher when a horse is stabled at least part of the day.

The easiest way to keep a horse out of the mud and water is to put them in a dry stall, of course, but that’s not always possible depending upon the stable schedule and setup. For most event horses, turnout is crucial, so good stable managers keep an eye out for the footing but turn out when the conditions seem the best – in terms of not just ground moisture, but also temperature, flies, heat, work schedule and feeding schedules.

Shavings, sawdust, straw or any other dry bedding will help to pull moisture out of the hoof as the horse stands and walks in it; regular hours of dry surface will help if a horse has no dry footing in turnout. These are used in stalls, of course, but some managers also bed their turnout sheds in order to keep moisture at bay.

In order to pay attention to the moisture level the hooves are subjected to, we look for dry paddocks, take steps to remove muddy conditions from walkways and gate areas (where horses tend to stand), and try to mitigate the time a horse has to spend in the wet and mud by turning out after the dew is off the grass, for instance.

There are products that can be used at gates and entrances that create a “mat” and moisture barrier to prevent mud, as well as using gravel, wood products, sand, etc. Soil conditions will dictate what you can use in your area of the country, what is economical, will last in all weather, and have the features your setup needs. Not everyone will be able to use sand or a commercial barrier product in outdoor conditions, but if you have a persistent problem, it’s a place to start.

Sometimes the water in your congregation areas comes from a source, such as a barn roof, or low lying area. If that’s the case, look into how you can divert the water through gutters, drainage systems, or filling in puddles that just won’t dry up. The best place to go for information on how to do that is your local county extension or soil conservation agency – they usually have free information, and are tasked with helping farm and stable owners fix and mitigate soil problems like drainage. In most cases, you’ll probably want to get a soil test before starting work so you know what kind of soil you’re working with in the area you want to fix. Changing the ground conditions can run into a lot of money, so an inexpensive soil test along with some consultation with experts would be a good first step to changing a drainage problem.

Other ways to directly affect the horse without a major construction project:

Hoof care products: There are commercial products that can be applied to the hoof wall for a moisture barrier, but the bottom of the hoof is still subject to ground moisture absorption, even with shoes and pads to protect it and a commercial product applied. There are thrush medicines that do an effective job of preventing and attacking the thrush bacteria, and other products that help to keep bacteria and pathogens at bay. Sometimes the simplest things work just as well – a weak bleach solution, for instance, in a squirt bottle to tighten and kill bacteria on the sole and frog.

Nutrition: Nutrition of the whole horse has a lot to do with hoof and horn quality, also, and that’s a whole blog in itself. Do you know what your horse is fed, and if the ingredients are helping his hooves? Check the bag labels, go online, do your research, ask an equine nutrition expert and see if you might be able to tweak your feeding program to get your horse’s hooves in better shape, too.

Awareness: If you have to turnout consistently in wet conditions, it’s good to check the clinches every day to insure the shoe is staying tight, and re-clinch if necessary; that’s something you can do with a hammer yourself, have your farrier show you how. And for sure talk with your farrier if you have a consistent shoe-blowing problem. There a lot of things he can do, and perhaps some tricks he can show you that will help.

In short, don’t leave it up to someone else. He’s dealing with your horses’ hooves for an hour or so every four to six weeks. All those other hours, it’s your responsibility! Mud is certainly one of the foremost frustrations of a farrier, too, as well as a horse manager. But it’s your job as caretaker to keep the hooves as carefully as you are keeping the rest of your horse and make the nightmare of lost shoes a little less scary.

All Eventing, All the Time

In the space of eight days, I made an expedition to a World Championship three day event, survived a major hurricane, worked long days driving 12 to 14 hours in the bowels of a major east coast city, prepared my own horse for a horse trial, decorated four courses at a local recognized horse trial, and oh, yes, competed at Training level; and today, after a needed 10-hour sleep, I am watching Plantation Field International 3* cross-country live on USEF Network.  All eventing, all the time!

Hint: I didn’t do all of those things perfectly. In fact, And my horse trial was a bit spotty — my horse is a unicorn — and I forgot to do something to one fence on the courses at Marlborough, which ended up jumping OK — and even the Plantation Field feed is a bit spotty this morning, but we all survived and it’s all good.

I think we get too far along in the perfection department to want to accept “just O.K.” If you read me regularly, you know I am always reminding myself, “This sport is HARD.” And it is. And we don’t appreciate how very difficult it can be when we watch the ease and splendor of our top level eventing athletes at the upper level events.

They make it look easy. I’m still remembering the absolute silken ride of Nicholas Astier, the focus of Ingrid Klimke, the quality of the Japanese riders and the grace of the horses over the cross-country course at Tryon. As a spectator, and big fan, these memories serve you for a few years.

Our corners. Photo by Holly Covey.

When I am riding at home I think about those riders and try to channel their riding, and I hope others are too, because they were fantastic to watch. Even if all you experienced was TV, please emulate the riding and think about how they approached and prepared horses for the questions, and how their horses responded.

Oooh, big corner at WEG. Photo by Holly Covey.

Coming home, driving through a serious rain deluge, I practiced my determination, focus, and patience. Yes, those things in everyday life we need also apply to our sport!

And then I want to talk about sharing the experience, and being a part of a hard working set of folks who care first about the sport, then their event, then how well they can cover every detail. I worked this weekend with a first-time organizer who did a fantastic job with nearly every aspect of a beloved local event. Helping her were caring, above-self folks who are dedicated to the sport, and working with people who are approaching an event with an attitude like this makes it easy to work hard.

If you have a local event who makes a plea for volunteers, it’s your duty to go and help. Even a little bit, and even for just a few hours, and before or after the event if you plan to compete. Every person’s hands are precious, every little act – even bending over to pick up a discarded water bottle and toss in bin — makes a difference. But do a little more if you can!

If you cheerfully approach a task or competition, give yourself positive feedback about your endeavor, surround yourself with people who give you help and support, and show up. Be present. Come to play and smile even if you don’t want to. This makes a difference not only to you but to others, and keeps everything at an even keel.

I am convinced that the smiles of the volunteers at Marlborough Horse Trials kept the rain mostly away and allowed the sun to come out Saturday, and that should mean something.

WEG water jumps. Photo by Holly Covey.

This sounds cheery and positive, and that’s not to mean all is rosy. Mistakes and poor experiences do happen, and were a part of both of my weekend events, but I’m going to choose to see the big picture here and go away with educational experiences from those not-so-hot moments. “You’re either winning or learning.”

And our local horse trials water jumps. Photo by Holly Covey.

The experience at WEG and at a small local horse trials a week later wasn’t really a huge contrast — it was actually a fun comparison of how shared experiences make memories and fun in a sport that ranges from Elementary to the ultimate, a World Championships. Go eventing!

WEG: Cross country Day!

How was your day on cross country? Our day started with another good bus ride, and we selected the cross country bus which took us directly down a paved driveway to be dropped off at the top of the lake right near the start box! Hooray! We had a short walk to the guys scanning tickets and were on our way for the day. I quickly did a little math; I asked my ticket-scanner how many he had done so far, he said 300-400 and there were 10 guys there, so we figured at least one hour prior to cross country, about 4,000 people were on course.

We saw a lot of horses and some really excellent rides — Ros Canter, Ingrid, Emma Tattersall, and Nicholas Astir stick out. Met a couple of British eventers, who told us they never got to see a horse at France at the last WEG, because they were stuck in traffic six miles away; they were happy they were on course before the first horse was even down to the start box, thrilled to be able to see everyone go this time. I met an endurance rider from Khazakstan and commiserated with her over the endurance race and she was OK about it, things just happen, she said, we will work for the next one. We walked back up Heartbreak Hill in time to see the last horses come through the last jumps and was a part of a small group that cheered for every rider to get them home.

Here are a few photos:

The crew fixes the pin on the oxer at the fountains. Photo by Holly Covey.

Dutton and Z. Photo by Holly Covey. 

Up the hill to the rocks. Photo by Holly Covey. 

Water jump was mobbed all day. Photo by Holly Covey. 

WEG! We Get a Ride Up the Hill

Golf cart after golf cart passed us old ladies and who stops for us but the chief course builder and course designer. They gave us a ride up Heartbreak.

It’s an amazing course but to be honest we couldn’t find out how to walk it because it looks like you’re wandering around in a construction yard. We actually had a caterpillar tractor clinking along next to us while we squeezed over next to the string.

So with a little intrepid walking and asking a lot of volunteer-looking people, we found most of the course and watched several teams try to figure out the puzzle of the water jump which was very entertaining.

We decided we knew where the start was, where the waters were, and most importantly where the beer was so we are all set for Saturday’s cross-country. The above picture is Moe’s Bar B Q in Forest City which was absolutely 100 percent awesome and tasted like heaven to us.

Oh and we shopped. Oh and we waiting in line for our bus. It looked really bad when we wandered over to the pickup place, with a very VERY long line over a block long, but it moved fast and we got on our bus after only a 16 minute 45 second wait (yes, I timed it.)

If you’re aren’t having a good time you aren’t trying. Hit that trade fair for some shopping therapy and find your way out to the water jumps, it will be fine. See ya out there! And wait for the good stuff.

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10 Days Away!!!!!

Photo by Leslie Wylie.

There’s a lot of excitement coming up this fall. The United States is hosting the World Equestrian Games. Wow. Just saying that gets me excited, you too, I bet. If you don’t have your tickets, there are some to be found, you can purchase from friends or others who don’t need theirs. Places to look include bulletin boards and social media from what I can see. The ticket rules allow the original purchaser to pass them to another person, so if you didn’t get a ticket and want one it looks like it’s OK to get one previously purchased.

It does look like tickets for Eventing are available, including seats for the show jumping day on Sunday, as of today. (Click here for ticket availability.)

Once we all get there, we are told traffic and parking are going to require patience. Well, we can deal, I guess. There is no ahead-of-time parking passes being sold. You have to pay to park each day and it looks like it will cost $20 per car. I imagine there will be a line to get in to pay and a line to park after you get in. There are supposed to be shuttle buses that pick up the parking lot folks and shuttle them to the event entrances. One hopes this system works if they have enough people to take money, enough buses and they run back and forth regularly — especially on cross-country day, Saturday, Sept. 15. We’ll plan on leaving plenty of time ahead.

I have no idea what or how we’re going to eat and drink. We’re probably at the mercy of the showgrounds. I know there is food there during normal competitions, but many thousands of us will be there and won’t be allowed to bring our own food in, so crossing fingers food doesn’t require huge waits or mortgage payment prices. I can go hungry, I guess until we get to a restaurant somewhere.

The course I am told has a nice hill in the center where you can see a lot of jumps, and the concessions may be located in the middle. I hope this is true. In true intrepid eventer style, I am making sure I wear comfortable shoes for walking. Maybe even boots.

My friends with serious photography habits were a bit worried about the camera rules, then when the revised guidelines came out, were a bit calmed. They hope to be able to get lots of great photos of all the best in the world over the fences and I hope we get to see their pictures afterwards.

Does anyone know what the cell phone service and internet will be like there? It would be wonderful if it’s good and we can contact our friends. Better yet, some suggested we wear items of apparel of some kind — hats, shirts, jackets, etc. — from our Areas or groups so we can recognize and find one another.

I have a feeling it might be hard to find one another if we aren’t already with each other from the parking lot! So I’ll use a little trick someone told me at Kentucky: Find a spot with a recognizable feature, near the attractions, to meet if you get lost and your cell won’t work (we use the Bruce statue there — we’ll have to find something at Tryon.)

We’re all stressing over the clear backpack thing. I’ll find something that works for carrying what I want to bring — mainly a phone, sunglasses, a hat, a credit card, maybe cash, some sunscreen, a bottle of water or an empty container for water, a couple pieces of candy for dry mouth, chapstick, aspirin, and a bandaid or two for blisters or stings. We’ll see whether that will work with the rules but I think so if packaged correctly.

I’d like to carry a waterproof pad to sit down on the ground, but not sure they will allow it; we usually stuff a small one in a backpack for Kentucky cross country day because you find yourself way out on course I always want to sit down, and eat or drink something to fuel up to walk back and the ground can be damp. They are allowing portable chairs but if you have one in a bag it will have to be searched when you enter. That might be a good option if you don’t mind carrying it with you all day; I’m not sure I will want to tote it all day with my back!

I’m debating whether to carry my camera. I have so many great photog friends, their pictures are going to be incredible, and I sure can’t do as well as the pros; but I’d like to be able to video a little bit, so I’m not sure what camera I’ll carry.

It feels like cross country day you have to be prepared, have a plan, pack carefully and strip for action like a military excursion. Having had a little experience with big crowds on cross country day, I am trusting that the venue also has a way to manage all of us spectators comfortably by having enough potties, food, and drink to keep us all happy.

All of you folks with media passes, it’s your job to let us know what to expect because you have access. Don’t forget to go out and check on us and see how we’re doing.

It’s all about the horses, so here’s to a good show and a good ride for everyone and hopeful the horses are all good, too. I hope we can see some great riding and I’m looking forward to giving everyone reports from the cheap seats!

See you there! Go eventing!

 

 

The Art of Holding a Horse

One of my favorite horse-holding pictures: Jan Byyny and Inmidair at the CCI3* jog Wednesday morning at Fair Hill International in 2013, the year they won. Photo by Holly Covey.

The holding of a horse isn’t quite as important as holding a baby, but it may be almost as dangerous — and fulfilling.

There is an art to holding a horse. Anyone who has been around a groom who has been holding lead ropes for most of their adult lives knows what their hands can do with that butter-soft leather lead shank. It is zen.

When we see photos of boyfriends skeptically but hopefully holding the lead rope of a wary, knowing horse, we all know what is just about to happen without even reading the caption. The horse makes a step, takes a pull — and it’s rodeo time.

We’ve all lead a horse down the aisle, thinking of other things, and had the horse remind us however gently or forcefully that leading them is not to be taken lightly: stepping on the end of the lead rope trailing under their feet, breaking the reins getting caught on something they shouldn’t have … and various other disasters.

Unlike many other pets, for which a leash is either an object of decoration (chihuahua), or something a man seizes and controls (pitbull), the lead rope of a horse is more of an umbilical cord at times.

We are united with a piece of twisted cotton, or a bit of leather.

I watch my grazing horse at the end of it and think of how he feels about that grass he is munching. Depending upon the weather on the day, and the moment I am holding him, I will think. I will take a turn either slapping at mosquitoes, tucking my hat over my ears a little lower in the cold, or pull up my hood against the wind. I must stop and I must stand, or slowly shuffle with him. The world doesn’t have to go on spinning for a few moments. We can just stand there.

I relax my hands — no death grip needed. The munching is a soothing rhythm. I watch him eat. I’ll check his legs, worry about his splint. I’ll watch his ears. I’ll check the swish of his tail, the look of his topline, the amount of fat over his ribs. I’ll watch the bend of his ankle and the reach of the hind leg, and check the clinches on the shoes and that the clips are folded in. Then after a while I stop checking things and just watch.

He knows I am there, holding him, watching him. He doesn’t care. He enjoys the grass. He doesn’t want to leave. I don’t either. We don’t talk, we just listen to each other. We eat grass together.

Grooms all over the world are doing it, all times of the year. Sometimes at competitions where they chat and talk with each other. Sometimes at home alone with a barnful of work to do, or an overwhelmingly tough problem to solve, or just general worry about money, relationship, job.

The lead line is a counselor.

And the art of holding a horse covers a lot of ground and stretches from your very first encounter with an equine all the way along your whole life, and hopefully, to the very end. Many who can no longer ride still own horses and handle them and lead them and hold them. Once you hold a horse, you never forget how to do it again even after many years.

The coolest part of holding a horse is the understanding he knows you are holding him, and he can’t run away, yet he can do what he pleases. It goes back to early training when he was just a foal, figuring out that when the first halter was placed on his head, that it meant his life would have meaning.

A halter does not divide the broken from the free. It creates a being, a precious life to hold in your hand and keep safe and train and compete and belong to. A lead rope is a lifeline.

So when you hand a lead over to someone it symbolizes your trust they will care and love that horse as you have come to. It means a new journey starts for them, and it is a sharing on down the line of the ancient trust a human creates with something it has tamed.

Boyfriends, take heed. Holding your girlfriend’s horse has deep and powerful meaning. Now if you could just figure out how to keep him from stepping on the lead rope! (Don’t worry — you’ll get it. Keep at it.)

Go eventing.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

There’s your earworm for the day:

“R-e-s-p-e-c-t … find out what it means to me …” Gotta have it, just a little respect.

Oh, yes. In order to receive respect from your horse, as an event rider, it is at times essential to give respect — particularly when you are jumping a horse that tends to get slightly heavy in your hand. You don’t want to pull on the mouth. You don’t want to make constant correction, at least, I don’t. I’d rather just ask politely and get a nice, congenial, “sure, Mom,” response.

Four and a turn photo by Holly.

Most amateur riders like me I think feel the same. It should not be so much work. So, in an effort to gain back some respect, I changed the Event Horse’s bit for a little at-home jump school. Oh, my. Let’s give that idea the proper amount of respect: OH MY.

I have a rather short arena but I can set a four-stride line. This one was right on the 12-foot normal stride. I knew I’d have to gain RPMs in the turn and keep up the pace through the line, then half halt for the next turn, after the second fence in the line.

What I didn’t count on was the new and different attitude that the different bit caused in Event Horse. He galloped down the line, I gave him a little space when we landed, then sat up and politely asked, with my normal, regular, old-bit amount of pressure, for a half halt to make the turn to the right.

Whoohoo! I got it really fast, really quickly,  a really really real half halt! As in I nearly went out the front door to the left while Event Horse braked to go right. The arena fence was right there, up close and personal. We didn’t lose PVO (proper vertical order, earth-horse-rider), but it was touch and go.

So. Lesson learned. New bit equals new level of respect, and rider must subsequently adjust as well. And this is the lesson — that if you demand respect at a certain level, say, change the bit to something a bit more — be ready to change yourself to ride the horse you get. This was not a complication I had planned on.

What happened was I expected him to respect my half halt but I wasn’t thinking far enough ahead. A different bit will have a different response, and required a different use by me — I should have been milder with my half halt and not assumed the same kind of pull would work.

So in doing the exercise again, I checked myself when we landed and asked much more softly and got a more balanced and smoother turn. Light bulb moment: respect the respect you expect!!!

I’ve got a horse that can be a real bully on the ground — the more I correct him, and the consistency of correction, makes a difference and is the only thing that seems to work. If he isn’t handled for a while or if someone else handles him and treats him differently, I’m back to Square One with him in the respect department. And on occasion, even with consistent pressure, he’ll still walk over top of me or bang me with his head reaching for something. He doesn’t have a “personal space” radar.

And that’s not a thing I want to thump him for all the time, either. What I am doing is watching my own body language and taking care to be correct in my approach and handling and following the rules to avoid having to correct him — rewarding his good behavior and asking him politely not to step on me in the cross-ties, etc. Respecting the rules myself first.

Respect doesn’t mean cruelty and fear, big nasty bits and tight nosebands; it really means I am ready for a different level of performance and I’d like to see if we can’t develop an even deeper partnership together. I get it now.

I guess I have to make r-e-s-p-e-c-t a two-way street when I ride.

I love the story Jim Wofford tells about one of his best horses. When jumping, Jim would just have to look in the direction he wanted to head, and the horse would follow his eye upon landing. I’d like to have that kind of communication with my horses some day, where bits and bridles and reins and spurs didn’t matter, and which stirrup you weighted signaled which way to go. That’s a cool concept.

So until Event Horse gains Wofford-Level clairvoyance, and I magically develop upper level riding skills overnight, I will continue to work hard on this ammy-rider-thing and when I get big ideas to change the tack, I’ll make sure I think it through first.

Go eventing!