Tradition has a place.

There is a time and way of riding that went before us, that often is something we only read about in the old dusty books way up high on the top shelf. Perhaps we’re cleaning and find an old clipping. Or lift a box and find an old ribbon. The way long ago that people rode and loved to compete their horses. Was that way so very long ago that we can’t find anything valuable in the memory?

The whispers of big, rangy hunt horses whose metronomic trots covered frosty ground on hunting mornings. The riders dressed in wool and heavy leather boots, for they knew not what the course would be that day — Mr. Reynard was the only one who knew that. The birds who flittered in the sunlight as the mounted riders passed, the short rays of daylight — there was an urgency to riding well and fast to hounds on cold winter days.

Being fit, having a good solid leg, a heavy stirrup iron, with weight well down in the heels, as well as the strength for a long time out of the saddle in two-point to save your horse’s back over a couple of hours of galloping up and down hill — you had to ride well to enjoy a day’s hunting then and now.

Or the soft and elastic look of the old equitation photos, the working hunters in the old showrings. Study the elbow, the rein contact, the look of the horse, the tightness of the knees and the snap of the hock over the old post and rail fence. Certainly showing provided a way to exhibit fancy horses and well trained riders, but the work was always at home, and the show was a special occasion and not a regular day to day existence.

The old days had eventers, too, the great ones who took horses that could jump and made them into champions. They looked as beautiful in dressage as in cross country, the elegance of the plain black habits and the perfectly groomed horses, without gaudiness or trappings. Just the gleam of the rubbed coat and perfectly fit horse glowing in the middle of the day, no matter where the crowd was or who was watching. The courses were not for those without the solid riding skills needed for going across the country, but to watch a good pair was not frightening when the day was right and the pace correct.

The old silver now sits tarnished in the case. The plain black coat replaced by something with shiny things on the neck and wrists. The gleaming horse has long since retired. The new horses come not from the cold bare Virginia hunt fields, but from the clip and clop of old cobblestone pavement in German, Irish, and French stable yards.

The riders, too, not from the deep old turf of Chester County, but from the sandy loam of riding school rings, and they wear the padding and equipment of space men and not riders. Fading and dusty, the tradition and memories get more distant as time passes. The origins of competitive riding have changed ever slowly and steadily to the sport as we know it today.

There is something to be said for the elegance of the past. Quality is not always flashy or bold. Sometimes it is just a nicely braided mane and brushed out tail.

Photo by Holly Covey.

The essence of sport is fair play. The organizations to which we belong were formed solely to develop fairness and ensure that competition is undertaken fairly. Fairness seems to be intrinsic to the human experience, so it’s not a surprise that in our working lives we expect it as well as in our recreation.

I took a quick look at the elemental aspect of this concept and found a new study just published this fall that used primates, the closest human subjects. The researchers studied rewards given to the primates and how they reacted when a partner was given a bigger reward. They found that resentment in those with the smaller reward arose when they knew that a bigger reward was given to another for the same task.

Longterm, the scientists were looking for ways to understand why humans aren’t happy with what they have, and how fairness evolved in humans. “If you are cooperating with someone who takes more of the benefits accrued, they will do better than you, at your expense,” said one of the researchers.

The human response to unfairness seems to have evolved in order to favor longterm cooperation, they found. This means that if things are pretty much fair all the time, more cooperation occurs and a happier workplace exists. 

The whole of our system of government is based on fairness to all citizens. For example, public schools are open to all children who receive the same education. Dr. Martin Luther King’s I Have A Dream speech examined the Declaration of Independence of the United States, “that all men are created equal,” essentially claiming fairness as a civil right.

Our very own United States Equestrian Federation has in its “Welcome” the very clear mandate it sees itself protecting: “More than 84,000 members make it possible for USEF to continue the mission on which it was founded — a dedication to 360° of fairness …” 

Fairness begins many an endeavor and unfairness ends many, too.

Let’s take this back into our sport of eventing. If one set of people does all the work but don’t get any of the glory, and in fact, hardly ever get any reward for the work, they become resentful. This outcome is manifested in not being involved in eventing any more. While more people are attracted to fill their empty places, they too, in turn, become disillusioned, point to the unfairness as the cause, and drop out as well.

Meanwhile the highly rewarded set of people continue to stay in the sport. They do less than the larger group but gain relatively more, which keeps them coming back. However, the sport begins to feel the lack of experienced, returning people in the larger group.

The revolving door of unfairness selects newer and less experienced group members to do more than they are educated for or wanted to do. Meanwhile, the rewarded group finds over and over that the sport provides more unfair competition because the experienced people no longer want to participate and ensure the sport remains fair. Their knowledge base is lost.

This results in a competition left wanting, and a host of other issues we’ve all heard about throughout the year at the competitions we attend or view. Mark Twain once wrote, “The institution of royalty in any form is an insult to the human race.” Are we creating “royalty” of our riders at the expense of the REST of the sport?

Science tells us that fairness is an inherent human condition, a necessary part of evolution, insurance for the future. Of course, we can apply this to our recreation, too, and find that fairness should be a focus to ALL ASPECTS of eventing, not just the competition, but to the people who help to nurture and guide the sport, the people who agree to organize sporting competitions and all the helpers they require. The reward must be equal for all who participate, or it will cease to be attractive to all.

The takeaway for eventing is that volunteers need WAY more attention than they are getting. They need a voice (just as PRO and USET are voices for the riders), they need rewards (sponsorship and opportunity, as the riders have) and they need recognition (year-end awards, accumulative awards, special mention awards and attending press). British Eventing has already addressed this with the BE Volunteers program.

Here’s a revolutionary idea — how about rewarding in equal measure? How many year-end awards do we give to riders? How many to volunteers? I know that many will dismiss this idea or be resistant to the facts that volunteers play such a vital role in the sport today.

I had one very high-level organizer tell me they didn’t need to know all the names of the volunteers at their very large event because “no one could possibly keep a list of everyone who volunteered; it would be too expensive to print them all out.” Oh my goodness. I believe that it is the exact opposite. Without attention to each and every single volunteer, the cost to the sport should they give it up due to unfairness is far too immense to dismiss.

Of course, not all who volunteer want rewards, or need them. What some view as fulfillment (such as gifts or items of value), others don’t care about. Some feel rewarded in what they do on a deeper level, being a part of the undertaking, feeling a sense of belonging and shared experience. This is as valuable to the sport as free lunches and T-shirts, even more so, because it creates a community — which is a powerful energy.

Rewards can also be intrinsically educational, such as those who volunteer in order to educate themselves (such as dressage scribing or jump judging). This also has no downside and is available to even more subsets within our eventing population, since all of us are always learning or participating in learning in various roles either as student or teacher.

These two aspects of volunteer rewards certainly seem worthy to develop as part of a fairness initiative going forward. There is value here that we can’t afford to leave undeveloped.

The point is, rewards matter. We need to recognize this. We should probably be paying attention to getting closer to balancing the rewards, because we know that long term, that’s the best choice for the longevity of the sport. Without fairness to all, we risk the sport.

Take the time to give back to the sport you love.

Inspiration was a big theme of one particular weekend in September. The pope’s visit to the United States, stopping in Washington, D.C., New York, and his final days in Philadelphia were wall-to-wall on television and social media. Hard to miss. Listening to him speak to his audiences several times, you can see the reason he’s revered. His messages are succinct and his actions are kind and emotional for many. He’s got peace down pat. What’s that got to do with eventing? Keep reading.

Next, service. Giving to the sport. This was in abundant evidence at Plantation Field Horse Trials last weekend. While there were many wonderful performances by very fancy horses and great riders, there were also huge numbers of volunteers who turned out to work and help buoy the event up. There many small tasks, often menial, often dirty, boring, time consuming or tiring, done by many people who don’t expect compensation beyond a fun time and a smile or two.

The more who offer time and come to help, the bigger this event becomes for the neighborhood and for the sport. It’s really inspiring to me to see the very successful way Melissa McMaster has developed her volunteer database and helped Katie Walker build this event to its potential.

And another source of inspiration is my horses. Riding as an amateur in this sport, there are different levels of competency for all of us to observe and practice. Some amateurs are riding at a very high level, others like many of us, a bit lower but we love our horses and care for them as intensely and with as much passion as any four star rider.

The more that we all come to realize that fact, the more understanding we ALL in this sport can come to, the more peace and kindness we show to our animals and to one another, the better the sport will become. Now if I can just ride a little bit better on the red horse!

Thank goodness for the patience and experience of my coach, Tim Bourke. Yet, another source of inspiration — a young man who is riding at a very high level, and who just completed Burghley, and stood out in a ring and taught us all afternoon in a small part of the country with hardly any eventing and had a three-hour drive home.

Tim Bourke encouraging me to ride that horse. Photo by Jessica Snyder.

We have a sport under stress. We know that to carry it forward, to any equine sport requiring outdoor space and competition, into the coming century, we are totally relying upon people who are very, very inspired. These folks, such as organizers, or landowners, or great competitors, know the stresses the sport is under.

We discuss and chat about these stresses on social media and many of us have what seem to be solutions — although we aren’t organizers and don’t deal with current day, real-life problems of land use, public safety and financial support. Some people spiral the public conversation about our sport down a negative and unconstructive black hole, almost like a hobby.

Is this inspiring? What does it build? When you take a look at the whole, it’s not very much fun to read stuff about how horrified everyone is all the time at every little thing that happens at an event. Are you tired of that negativity? What can we do? We have to recognize that our opinions matter, and our support matters and the folks that put on events draw from YOU their inspiration to go forward and keep producing events.

Do we want to make a difference? Do we want to steer the sport a certain way? Then do this: get our of your Fiat. Like Pope Francis. Walk with folks, talk with folks in person. Break bread together. Shake hands. Speak to one another not online but in person. Get your boots out on a course walk. Sit next to the dressage arena and be a warmup steward. Be a jump judge and give yourself a free lesson. Trade inspiration to keep eventing healthy.

Social media is only a PART of the eventing conversation! Be inspired to ride better, to volunteer, to support, to speak with inspiration to others. Find the good and enjoy the results as we all lift one another to keep this sport growing.

Yes. This is an upper level "prospect" — Michael Jung on Sam at Rolex, 2015. Holly Covey photo.

We’ve all seen the ads. “Gorgeous mover, upper level prospect, great professional prospect,” etc. People will just about say anything to promote a sales horse into a good home and get a nice price for it. In a way, it’s hopeful that the horse may, eventually, end up with a top level professional who can take it to the Olympics. Great idea! Then put down that he’s an upper level prospect!

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Just the very numbers alone will tell anyone who takes a look that the chances of a horse actually making it to the upper levels are very, very slim. As in almost none. There are only a few hundred horses in the WORLD who are actively competing at the four-star level in eventing. A few thousand, perhaps, at the FEI levels below that.

In the U.S. and North America, there are maybe a thousand “upper level” as in Advanced, or even Intermediate level horses currently competing. That means, out of many hundreds of prospects, we’ve got to understand that very few make it even as far as Preliminary horse trial competition.

Yes. This is an upper level “prospect” – Michael Jung on Sam at Rolex, 2015. Holly Covey photo.

So what makes an upper level prospect stand out to an upper level rider? Usually it’s TALENT. As in jumping talent. Jumping very well. Jumping like an oily machine, with great (not good) form, a stick-out ability to pop a jump, not touch the rails, and land in balance.

A horse that hangs any leg, that flattens, that drag their heads down to look at the landing — a horse that misjudges or worse acts lazy about jumping — a horse that has to make an effort over a 3-foot fence, that twists, flattens, hangs a knee, drags hocks, doesn’t fold, rushes, or that shows a flat bascule isn’t great. They are green.

Jumping style can be improved, and horses certainly can get better, but most professionals are looking for horses with natural ability and an athletic, easy jump, because there are so many things a horse must learn, and do, in order to get to the upper levels, that taking a long, long time to develop a less-than-perfect jump isn’t high on the list. Lots of good jumpers exist in eventing. Lots of good jumpers also end up in the hunter and jumper rings, too, and some just never really get the cross country thing and don’t like it.

Next, the horse has to be a spectacular mover. Not a good mover, a spectacular mover. If you don’t know what that is, or what it looks like, study the Young Dressage Horse test videos, study the Young Event Horse competition videos, watch the really impressive German young horse tests and Le Lion competition.

Good movers always track up, they automatically push from behind, they show a tendency to be uphill, and they cover ground easily. Great movers do all that and more. They spring through the joints upward, they show an ease of movement and softness in the back and frame, and have the conformation to support all of that.

A young horse that is not tracking up on a 20-meter circle, who shows a 10-foot natural canter stride, who mixes his rhythm or appears uneven isn’t going to be something a pro would consider an upper-level prospect because, again, there’s a lot of work there — years of dressage — to achieve a moderately scored trot or improve a marginal canter.

And even then you’re always going to get the 6 and 7 on gaits. No pro wants to see that number on a dressage test. They want the 8 and 9 on gaits, so unless you’re a dressage master with time on your hands , chill on the “spectacular mover” description. The more I watch horses go, the more I learn what is really and truly a good mover as opposed to an average mover.

No. Not an upper level prospect.

Most horses, let’s be fair, are pretty much average, despite the attempt of many sellers to describe them as above average or better than normal in some way. The way things go, chances are a good horse will be purchased by a knowledgeable horseman pretty quickly in their life as soon as they show some talent at a rideable age.

Indeed, it is all the upper-level rider is looking for — good horses young and talented. They travel the world, pay thousands of dollars, and build businesses around obtaining just this sort of horse.

It is true that there is always a wonderful Cinderella story about an average horse making it someplace, but these again are very rare — and usually it’s a horse that a dedicated rider invested some time in and cultivated the hidden talent. Not all pros have the time or the talent to develop hidden abilities, so it’s always easier for them to buy one already “discovered.”

Learning the difference between good and great takes time. Watching hundreds of horses go, watching hundreds of dressage tests and jumping rounds, watch videos, watch horses in the field, watch trainers warm up and compete young horses. Attend Young Horse competitions in all three disciplines, go online and see the scores and see how you placed them vs. how the judges placed them.

Check yourself. Attend judging clinics. Watch and listen when your vet examines a horse for soundness. Be a sponge about movement and jumping style. This is the way you get to educate your eye for a great horses vs. a good horse vs. an average sport horse.

Because horses are individuals, each and every one has a quality that makes them special — but not every horse has what it takes to be “upper level.” Some are great just where they are, average Joes, loved by their owners and happy in their work. That kind of horse is great in its own way, but just not quite an Olympic three-day event sort of way. Happy hunting!

Jacquie Taylor photo.

“I want to ride.” The scariest four words in the English language to a parent! And probably among the first sentences I spoke as a toddler. It is still a sentence I utter, in fact, it’s what prompted this post today — sitting at work waiting on something slow, I looked out the window and thought, “I WANT to RIDE.”

So many things, throughout my life, have interfered with the object of that sentence. When I was a child, it was time, money, and opportunity. Now that I am an adult, it’s time, money, and opportunity!

While I don’t stand in line to ride the pony at the campground horseback ride concession any more, my life is equally as restrictive in terms of saddle time. By turns, I envy and hate professional riders who post glowing little captions to pictures of them riding horses over big jumps or dressed up and shiny from head to toe, competing in the nation’s biggest and most prestigious events. I love and despise the gift of time that my retired and non-working friends have, and I do not have.

I know that eventually my body will give out, and I won’t be able to ride any more. But I am spinning quickly toward the point of retirement and less quickly toward my life goal of riding once again at the upper levels. Had I known THEN that it would take over 30 years to get back up this ladder and that life and many challenges would stand in the way, I certainly would have done things differently.

I would have stopped allowing life to happen to me, and been much more insistent about horses being my life in the way I wanted them to be. I would have stopped wishing and done more working. I would have listened to my heart, and not my wallet or people around me. But that’s enough of the wishing and hoping. What I didn’t have then was a plan. And truth be told I still really do not have a plan. And the reason is very simple.

Horses are delicate beyond all reason and common sense; the instant you even think about formulating a plan, the entire universe that contains your horse goes right to hell in the handbasket. This is sort of a given.

So what I have ended up with, sort of, is a way to wind among the trees in the forest of my life with horses. Letting them dictate the journey. Being given the ability to see, beyond the trees, a small place, perhaps a mental platform, that contains one small piece of the goal. Letting the injured horse heal, or giving up when bad weather stops riding. Standing on the mental platform, thinking about what the forced time off teaches you about goals and then stepping off that platform to continue the journey.

Along that journey of 35 or 40 years, I’ve found so many wonderful, exciting, good and kind people and things. I have been around to see many, many events, some old, some died, some new, some still going. I’ve been able to meet really significant people who have changed my life for the better.

I have had the good fortune to ride many many horses of all sorts of breeds and dispositions, all of whom gave me an incredibly diverse knowledge of this animal. I’ve done a classic three-day at a time when that was the pinnacle of the sport and we never thought it would be different from that. I rode stupid and survived. I rode smart, and survived.

My horses saved me many more times than I can remember, and, on rare occasions, I’ve declined to ride a few horses based on some kind of gut feeling that turned out to be one hundred percent right. Horses have hurt me, and I’ve probably disappointed a few horses, too, in ignorance or irritation, by being impatient or not having the proper tools to understand what I was doing. Of this last, I am the most sorry, and constantly strive to better my riding and care for my horses.

I’ve wandered from platform to platform, searching for that upper level goal, but I did something else. I mastered the journey. I made it mine. I loved and lost. I failed, learned, and tried yet again. I woke up early and stayed up late. I worked until I literally could no longer stand up, and I won when I shouldn’t have, when I got lucky and my horse found a way over something tricky that no one else could negotiate cleanly, or had a heaven-sent dressage test on a day that others had the umbrella, the barking dog, or the wrong bridle to contend with.

And I’ve had all those happen to me, too. I’ve been on the wrong side of a bad rules decision by officials, and on the right side of bad horsemanship by others. I have spent a vast amount of time on cross country courses sized below about 3 feet, more time than anyone should without moving up to spending time on courses measuring OVER 3 feet, and it’s taught me a lot about life.

And that is as it should be. Wishing it were different doesn’t work. Even planning to “get there” isn’t really the right way to go about this, as I have learned. It is the life you lead and the work you do everyday that makes you the rider you want to be. It has nothing to do with competing.

“I want to ride,” the mantra of my life, now means “find the time to ride”, and not “ride to compete” or “ride to win” or “ride to accomplish something”.

I want to ride means I want to live the journey and enjoy what I have learned, maybe pass on a little of that knowledge, maybe write about that life with horses so others also gain satisfaction in the journey, or at least, understand they are on a path, and that riding will enrich their lives in many ways and in years to come regardless of plans, goals, wishes. Horses give you that. Receive the gift in the spirit in which it is given. Keep wanting to ride.

A jump course waiting for a show.

I recently managed a small combined test at a popular equestrian park, known for its recognized horse trials. I think this was quite possibly one of the most physically demanding things I’ve done in the past twenty years, because of those darn show jumps. I built a whole course in about three weeks, set them up at home, took them down, loaded them on my trailer, took the trailer to the park the night before the show.

Once we got the show underway in the morning with dressage (a feat in itself) the next endeavor was to corral a good bunch of great volunteers, unload the trailer, and set the course at lunch time. My bruises from smacking myself with rails, cups, and various parts of standards are just now starting to lose that angry purple look. And, once the show concluded, we pulled the trailer in, and broke it down, and loaded it back up. When I got home that night I literally cried with exhaustion. There was no way I’d ever do THAT again!

The trailer has sat for a week, fully loaded, in the yard. Yesterday, I took a couple of standards and poles off it and set them aside. Today, I unloaded a few more standards and poles and by the end of the week, I’m going to have all off the trailer. I look at it and can’t believe I put all those on there (with help!) and got that show off the ground working a full-time-plus overtime job, riding two horses and running a small farm. There is no spare time.

If it were not for great friends who went above and beyond to help me — run warm-up, set fences, raise the fences, load and unload, or even just give advice — it could not have been accomplished. While some drank wine and congratulated themselves, my friends were grunting and lifting standards after a long hot day in the sun, and for that I just can’t thank them enough.

We share a vision of the world, I guess, and when you suffer through a hard job with a group of like-minded folks, you get the feeling together you can manage just about anything.

There is no way I am going to do another combined test, I said to myself all week. After being fairly well consumed by the show for the better part of a month, I looked around and saw a dirty house and barn, neglected horses and dogs and family, a pretty empty checking account, but a sense of great accomplishment.

So what did I do the following weekend? Volunteered to help at a horse trial, of course, managed by a friend who helped me at my combined test. Of course. And, we were talking about new dates for next year. But I did not have to load any show jumps, so I don’t think I’m fully crazy. Just partially.

Plantation Field, 2014. Photo by Holly.

Today, I learned something. I didn’t have a coach, wasn’t taking a lesson or participating in a clinic. I was just riding at home, on my horse Hamish, and trying to pay attention. And my horse said, “Start riding me a little bit, please. Don’t just pull on my mouth. Try to use your leg and your seat a bit more.” And I did as he requested. And I found a little better place to be with him today.

I pushed the envelope a little and asked for counter canter. The first time, I did not look up and where I wanted to go, muddled my aids a bit, and he cantered to the arena fence, from across the diagonal, and then … stopped. Confused. “What did you want?” He asked.

I tried again — looking up, keeping the soft eye, the big picture, tracking where I wanted him to go. I paid attention to his bend, then energy, kept the hocks bending, explained what I wanted with my seat and leg. And there it was — lovely flowing counter canter all the way around the short side and up the long side. I couldn’t help it — I smiled at myself — and gave him a big pat, and a “good boy!“

I do not know how people can ride and not love their horse’s conversations. They are so willing to speak to you if you just listen. I know in my life I have had many moments where I was quite deaf to my horse and am trying now to make up for years of ignorance.

There isn’t much science to this. You probably don’t believe in fairies and ghosts, either. But a horse has a body language that is so obscure and mystical it probably gets well into the realm of the imagination at times. It’s a matter of finding some kind of way to just notice him more while in the saddle. I am sure there is a better way to say this, or explain it — the dressage grand poobahs and renowned expert instructors probably have whole volumes written explaining it.

But if you’re just a rider, like me and my horse out there, your conversation might go like mine. I ask myself — “What am I doing? What do I want? If I do this, what will he do in response?” And then I try to listen. Feel. Watch what is in front of me.

The answers come in a minute change in the set of the ear, a flick, a breathing pattern change, the shoulder lift, the rhythm of the hind foot, the lightness on the rein of the contact they are willing to take from you. Sometimes you have to make a change to see what will happen, to experiment with the conversation a little so that you can hear the emphasis when you get it wrong.

Somewhere, someone can teach this to you, I am sure. And even in my life, I probably have had someone try to get it through to me, but it didn’t really resonate until I rode poor Hamish into the corner expecting him to pick up by crystal ball what the hell I was asking of him.

I wonder if my neighbors “get” dressage at all; they see me ride in circles and probably wonder what is she doing on that horse? Well, I often wonder the same thing. But now, after today’s counter canter lesson by Hamish, I can explain that I am having a chat with my horse, and practicing listening. Are you?