Riding the Mielie Fields with Erin

After the last of three really good dressage rides on Lancey last week, I took a kiddo out for a little walk ride with her new thoroughbred. The mare is absolutely lovely but hasn't seen our trails before, so I decided to walk with Lancey in tow, just in case I needed to make a grab for a bridle. Lancey, of course, would be excellent moral support.

I led him part of the way, but when it became obvious that I wouldn't need to be wrangling any thoroughbreds on this day, I realized that I really needn't walk the whole way home. I was still in my helmet after our ride so I popped on in a halter and we walked home. The thoroughbred did end up giving one spook right up Lancey's bum, but obviously, he didn't care at all.

It's so incredible how this horse has just transformed my riding confidence when it comes to going out. A year ago I was still celebrating the ability to go on a 10-minute walk ride alone, and there I was riding him bareback in a halter with a horse who didn't know our trails at all. He's just amazing 💜

Thunder, too, is amazing, even though the poor guy is currently still in get-off-my-leg boot camp, but he outrides are definitely not his forte. He was really nice on trails as a young horse, and then I made the mistake of using him in the riding school and he bolted once with a teenager who was not even remotely helpful and since then he has never been the same. Every two or three months I'll feel sorry for him being stuck in the arena and try to take him on a long ride, and I always regret it. We spent Friday afternoon skittering sideways through the soya bean fields while I hung on for dear life, not helped by the fact that the dogs found a porcupine and brought it to bay. For the record, African porcupines are not at all the tree-climbing creatures of the Northern Hemisphere; in fact, their quills are significantly longer and larger, and they're pretty vicious. This one was rattling its quills furiously, much to poor Thunder's consternation.

please mom take me back to my sandbox

We'll go back to tiny little hacks and slowly build him up again, if he starts to enjoy them at some point. I already have a lovely trail horse and it's not like I'll ever sell him, so if he never gets to like riding out, he doesn't have to do it. He's already a unicorn in the sandbox; he doesn't have to be a unicorn everywhere.

Lancey, it would appear, is a unicorn no matter where you take him at this point. This was evidenced on Sunday, when my bestbestbestbestbest friend, Erin, came over. After overeating ourselves hopelessly (this man of mine can cook, y'all) we rode Ladybug (more on that later) and then headed off for the best kind of conversation you can have: one punctuated by the steady thump of hoofbeats, and filled with fresh air and warm African sunshine.

I smelled trouble from the second my butt hit the saddle. Thunder had pushed me a little bit on Friday's ride, never shoving my nerves beyond about a 3 out of 5, but they did go up to a 3 and stayed there for about half an hour - much longer than I'd normally maintain that level of nervous just because we were outside instead of in an arena. Clearly, it had its effects. I was mostly OK, but jumpy about silly things and dreading the thought of having a nice canter rather than looking forward to it.

Thankfully, Lancey really doesn't care how nervous I am. He'd had a good week of work and seemed delighted to be on the trails; he instantly flowed into his Arabian power-walk, and he was eating up the ground effortlessly on a loose rein, not looking at a thing. Erin was riding one of my trusted school ponies, the handsome Flash, who was being angelic - barring having to jog every few minutes to keep up with Lancey.

We took the direct route to the gate to our kindly neighbor's farm. In the spirit of anonymity, I've renamed it Magic Oak Tree Farm in blogland, and Lancey seemed to know he was on familiar territory. We rode right along the first
winter grazing field and then found ourselves faced with a choice: north, towards the game camp and the magic oak tree; continuing west, towards the tar road; or south, deeper into the mielie fields.

I could already see that the game were up in the northern part of their camp by the road, so we wouldn't be able to see them if we took the north route to the bottom of the poplar woods. There are horses in the western field and at least one stallion - while Lancey doesn't care, I'm a little concerned about the stallion climbing over the fence. So we swung south instead into unchartered territory and continued on through the mielie fields.

This proved to be a perfect choice. There was nothing for the horses to spook at and no distractions at all from a much-needed catch-up between best friends. I quickly forgot I'd ever felt nervous at all, and Lancey swung along on a loopy rein with Flash right beside him. The sunshine was wonderful. It's hard to think of anything more relaxing, and I think I'm finally starting to get the whole "relaxing outride" idea at last.

At one point a little winter whirlwind grabbed a whole bunch of the dry, fallen mielie leaves and swirled them around Lancey's legs as we crossed one of the fields. My scary, spooky Arab didn't seem to notice. When the whirlwind had passed, I finally had gotten my nerve back, and we had a long trot all the way to the fallow fields on the southern side of the farm.

After turning for home, I realized that actually, I really, really wanted to have a canter. It would be good for my nerves, and it would just simply be fun! But especially with a school pony in tow, I didn't really want to canter heading towards home, so we took a detour to the east and through a tall gate.

This was where Lancey had his compulsory Arab Moment. The fence corner was completely covered in some kind of huge, green bush, which was obviously alive with birds. Lancey didn't actually jump, but he did put up his tail and give some wonderful snorts. Flash - who is definitely the more sheep-like type of school pony - had to grumpily go first, and even then Lancey barely deigned to tiptoe by. He was a bit bug-eyed for a few moments even after passing the bush, but after a little bit of lateral work back and forth on the trail, he realized that he was OK and relaxed completely. I think this is why I trust this horse so much: it's not that he's never spooky, it's just that he never, ever spins, jumps, or bolts when spooked. He just snorts and stares, and I can deal with that.

So even after all that, once we'd walked a little way and both taken a deep breath, I squeezed him into a little canter and we were off. He didn't put a foot wrong, as usual; he was a little forward, and clearly having fun, but I could half-halt him from my seat and if I dropped the rein a little then he just stretched down. As we reached the top of the hill I had to squeeze him a couple of times to keep him going, and when I asked him to walk, he plodded down into it like a good little boy.

With my nerve officially restored, we walked the rest of the way home almost on the buckle, the two little geldings just swinging along as happy as could be. We were out for about two hours and I'd guess we covered around 10km, but I really should get an app to track our rides sometime.

Lancey had broken a tiny bit of sweat when we got home, but he was super cheerful and happy, and I didn't even feel any stiffness or tiredness in our dressage ride the next day.

He also, obviously, turned himself into a mud monster the moment I'd hosed him off a bit.

It was an absolutely perfect ride on the best little white Arabian ever, and in the company of one of the best, smartest, kindest people I've ever known.

God is just so good 💜

Clarity

 Thunder has been an absolutely wonderful gift in my life. The last horse I had that I trusted as much as I trust him was his mother, who was retired nearly eight years ago now. He's a real emotional sponge, too: he seems to soak up all of my drama without allowing any of it to affect him, whether that's my panicky nerves on a show day or just some general angst on any ordinary afternoon. There is so much that I love about him and every stride he takes is a miracle - but there is one thing that we really need to fix, and it's not his fault. It's mine.

Literally the only recent pic I have of Thunder. The poor baby's itching has finally stopped now that the bugs are dead, but he looks so awful :( Scabby legs and face, rubbed mane and tail, and his coat is just generally... ugh. I actually have him on zeolite for his tummy just in case, and I've already saved up enough for a fancier fly mask next summer. Now just to put away enough for a fly sheet and boots over the winter.

Ever since Thunder was a youngster, he has been... an unresponsive soul, LOL. His Friesian blood has something to do with it, as does his doting upbringing. He just never had a reason to be reactive to random stuff. It makes him pretty bombproof, but it also makes him less inclined to actually react to my aids, and my riding has honestly not fixed it - although it has improved over the years.

Still, the one major flaw in his dressage work right now remains the simple fact that the horse just isn't forward and he just doesn't stay in front of my leg. And that's not on him. It's on me.

Lack of Thunder media means Noah spam instead. You're welcome.

I've been making excuses for myself for years when it comes to his lack of response to my leg. I've told myself that his stifle is a little weak, and that he needs more days off, and more high-energy food. But the truth is that there is absolutely nothing wrong with Thunder. His stifle is the best it's ever been, his body is gorgeously sound and pain-free, and he's being fed like a king. He's been seen by a myriad of professionals and they all agree that he's a happy, sound, healthy, energetic horse. I can also clearly feel a difference between stiff or tired Thunder and just run-of-the-mill behind-my-leg Thunder, and I know that there is absolutely no physical reason why he doesn't go off my leg. The reason is simple: he doesn't move off my leg because I haven't taught him to do so.

At first I didn't teach him to get off my leg because I didn't know what that even was. When lessons with Coach first came along in late 2017, he massively improved - Coach didn't allow me to let him get too lazy. But we were also progressing so quickly and learning so much all at the same time that, while I was constantly working on getting him more forward, I never really dug in and just fixed the issue. There were so many other things to do.

He's grown so much it's kind of scary!

Now, though, we're busy test riding EM 5 and 6 and Medium 1 and 2 as he grows fitter again after his long lay-off. It sucked not to be able to ride him for six whole weeks between the biliary and the sweet itch and a mild bout of colic (as a result of all the medications), but it definitely opened my eyes to just how wonderful this horse is - and also how badly behind the leg he is. After riding horses like Lancelot and Vlinder and Navarro for those six weeks, who have always had Uncompromising Firn and thus go forward when asked, I realized that my best horse still has a massive training hole.

This is also a hole that I don't enjoy fixing. It's no fun at all to have to lay down the law about moving off my leg. With the in-hand work, I've taken him back to the basics, teaching him to understand the whip as an aid instead of a punishment. But there is still an element of having to say to him, "Listen, my dude, get OFF my leg NOW." He knows what it means, he's just used to responding to a poke instead of to a light squeeze.

Also, Titan and Noah are officially besties.

I've also made a crutch out of using the whip. As soon as I'm carrying the whip, Thunder is forward - almost without actually having to touch him with it. (Anyone else got a riding school pony for a Medium horse? LOL). Sans whip, he's a whole different horse. I don't like using a spur for forwardness, it exists for finesse in the lateral work, but I have got to start being more clear with my aids.

It's not about being more "strict" or "harsh" or "sharp" about moving off my leg. It's about being more clear. Thunder isn't behind my leg because he's lazy or naughty or stupid. Thunder is behind my leg because he doesn't know that he's not supposed to be, and the only way to fix that is to be clear. Not rude, not unkind, and not rough: but clear.

Noah discovered the sunlight patch!

I need to be uncompromising, not necessarily towards Thunder, but towards myself. I need to be disciplined about my leg aids and about getting the response I asked for so that he understands that he needs to step away from my leg the first time, every time.

This is all part of riding each horse like a Grand Prix horse, and about putting aside my angst in order to ride this horse as well as I possibly can. Because the truth is that this is an absolutely incredible horse, a once-in-a-lifetime kind of horse. This is an ordinary mongrel who is making it into the higher levels with an inexperienced rider, and he's my hero. I cannot let something like this - something as basic as this - be the thing that stands in our way.

On Tuesday, our last ride (my schedule, ugh), I actually showed up to the party for once and I was 100% determined to have him forward off my leg with every single stride - without having to rely on the whip. Was it a little messy at times? Sure. Was it fun? Not always. When one buggers something up, it's really hard work to un-bugger it. But after going back and doing some of the lateral work exercises that always get him more quick and responsive, we returned to the Medium 2 movement we're focusing on right now: track right in collected canter, V turn right, L circle 10m, P turn left in counter canter, R flying change.

And guess what? It wasn't just good. Once he was forward, it was effortless.

Celeste, my favourite Friesian in the whole world

My horse is an amazing horse and we are going to do the big levels together, but I have to start showing up and riding like it's more than just a pipe dream. Anything less makes him confused, tight, and unhappy in his work. I owe it to him to ride him well, and I owe it to myself and to my dreams to believe a little bit more fiercely in this thing that I was born to do.

With typically providential timing, our last church service - very much socially distanced, masked up, and sanitized, especially since we always sit up in the gallery like naughty children - was all about worship. Anyone who read the old Riding on Water knows that dressage is worship to me, a way that I can revel in and express my love for the God Who made horses and people and let them dance together. Our minister was talking about how worship is in everything we do, and that it's in doing it excellently. We worship by doing things joyously, wholeheartedly, and with our hearts fixed upon our Lord.

Also here's a pic of my man bc he's just freaking adorable 💜

I used to be concerned to the point of anxiety about doing dressage well, to a point where I would feel physically sick if I couldn't get something right. The past few years have been all about reframing how I feel about dressage, letting go of my worst anxieties and even overcoming show nerves in the last few months.

Now, I'm ready to throw myself into it again with all my heart, ready to once again strive for real excellence. This time, it won't come from a place of pride or competitiveness. It'll come from a place of worship and desire for that glorious place only a horse can take us, that place where their ribs betwen our knees seem to expand with the very wind of Heaven.

I'm so ready for it. And I know my sweet bay horse can take me there, but it's up to me to show him the way.

wintry mornings and our perfect cottage 💜

God is so very good.

And then we had a cat!

 I've never really been a cat person. There are barn cats on the farm, and my sister has cats, but growing up we always just had dogs. Still, I could appreciate kitten cuteness - even if adult cats still kind of puzzle me. I don't really speak cat. Yet.

When we moved to the farm, we quickly amassed a wonderful menagerie of animals. We had two dogs and a pig when we moved in - the pig was unplanned - and I vowed that we would get no more animals. That was another dog, another pig, and four bantams ago, not to mention the beloved's growing chicken farm, although they don't count as pets because they're a business. (Even if they have names and are extremely cuddly!)

Over the last year or so, cats started to come up in conversation from time to time. I was growing more enamoured with them and it seemed like our adorable cottage just had to have a contentedly purring cat curled up on a pillow in it somewhere.

Still, the beloved was fairly allergic to cats as a little boy, and we didn't really discuss it seriously until the mouse appeared. I'm pretty cool with the majority of critters - I enjoy spiders, I love snakes, and when a toad comes hopping into the house, I'm the one who scoops it up and takes it outside. But mice and rats? I can't. I turn into a shrieking, leaping, climbing, howling city slicker in 0.4 seconds flat. What was more, the mouse got into the flour, and then into our clothes, and that was the point where the beloved had had enough. We agreed that I could have a cat.

His eyes!

That is where Noah came in. And even though it'll be a long time before he's big enough to catch a mouse, we are nonetheless thoroughly in love.

His toe beans!!

Noah didn't come from an ideal situation, so we got him a little too young - he's around 6 weeks now. As a first-time kitten mom, the first day or so were pretty nerve-racking for me, but Noah has handled everything with absolute aplomb. He already comes over when he hears my voice, purrs anytime one of us strokes him, and - after a false start or two - uses his litterbox like he's been doing it all his life.

I expected adjusting to the dogs to be a little bit of a challenge. Our dogs have chased the barn cats, but they also coexist peacefully with my mom's house cat, so I knew they could do it. Still, they're not quite sure whether tiny Noah is a snack or a friend just yet. He has a crate for now where they can see and smell each other but Noah has hiding places and the dogs can't hurt him, and actually they've been making good progress.

As for the beloved, he was pretty adamant at first that this would be my cat and my problem. He was still leery of his allergies and didn't want too much to do with Noah... for about half an hour.

The beloved has the gentlest heart of anyone I know. He spent about ten minutes playing with Noah and a piece of ribbon, and now he's hooked. Actually, I think he spends more time with the kitten than I do, and is constantly sending people photos of "his" cat.

I'm still just a few days into kitty ownership, but so far, I love it. Noah is a ray of sunshine and such a happy little addition to our home. He spent an hour or two yesterday afternoon stretched out on my lap, fast asleep in the winter sunshine and purring up a storm every time I reached down to pet him in between my work. It was uniquely soothing.

Most of the time, obviously, he's still a tiny imp of destruction and chaos.

Welcome to the family, sweet little Noah kitty. You're so welcome here! 💜

God is good!