Horsing Around

Don't put the cart before the horse

He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying. Friedrich Nietzsche

Occasionally, I browse through old photos stored on my computer. Today, I stumbled upon this 2013 video of a newborn foal, and while rewatching it, the above quote popped into my head, and thus this post was born.

I should start with the back story. My husband loves statistics. When we were relative newlyweds, he would pour over the Daily Racing Form, making charts and predicting odds, but most importantly, picking the winners. He was usually spot-on. He grew up in a DC suburb and never came into contact with an actual horse. He never bet on a horse, he just wanted to play the odds game.

In 1974, he came across a help-wanted ad for a stablehand and broodmare manager on a thoroughbred horse farm in Versailles, KY. Some college was required, unusual for a farmhand, but he was qualified. The thought of working with horses was exciting. We flew out for an interview, and he was given the job. We both gave notice to our employers. He dropped out of college. We packed up a truck and the three of us (yes, we had a son) moved to Kentucky. It was a wild and impetuous decision. Mind you, we were 75 days shy of being 23 and 22. And he had never handled a horse!

We arrived at our new Kentucky home on October 11, 1974 - my son’s 3rd birthday. Part of the appeal, at least to me, was living in a house rather than the third-floor walk-up apartment we had previously lived in. And the land. Fields as far as I could see. Expansive sunsets. Fresh air. Farm living.

As it turned out, the house, while heated, had no insulation. We had to buy our own refrigerator and stove. As winter approached, the wind blew harsh across the fields, and my husband discovered he was allergic to hay. He had also grown a beard. The farm owner had one rule: no beards. He knew the rule and had broken it. She said he had to go. As we had already been planning to go back home, it made his leaving easier.

I wouldn’t call us city folks, but I grew up in Bethesda, MD, just 10 minutes from DC, and the house he grew up in was just 3 miles from mine and a mere three-minute walk to DC. It wasn’t so much that we weren’t cut out for the farm life; we just missed the comforts and lifestyle of our hometown, and an allergy to hay for a farmhand wasn’t going to fly. My son and I took a flight home on Christmas morning, and hubs drove back a week later in a well-packed truck, just in time to register for the Spring semester at American University. We moved everything into our quickly found new apartment, on the third floor again. Oh, and he was able to take Horseback Riding as an elective that semester and received credit for it, too!

Those 2-1/2 months in Kentucky were the first (and last) time we lived away from our families. After 51 years, those farm memories have dimmed. We don’t regret any of it. We learned a lot about ourselves and things we had been unaware of, chief among them, the unspoken presence of an obvious class system. He was a farmhand, end of story.

Fast-forward 38 years. Our youngest was graduating from high school, my Dad, who was living with us at the time, had moved into assisted living, and we were ready to leave the congestion of the town where we grew up and raised our six kids. While we were looking for a home, an opportunity presented itself to us, thanks to my daughter-in-law.

Her grandfather owned a thoroughbred horse farm in Frederick, MD. Knowing we liked horses, she suggested we visit it and we did, on April Fool’s Day. While we were getting the tour, we admired the big stone and brick colonial house and learned that it was built in 1835. The farmhand’s wife, who showed us around, said that it was going to be rented. I looked at my husband to confirm his positive reaction and said, “We’d be interested.” We moved in on July 28.

Back on a farm… This time, I felt like the lady of the manor. It was a dream come true as far as homes go, and again, there were horses to enjoy right outside our door. Plus, I had a studio-my first! No more working on my bed. That first evening in the house, when I was home alone, waiting for my husband to return with more of our stuff, I caught a glimpse of a sunset behind the tree outside the kitchen window. I ran outside to see it and actually fell to my knees in awe of its magnificence. I don’t remember sunsets on the first farm, and back in Bethesda, there were too many houses and trees to obscure the wide open glory I was experiencing. I loved every minute in that house, its history, its horses, but with two exceptions - very cold winters and very hot and humid summers (No A/C)

Once foaling season arrived, we asked to be notified when a mare was birthing. Most of the time, it’s in the middle of the night, but one day, we got a call. We missed the delivery but made it in time to watch the foal stand and wobble around, taking her first steps, as seen in the video above. It’s instinct, of course. She cannot nurse unless she can stand. Once the mom has the energy, both are put in the field, and the foal learns to run. A beautiful site we never tired of.

When we heard the farm would soon be sold, we began to look earnestly for a house to buy that we could call our home - enough wobbling around in temporary homes. I truly understand how each life experience contributes to those that follow. All of life’s experiences become a part of you - your know-how, power, and confidence to stand, walk, run, climb, dance, grow wise, and yes, eventually, to fly! Where I live now, on this Maryland mountain, has been the perfect place to spread my wings.

PS. He still likes to pick a winner for the Triple Crown races.

Quotes of the Week

Travelers, there is no path, paths are made by walking.
Antonio Machado

A horse is the projection of peoples' dreams about themselves - strong, powerful, beautiful - and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence.
Pam Brown

Every spirit builds itself a house, and beyond its house a world, and beyond its world a heaven.
Ralph Waldo Emerson