A loud whinny, thunderous hoof beats, racing across the desert plains, barreling through sand storms, running like the wind. Into the plush meadow we went, smelling the clean, fresh air. We cleared the 10 foot tree lying in our path, narrowly missing the 6 foot ditch on the other side! Up the mountain we sprang, through the thick forest, then down we bounded as the earth gave way under us! Onto the sandy beach, running in the white caps of the sea, I was yelling at the top of my lungs, we’re free! Like the wind, we raced on! We were desperate to seek shelter, for thunder and lightning followed us relentlessly! We made it! Sliding to a stop, I climbed off, exhausted from the ride! I heard mom calling my sister and I for dinner. I unsaddled, brushed and put my Breyer horse in the stable, so that he may rest for our next amazing adventure.
Being a lonely latch-key kid growing up in a busy city, I longed for the wide open spaces. I had little choices for entertainment. All of my life, I yearned for a horse. I know most girls, at some time, want a horse, but I was different. One evening, sitting at the kitchen table, I asked my mother “Can I have a horse?”. She hesitated for a moment, thinking of how it would put pressure on our financial situation, but she smiled and said, “Let’s see about riding lessons”. I don't exactly remember what happened after that, but I do remember driving to the stables the next day! Porter’s Riding Club was on the outskirts of town, which today is a mecca of houses, office buildings, traffic invested roads, pavement as far as the eye could see. But in 1978, Nations Ford Rd was a calm, quiet escape from life as I knew it. The road seemed endless. Finally, we made it! I was in heaven! or so I thought. I...
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...I began working on a horse farm, to hopefully somehow fill in a void that had overtaken my soul. Horseback riding revived me, it gave me a sense of well-being, a sense of peace. With years of practice in the past, riding horses was something that I’d learned to do pretty well, so back in the saddle I went! I’d like to say, just as they did when I was a young girl, horses saved me!
These days I’m a bit older, married with children, but I still ride whenever I can. My two daughters, ages 10 and 5, are now enjoying ‘becoming literate’ in the ‘art’ of horseback riding! I now know how my mother must have felt that night at the dinner table, and I’ll do what it takes to make sure my girls have what I was given, that chance at freedom, that chance at happiness. If it’s horses they choose to help them to accomplish this goal, I hope they stay in the saddle and ride!
If the storm had lulled at little at sunset, it made up now for lost time. Strong and horizontal thundered the current of the wind from north-west to south-east; it brought rain like spray, and sometimes, a sharp hail like shot; it was cold and pierced me to the vitals. I bent my head to meet it, but it beat me back. My heart did not fail at all in this conflict, I only wished that I had wings and could ascend the gale, spread and repose my pinions on
The cold wind rushing past me. The sun’s rays of light covered by the darkness of the clouds. Hooves, galloping along the floor. Dust surrounding me. My tight grip on my spear, my gallant horse’s hooves flying across the field.
This newspaper article was created to commemorate an important event within the community of Layton, Utah in 1999. It celebrates when my great-grandfather John Field was inducted into the United Horseman Hall of Fame. He started training horses when he was very young and successful in this hobby and built up a reputation. After a stable fire on the Halloween night of 1980 that killed eighteen prized horses, my great-grandfather lost his livelihood. However, he was able to rebuild his career through support from friends and a persevering philosophy. He created his own stable in Layton, UT and continued to attend shows. After a seventy year career and over four hundred wins, he was nominated for United Horseman Hall of Fame in 1999 and was
The family of a new rider and the instructor decide on what goals a child with disabilities can reach. These goals would be like improving posture or increasing speech fluency. Goals vary from child to child as a way to meet their specific goals. “Bobby” stutters. Therapeutic horseback riding can help him by riding a horse around the arena and calling out the numbers that are posted as he passes them. Sammy, a six year old with cerebral palsy, has a goal of sitting up straight. Her goal is to stay on the horse without aid from support staff. As she progresses, Sammy is instructed to move certain body parts that will test her balance.
For decades, Scientists have contemplated the idea of using horses for the personal gain of children and adults with needs such as autism, heart conditions, anxiety, stress, and other disorders that have yet to be curable. Horses such as Chester, a twenty year old gelding has encouraged more young riders who face difficulties such as social skills, behavior skills, and those who are physically indisposed. The phrase confidence is key, becomes important when people of all ages interact with a horse. Learning confidence may not be as easy as it sounds but is a necessary step to bond with a horse; without it, there can be no trust and most importantly, no bond between the equine and its rider.
Draper, Judith, Debby Sly, and Sarah Muir. Complete Book of Horses and Riding. New York, NY: Barnes & Noble Inc., 2003. Print.
If anyone had told me that I would one day regard this sensory experience with the same disdain as my parents, I would not have believed it. However, as I grew older, my priorities at the State Fair changed. The very things that sent me into a transport of delight began to irritate and annoy me. As I grew older, I developed a desire to show horses at the top level of competition. Showing at the State Fair World Championship Horse Show became my ultimate goal.
The first thing she worried about after she woke up in the hospital was being able to ride again. She had taken riding lessons since she was three. Her dad bought her a Palomino barrel horse when they moved to Utah. She started competing in rodeos when she was seven. Her mom got her into pole bending, barrel racing, and breakaway roping. She did the best in barrel racing. That was her favorite event. She thought that after the accident she would be able to get back on her horses just like she used to. But it wasn’t the same. Her balance was very bad and she could barely stay on. She got so upset that she couldn’t ride anymore that she told her mom to go sell the horses and that she would never see them again. She would not go near them. Then one day she got a phone call for an interview. They asked her to sit on her horse and for them to take a picture for the interview. She decided to give it one more try and her balance was better than it was before. They started working with her some more and they figured out a way for her to ride again. They put straps on her saddle so her legs wouldn't fly everywhere and they also put a seatbelt on her saddle so she would stay in. They also taught the horses to listen to her voice and not her
Riding encourages a child to work with their hands, exercise, and connect with horses and people of all ages, gain confidence, and learn new skills. Courtnee Niggel, an instructor summarizes how “A six year old child was told she will never walk again but after years of equine therapy she is now able to walk with a walker or by holding on to the sides of walls” (Niggel 1). Equine Therapy leaves a child with amazing results and changes their life drastically all the way from growing social skills to helping with motor skills, even to
As I opened the door to the barn, I could smell the strong scent of hay and I heard a horse whinny. As soon as I saw a tall horse more than twice the size of me, a twist of nervousness formed inside me and I wondered how I would ever be able to ride that thing. As the councillors from the “Horse Camp” put the sattles on the horses and handed us our helmets. (I later learned that my horses name was Bailey.) We all walked our horses out of the big scarlet coloured barn and attempted to put their feet in the stirrups and hop on. I did end up getting on (with a little help) and one of the leaders tried to teach us how to steer, give them commands and ride around a few pylons.
I slowly trudged up the road towards the farm. The country road was dusty, and quiet except for the occasional passing vehicle. Only the clear, burbling sound of a wren’s birdsong sporadically broke the boredom. A faded sign flapped lethargically against the gate. On it, a big black and white cow stood over the words “Bent Rail Farm”. The sign needed fresh paint, and one of its hinges was broken. Suddenly, the distant roar of an engine shattered the stillness of that Friday afternoon. Big tires speeding over gravel pelted small stones in all directions. The truck stopped in front of the red-brick farmhouse with the green door and shutters. It was the large milking truck that stopped by every Friday afternoon. I leisurely passed by fields of corn, wheat, barley, and strawberries. The fields stretched from the gradient hills to the snowy mountains. The blasting wind blew like a bellowing blizzard. A river cut through the hilly panorama. The river ubiquitously flowed from tranquil to tempestuous water. Raging river rapids rushed recklessly into rocks ricocheting and rebounding relentlessly through this rigorous river. Leaves danced with the wind as I looked around the valley. The sun was trapped by smoky, and soggy clouds.
I am jarred out of a relaxing sleep by a voice yelling my name in a loud whisper, and a light burning through my eyelids. Groggily, I open my eyes to see my father standing in the doorway to my messy room. He tells me that I need to get going, that it is 3:00 a.m., and I'm burning daylight. I find my clothes and get dressed. The whole time I wonder why I get up this early to visit the rugged outdoors. I want to go back to bed, but I know my dad will be back in to make sure I am getting ready, in a little bit. Instead, I put my boots and my wide-brimmed, black cowboy hat on, and walked out to catch the horses. The horses are all excited because it is dark and they are not that cooperative. My dad and I get them saddled and in the trailer, and go back into the house to get our lunch, water, and a cup of coffee. Now, we can head for the high country.
I often think of Robert Frost’s phrase, “I took the road less traveled by” when brushing against dirt, rocks, or grass on a trail. While following a single stretch of a path, whether that road leads in a curve or in a straight line, I notice a myriad of branches to trails that I normally classify as detours. Is that what Robert Frost means when he says he traveled a road less traveled by others?