Slow Awakenings: Spring at the Barn'

The coming of spring is a slow awakening--details unfurl, one at a time, like an opening flower. I live in South Provo--just around the corner from my house, fields and pasture open in to marshland, then the open water of Utah Lake. Migratory birds will grace these shores for a few weeks at a time in spring. In late February as I drive to work, I will see the first calf of spring, standing on wobbly legs, warm air steaming off its little body, wrapped in mist that eases from lake to field. In pagan Celtic society, Imbolc, the holy days of late January and early February, marked the beginning of spring and calving and lambing season. Such birthing was the first hope of spring.

The geese start returning at about this time as well. We see the slow awakening at the barn as well. Mornings    begin a little warmer. The hoses, usually frozen, thaw out a little sooner; the layer of ice on the top of water pails is thinner and more easily broken. Ice turns to mud then firmer earth. When March winds blow down from the canyons and shake the trees at the perimeter of Shauna's farm, the horses are skittish, easily excited. The mares begin to cast longing glances at the stallion.

 If there are pregnant mares, now is the time we look out for the birthing of foals. Niamh and I have never seen a birth--but a few times we've arrived when a foal was about 12 hours old (they always seem to come at night!). We've petted the soft head of one of these babies, watched them stagger around the stall, looking for Mom and nourishment. There's that soft low nicker the mares make that seems to say, "Come and eat. Get warm. Stay close." A quiet hush surrounds foal and mare as the baby suckles hungrily; it always brings me back to nursing my own babies, makes me recall that deep contentment and peace of taking time out from the busy tasks of life to sit still, feed my child, and look into her face. My son came to me during Imbolc as the geese were returning to Utah Lake; my daughter came on the cusp of summer and autumn as the geese were wheeling in formations over the fields, preparing for their journey south.

My daughter and I have been coming to the barn on Sunday mornings for almost a year now. She's been riding at Shauna Hatch's for six years. I used to watch my little 4th-grader lope around the arena or take low jumps with my heart in my throat. Now, she can handle and ride one of the biggest horses in the barn and loves to jump. When  a horse she's riding gets skittish, she can handle the situation. I am convinced this will help her weather "the storms of life."

As I dump out water buckets and refill them, and as I muck stalls, I think of these things, listen to the horses breathing, chomping, snorting, nickering, bugling. They bang their feeding buckets. There's the occasional skirmish. Tasha has taught Niamh to fill the big nets with hay. Niamh is really become proficient at this. She did much of it today because Tasha had tendinitis in her hand. She commented that Niamh worked really hard this morning and how a few weeks ago Niamh's  would have been hurting--but Niamh is stronger and more in shape for this kind of chore than she was just a weeks ago.

I had my own little moment of triumphant as well--in spite of the fact I've not been doing yoga as much lately, I stuck my left leg up in the stir-up, and swung my right leg over with more ease than I have ever done. I was in more control of my body instead of just hurling it up over the poor horse and nearly throwing myself and the saddle off (this happened once!).

What I love most about time down at the barn is working alongside my daughter. And now I'm learning to ride as well--oh, I'll never be as accomplished as that girl is on a horse, but we can now share this--all the mud, the poop, cold feet, sore muscles--it's been worth it to spend time with Niamh. The hawk circling the field, wind shaking the trees, yearlings thundering across the field for the sheer joy of movement, and my daughter moving in her own dance into womanhood--slow awakenings, spring at the barn, freeing me from the fear of aging and death, teaching me to flow gently into what lies ahead.

Throwing a Javelin on Horseback: The Language of Horses and Aging

I had my third riding lesson today; I realized I am learning a new language. Perhaps even two new languages. First, I'm learning to communicate with a horse, to send clear signals about what I want the horse to do. Second, I'm learning how to read my aging body properly. Let me explain briefly what I mean by this.

The Language of Aging

It's pretty clear to most of us that as we age, we won't be as fast, as strong, as sturdy as we once were. When I was in my late 20s, I could cross-country ski in the back country for hours and not feel a thing the next day. Fast forward to today--I'm 52, struggling to lose weight and get into shape. I really have to warm up to activity slowly.

This morning down at the barn, I had to empty out nearly all the water buckets. I had to heave them from side to side to get them to turn over, with a "ho-ya!" exclamation. I'm sure I'm slower than the teenage girls who do most of the feedings during the week. Tasha is 25 and is certainly faster than I am--but bless her for being patient with me. I am also certain it takes me longer to muck stalls than a younger person--but I seem to still have mental endurance that pushes me.

Once the barn chores were done, Tasha gave me a one-hour riding lesson. During this lesson I stopped every so often to take my feet out of the stirrups and stretch. Later in the afternoon my husband and I drove up to Sundance and walked up a trail aways. We didn't find the one we wanted--and I knew even if we found the trail I could only do so much--no way was I going to walk up the mountain again.

I hope next year I can do some really good hikes; I also hope I might be jogging and doing some sort of weightlifting by then. I have to listen carefully to my body though--particularly that right knee that has some arthritis in it and my lower back. It's a new dialog between my mind and my aging body. It is certainly a different conversation than when I was 29 and hired a personal trainer to help me strengthen my ankles for back-country skiing; it is a different conversation yet again from when I was in my 30s, listening to my body for signs of fertility, then pregnancy. This season of my life feels like early autumn with bursts of intense color on the side of the mountain. I hope it will be a long, crisp autumn.

The Language of Horse and Rider

Today I choose to concentrate on riding posture, walking, turning, and one-rein stops with Bitsy. I had one small triumph today--I was able to mount the horse without using the steps. Tasha held on to the saddle for me, but I got up on my own power. This also means I'm becoming a bit more flexible.

Tasha set up poles around the arena and I practiced turns around them. The one-rein stop wasn't going too well at first. Tasha pointed out that while I was moving my legs and feet away from the horse's body to indicate a stop, I was bending my legs up behind me  and the toes of my boots were touching Bitsy. Being an obedient horse, she interpreted this to mean I wanted her to keep going!

So I had think through what I was doing, motion by motion. Tasha talked to me about what different gestures and touches, the lean of a leg or foot, can mean to a horse. If you say "whoa" to Bitsy, she calmly comes to a stop. If you say "whoa" to Cash, the resident stallion of the barn, he stops with such force it could send you flying.

Not only must I learn the standard signals to give to a horse, but I will also need to learn how each horse will behave and respond. To demonstrate some commands to me, Tasha got up on Bitsy. As she showed me different things, I wondered, for how many centuries have we used some of these commands? Some could literally be at least 2,000 years old! Athenian historian and soldier Xenophon (c. 430 – 354 BC) wrote two treatises on the selection, care and training of horses and on the duties of a cavalry commander.

Now I don't have to worry about throwing a javelin from horseback--but I do have to worry about safety and communication with the horse. I envy people who have a chance to spend every day with one horse and really get to know it. I am convinced that these animals, if they spend enough time with us, also learn to read us. Recently, my daughter was feeling very sad and upset about a few things. The big bay she loves, Souix, nuzzled her gently in the crook of her neck. He did this repeatedly until she calmed down.

I have to give that horse some credit. My nickname for him is the "Big Beastie" because he can be SUCH a stinker. He showed an innate emotional intelligence with Niamh in that moment; he seemed to know exactly what she needed. He was like a big old dog. It was sweet--but always in the back of my mind and Niamh's is the fact this is a huge animal with a mind of his own.

I've a lot to learn about horses from observation and experience. And you know--I still have a lot to learn about myself as well. I'm aging as my kids grow from teens into adults. They are finding out more about themselves and their capabilities. I still am at my age. I hope this learning thing is eternal.