Opening Doors to New Worlds Pa

After a year on the sturdy lesson horses, I was ready for a new challenge. Then Erica mentioned to us that several horses had become available for lease. I already took two lessons a week, so having one reliable horse to grow on sounded like a real step up. I told Erica I'd like to look into a two-day lease.

It was a little bit like an arranged marriage. After one lesson, Erica reported that the handsome chestnut Sally had been riding in the ring with us was my prospective partner. Later we met, and I introduced myself to Banner One. Sally's first comment was that chestnuts are as emotionally volatile as redheads. I hadn't entirely subscribed to that descriptions of redheads, but Banner would make a strong case for fiery chestnuts. Banner even pinned his ears when I put a carrot in his feed tub.

But I enjoyed the sense of being responsible for him two days a week, working around him, and even cleaning his stall. With his fine coat and thin Thoroughbred chestnut skin, he taught me to groom gently, emphasized by a couple of attempted nips. He, in turn, endured my fumbling efforts with his bell boots with surprising patience. Not so my efforts to bridle him, when he squirmed like a child being coated and gloved. But now we were on the long aisle of private horses, and the experienced riders were generous with their knowledge. Here I was taught skills and given practical tips not available on the school horse aisle. Soon enough I could bridle him competently, even if he never really stopped moving his head through the process.

After a couple of regular lessons on Banner, Sally suggested that I hack him so we would become more accustomed to each other. It was going well, with just a few others in the indoor ring. Then I asked Banner for a canter. A few strides into it, rounding the end of the ring, he found my weakness. It wasn't a huge crow-hop, but thrown on a turn it threw me right over his outside shoulder. By then my body knew well how to take a fall as a shoulder roll, so I bounced right up as Banner cantered off. Everyone came to a halt, and I learned that you don't run after your horse; you wait for help, then get back in the saddle and go right back to work.

Then there was another hack when Banner trotted right through my canter commands. From experience I knew my

aids would be clearer if I dropped my stirrups. They were, and he went right into the canter. But I was also accustomed to keeping my calves on lightly but firmly when riding without stirrups, and that only made Banner canter faster. That was a good lesson about gripping with the thighs and relying on the core muscles. After I brought him back to a trot, Sally told me I'd scared her to death.

Like me, Banner was not a fully experienced jumper. Through the winter, we worked on single crossrails and occasional lines. I know now that I was usually jumping ahead in order not to be left behind, and that my contact was so intermittent that Banner could not have been very happy with me. At the time, it felt like progress, and it was, gradually, even if I learned more than Banner did.

My most memorable breakthrough with him came on a June evening when Richard filled in for Erica. We were outside, cantering a ten-meter circle, and Banner crow-hopped me off again. No harm done, but the antidote was to work him, trotting and cantering around the ring in a half seat. As darkness fell we moved inside and continued round and round the ring. My calves were aching by the end, but my body had learned a whole new way of balancing on a horse. Ever since, a half seat has been my favorite position at the canter. Paradoxically, with heels down, contact in the calves and lower thighs, and hips flexing, I feel more balanced and secure than when actually sitting in the saddle.

Banner was a very smart, alert horse. Certainly he did his share of skipping and dancing around that scary corner near the big door. Some might say he was skittish, and I might have to agree with them after one July afternoon when we were in the big sand ring, and jumping pretty well. Then, in midair above a jump he saw a flash of motion as someone rode up from the barn. As we landed he sprang sideways and nearly jumped the fence around the ring before I got him under control. Still on board, I realized that my body had been learning silent lessons about instinctive balance. Indeed, I think I owe a debt to Banner for tuning my internal gyroscope more precisely than any other horse ever has.

Nevertheless, Banner could still launch me. He had his own issues with stiffness, and by August he had gotten quite resistant. During a lesson in the upper dressage ring, circles that normally were easy and balanced became a battle as he

pushed against my outside aids, and his canter was stiff-legged and jarring. Then, cantering on a circle, he threw the largest crow-hop yet. I did a flip and landed flat on my back, then kneeled to regain my breath as he stood nonchalantly nearby. I climbed back on to walk him out of the idea that he could dispense with me so easily, but it was clear to Erica and to me that something had changed. Fifteen minutes in the saddle the next week confirmed that his stiffness with me was becoming chronic and that he needed to be reassessed. So, just like that, I returned to the school horses and left my ten-month partner, except for regular carrots and occasional grooming sessions.

A few months earlier, Rachel Moore had joined our lesson for the evening. At one point I held her horse, Sweet William, as well as Banner. At that time I had no idea I was holding two horses of importance to me, but I was, as we'll see next time.