Urban Ride

Many years ago... (ah, maybe I should amend that to say: many, many years!) my parents moved to New York City and I moved to college. I have never been a city girl and I didn't particularly care for apartment life in the city. In a ploy to get me to stay in the city for the summer, my mother sent me across town to ride at Claremont Riding Academy. That was the best carrot she could find to get me 'home' for the summer! The experience ranks among the top 10 on my list of incredibly cool, memorable events in my life.

That spring day, so long ago, I hopped on a bus, wearing my riding boots and breeches, and carrying my helmet. After a transfer, I finally arrived at the stables on West 89th Street. The stables were originally built in 1892 as a livery and later became a riding academy. I walked into the office, introducing myself and explaining that I had a reservation for a ride. The fellow at the desk turned to an intercom and asked the metallic voice on the other end to send Floppy down. He told me to step into the 'arena' and that my mount would be there momentarily.

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The 'arena' was a large open space, like many arenas, but this one had posts throughout. I guess horses who were used to the space would be quite handy at dodging the 'urban trees'.

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Before I could take too many steps into the arena, Floppy ambled down the ramp, all by himself, and came to stop in the middle of the arena. Shortly afterwards, a stable worker motioned me over to Floppy. He made sure that the tack was fitted correctly, that I mounted safely, and that the stirrups were the right length. Then he explained that I could exit the stable, turn right, then right again until I reached 90th street, which was one-way going towards Central Park.

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He explained that I would see the entrance to the bridal path in front of me, and I should turn left to ride the path around the park.  I was the only horse out there. The path was a nice wide, gravel way, with fences on either side. A far cry from the trails I was used to riding 'in the country'! There was absolutely no way I could get lost!

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I enjoyed my ride as I walked, trotted and cantered on this island of green in the midst of mayhem the city. 

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When I finished my circle, I exited the park, and rode down West 89th Street back to the stables. 

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After dismounting I inquired about what I was to do with Floppy. The stable worker told me to simply let him go. He explained that Floppy would go up the ramp, get a drink of water, and then enter his stall. Someone would untack him and shut the stall door later. I asked if I could follow, as I was intrigued. Sure enough, Floppy knew the routine. I was amazed!

I made my way to the bus stop, and made my way slowly back to my parents' apartment. It was a long, hot trip. I considered my experience. It certainly was novel. Would my horse acclimate to life in the city? Was she a country horse or a city horse? 

Ultimately I decided that neither my horse, nor I, would enjoy the city life. My mother was disappointed, but she understood. I spent the summer, with my horse, living with a friend in Rochester, NY, but had the enduring memory of a wonderful experience riding in New York City.

The Claremont Riding Academy, like so many institutions of old, succumbed to the increased costs of providing services in an urban setting, health and safety regulations, and changes in the park. 

Back in the Saddle Again

Yesterday I visited friends from my old neighborhood. Mickey and I took her gaited horses out for a ride at a nearby park. I rode Cheyenne and she rode Jewel. I haven't ridden since I sold the boys, and it was wonderful to be back in the saddle, again.

Of course, one first has to mount the horse to be back in the saddle... I made it half-way up and realized I couldn't do it! How scary, how humiliating! Sure, Cheyenne is a bit taller than my Haffies - but he isn't THAT big! I need to start working out - lifting weights so I can lift the saddle with ease, and step class so I can get in the saddle with a bit more grace!

Chats on the Farmhouse Porch: Anchors Aweigh

My mother worked to instill manners in her children. Was that the way you were brought up? She would make sure we introduced our friends before we got involved with something. So, I'd like to introduce you to two new followers before I get involved with Patrice's chat!


Janice writes Janice's Footsteps. Janice describes herself as a caregiver. First of foster children and now for the older generation. She also participates in Patrice's chats.


Denise writes a blog called Autumn Sky Ranch. She writes about this and that, and has beautiful photographs on her blog.

Patrice is having her back porch remade into a scullery kitchen, so we'll have to visit on the front porch.   Her description of the project brought back fond memories of visiting my grandmother and grandfather when I was a child. They had a butler's pantry. Their house was actually quite small, but the kitchen (and a maid's room) were at one end of the house. The kitchen connected to the butler's pantry which had cabinets galore, a beautiful old gas stove and an extra sink. There were doors from the pantry to the screened porch and the great room. I find it interesting that this house, built in the 50's had such an open design. My grandmother used to raise her bottle-fed lambs in the butler's pantry, since it had a linoleum floor and it wasn't the food preparation area.

Well, let's get chatting! You can join the chat by commenting, or by linking your blog to Patrice's site.

Patrice asks: 

1. Do you ever go on picnics? When was the last one? Do you go somewhere with benches and tables, or do you take your own blanket?

Geesh, I can't remember the last picnic I went on. I will have to say that my hubby's mom used to create the best picnic suppers, ever! We'd take the boys to a playground near her home, which had a small lake with a swimming area. She knew how to 'do' a picnic. She'd bring everything! Cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, classy napkins, a three course meal and dessert!

My boys are playing at one of those picnics....

almost 20 years ago!

It's hard to believe that these kids are now young adults!

2. What's your favorite tropical fruit?
I like a lot of tropical fruits and I love a fruit salad with bits of everything. Perhaps the neatest thing for tropical fruit is our pineapple corer. I made a frowny face at hubby when he wanted to buy it... I mean, how hard is it to cut a pineapple? I have to admit I now love the corer. We can have a cut, chunked pineapple in less than 16 seconds (hubby timed the process one day)!

3. Wendell would like me to ask you if you've ever ridden a horse? Any pony rides as a child?

I think Wendell knows the answer to this one! However, what he may not know is that I didn't start riding until I was about 12. I had severe allergies to pollen, and my reaction to grass pollens was worse than others. So, I often spent hours cooped up in my bedroom, which had some sort of air purifier, playing with my plastic horses. I guess my mother finally caved into my whining about taking riding lessons, saying that I was old enough to suffer the consequences. So, I began taking lessons. To this day I believe that my weekly exposure to grass pollens helped me overcome that particular allergy - kinda like allergy shots! 

4. Describe the purse you are currently carrying. If you don't use a purse, what color is your wallet?

I like small purses. I don't particularly care for lugging around a 'suitcase' and not being able to find something. Then again, since all I carry is a small wallet, keys, a few receipts and chap stick... I'd have to invent other things to carry if I had a large bag. Here is my purse of the moment. I found it at a cute boutique near my son's college. I fell in love with the soft, supple leather and its egg plant color!

5. Please tell me the last funny thing that you just recently remembered. This can be something funny that happened to you in the past, or just something funny that you remember.

Dad and I were reminiscing. I recalled the time he tripped over a cleat on the dock, while carrying a box of assorted objects to his boat. He actually dislocated his shoulder trying to grab a line going from the boat to the cleat on his way in the 'drink' - that part wasn't too funny. However, he one-upped me by reminding me of the time he was setting the anchor after a boat race. To optimize weight distribution Dad would store the anchor in the center of the boat, as low as he could put it... so it was in the 'hall' just outside the head (bathroom), which created its own set of problems. So, upon arriving at the destination Dad would lug the anchor up the companionway and make his way forward on deck, clutching the anchor and all of its line against his chest. With Dad's penchant for tripping, is it any wonder that he tripped and fell overboard? Dad didn't come up. My mother was frantic. She was sure he was caught in the anchor rope or had sustained a head injury and had drowned. But moments later, which at the time seemed like hours, there was Dad, trying to get back on board. It seems that he was under water so long because he wanted to find the end of the anchor rope and bring it up with him. There was no way he was going to lose a perfectly good anchor and its line!

Dad at the helm @ 1970

Its been fun chatting, and I'm a bit late in getting this posted. I put up a post about Donkey Roping yesterday and wanted to leave that up for a bit so more folks could become informed. There is a rodeo in Van Horn, TX this weekend and a group of folks were trying to get them to stop the donkey roping competition. It worked! Enough pressure was put on the organizers of the event that they cancelled this particular competition. However, it will come up again. Until anti-cruelty laws are enforced, donkeys will continue to be subjected to this sort of cruelty. If you haven't read my post, go back and take a gander. Thanks!

In Love - Heck, Yeah!

I have been so busy with the project house that the boys have had little saddle time. But....when I have ridden them they have been so incredibly wonderful. It makes my heart sing!! I think part a lot of my success is a due to a series of lessons I've taken with some other ladies. We have been practicing foundational work at a facility that trains for Versatility Ranch Horse competition. Yeah, laugh. I do! Can't you see Doc trying to cut a cow? Doc would shuffle to the left about 3 minutes after the cow had left the area! Pippin would take one look at the cow and you'd see me in the next county....still moving as fast as Pippin's little legs could carry him! Pippin knows that cows eat horses, and hefty, hay-fed haffies are their favorite!

Our work has focused on getting and keeping our horse's attention. Our instructor reminds us that we are the ones to tell the horses when and where to move, and how fast. Yup, I've heard it before, but some things I have to hear...over and over and over! (Especially as I get older...what, exactly, happens to our brains?!) And sometimes, I need to 'see' the theoretical in a practical application. For example, at the beginning of one class I was asking Pippin to stand so I could listen to the instructor. He wasn't interested in standing. The instructor turned to me (and I was prepared for her to snarl something about making my horse stand still) and said, "It's OK if he doesn't stand, but you have to make it your choice, not his. Go ahead and make him walk in circles. Make him back. Make him move. Faster. You can still listen to what I am saying."

We have been working on having our horses yield to our legs. You know, turns on the forehand, turns on the haunches, side pass, etc. Nothing new. I've been doing those since Pony Club days. But, for the first time in my life I have had an instructor who has focused more on my seat bones and weight distribution than on my legs. (OMG - that poor instructor has had to stare at my ample a....!)

It's taken a lot of unlearning and relearning. I've picked up some bad habits over the years and our instructor has an eagle eye - she'll catch me in a skinny minute! I found out that I 'break' my wrists and my weight needs to be rolled back. I need to 'suck my belly button into my backbone.' She is a saint. She reminds me, frequently, about my posture!

So, Pippin has been performing the required moves. He has been walking calmly, with his head down. He has been trotting - peacefully! He no longer scoots forward. He doesn't break into a fast-paced, short stepped, panic-induced trot. He has even begun to bring his head down, and we are working on breaking at the poll. He is much quieter with the bit. A lot of what I've been getting from Pippin, I realize, is due to his lovely shade of 'very green'. The lessons have given both of us some gains in confidence. I think this is another critical piece of the puzzle. I was unsure of him, and certainly he was unsure of me and the whole saddle, person-on-the-back thing.

I apologize for the terrible quality of this photo. When I pulled the camera out of my pocket the setting changed, so this is out of focus. But, through the blur you can see me petting Pippin, telling him what a great guy he is. I probably had just gotten an enthusiastic, "Heck, yeah" from the instructor. Followed by an admonishment reminder to "tell that pony what a good guy he has been!" (The left rein is looser as I am petting his neck.) I had just asked him to 'whoa' by subtly settling my weight into my stirrups and creating a 'wall' with my hands. Look at his feet, such a beautiful square stance! Look at his tail - it isn't clenched, he is relaxed! Look at his head set. OMG - he looks like a little Dala horse from Sweden! 

Don't you agree?

Inger, at Desert Canyon Living recently described these Swedish icons. I have always loved these cheerfully painted horses. Although I knew they came from Sweden, I didn't know they were named 'Dala' horses after Dalarna region in which they originated.

I have seen improvement with Doc as well, even though he hasn't gone to endured as many lessons. Doc is trotting... in round circles! That's a huge breakthrough! He will still, sometimes, try to plow the arena with his nose, but more often he has his head at an appropriate level.

So, I am falling in love, all over again! (Think Joni Mitchell music...'Help me, I think I'm falling in love again...')