Over the Fences

Today I was lucky to have the chance to get back out in nature, with my fingers in the dirt just like when I was a kid in the forrest of my backyard.  I spent this morning gardening with my friends from my eating house, and the smell of grass, dirt and sunshine reminded me of all my days building forts with my sister in the trees, and going on walks and trail rides with a very special four-footed friend of mine - Miss Angel, my darling but spunky little white pony.  She has been a huge part of my journey, and I miss her dearly while I'm away at college.  I dug up one of my old essays that I wrote back when applying to colleges, and it reminded me of how precious my experiences with her have been.  I sincerely hope that, if she finds another home one day, she will teach another little girl all that she has taught me.  Here's to Angel.

Over the Fences

Just stick to the plan, I tell myself.   If only there was a clear, calculated formula to ensure sately.  As I finish walking the show jumping course for my next round, I review my strategies for every twist, turn and change of direction along this path of painted poles in the horse arena.  I must fly over each fence, as we show jumpers call our elaborate wooden jumps, while on the back of a thousand-pound animal without knocking down poles or losing my balance, but at this point I am simply hoping that I don’t pass out from heat exhaustion beneath the California sun that blazes on my black polyester show coat.  I’m not used to such heat back in my little mountain town.  I imagine riding victoriously out of the ring, leaving each jump intact behind me, triumphant music swelling…

But perhaps I should rewind a bit.  You see, I come from the small rodeo town of Joseph, Oregon, which just happens to have a larger population of livestock than people and not a single functioning stoplight.  Regardless of the traffic patrol, rogue livestock are found to be the cause of traffic troubles almost more often than the people, as is proven by the many stray animal reports found in the police blotter of the local newspaper.  I may come from a western town, yet I am anything but a cowgirl.  I am an English rider, and very much in the minority.  I quickly got used to standing in the only black show jacket amoung a sea of sequined shirts and cowboy hats at our local county fair.  I had often been asked whether or not I planned to try out for the rodeo court, but I readily announced that until the day I see jumps in the rodeo ring, I will continue to pull on my sweltering black show coat and ride my courses “until the cows come home.”  If building my own jumps in the woods of my backyard is what it takes, so be it.

 I pull myself into the saddle and wait for my round to begin, and I dearly wish I were surrounded by that familiar pine smell and my precious makeshift jumps along my trail back home. I think of all the hours I spent in the trees working with Angel, my feisty little white horse, the halter rope in my hand and dust on my face. I think of that nervous, stubborn animal that came to me five years ago, who now calmly stands as we wait for our number to be called.  My palms start to sweat, but despite my nerves there are a few things I know for sure: there are 180 degrees in a triangle, if I leave my house at a certain hour I will get to school on time, and if I get a straight approach to fence number one, we will surely clear it without a problem.  We will make it out alive - as long as I stick to the plan.

But alas, sometimes you find rogue livestock in the road.  Sometimes your horse knocks a pole, refuses to jump, or crashes full speed ahead when you don’t see it coming.  I surely didn’t the night I felt my frightened horse rise on her hind legs and fall backwards while I was in the saddle, and a thousand pounds of concrete crashed down on top of me.  I was then flown out by an Air Life jet to a larger hospital which could treat my fractured hip and internal bleeding.  After spending a week in the hospital and over four months out of the saddle, I attempted to rebuild our foundation through many more hours, months, and years in the trees, retraining and regaining the trust essential to that flight we strive for. 

The return journey to where we began before our fall was almost as long and strenuous as the 800-mile trek here to Woodside, California for the Pony Club Show Jumping Championship.  After all the miles we have traveled, here we stand in the center of the ring, and the timer begins. The world goes quiet as we pick up a steady canter and head towards the first fence.  I keep my eyes ahead, for along this path I can only look forward.  I plan. I prepare. We approach the first fence.  I feel her lift off the ground, and then…we jump.  In that second I must release control, into all that is unknown.  As we are suspended on the air, I know that the true beauty in overcoming any obstacle is not in landing on the other side alive, but in the will and faith we find within us to gallop forward despite our fear.  The moment that a barrier becomes the very thing that launches us, shapes us, and propels us, until we find ourselves sailing high above our hurdles.

Life would be much easier if the arena were flat and clear, if horses were like cars, and if everything could be easily calculated.  But through all the unexpected detours, the crashes and falls, the building of jumps in the woods and the moments as the only black show coat in a ring of cowboy hats, there is nothing I would change.  The obstacles, the uncertainties, the turns and the changes in the plan have presented the challenge to create something new and strong out of the pieces that are left behind.  I am now preparing to launch into the next phase of my life, and while I probably won’t encounter rogue livestock often, I will do my best to face each obstacle with confidence as I navigate the collegiate jump arena.  I expect to knock a few poles, to lose and regain my balance, turn corners and change direction, but I will keep my eyes ahead. 

I think I’m ready for my next round.  

PC Championships 2010