Time and Patience

Hello again to all my blog followers! I know it’s been a while, nearly 2 years in fact, but life has been a little busy and full. But as I recently re-read all the entries I made in 2010, I realized that I still had more to say. And you know that’s life I think. Sometimes taking a break from one thing can propel you to return to it in better form, mentally and physically and dive back in with a renewed sense of purpose. So here I am and hopefully you’re still interested in reading what I am writing!

So over the past two years my life has changed. When last we spoke I had left my horse job and was looking for a new job. I was still feeling burned to a crisp from too much horse “work” and not nearly enough horse “enjoyment.” I can say that now things are very different. I work in an office job and I have been in this position since 6 weeks after the horse job ended. It’s a challenging position and I am grateful to have found a new way of life so quickly and in such a bad economy. The office kept me plenty busy for the first year and Lad was still off with friends on “loan.” 

But by mid-February of 2011 apparently Lad and I got our wave lengths matched up. I got a call from where he was saying they wanted to send him home, and right about then I had 1.) Stood on a scale and 2.) Realized I needed him back! So home he came. And what do you know; he was happy to see me. And I don’t mean like he was looking past me for the peppermints I had in my hand. No, he would come cantering to the gate when I called. I swear. My horse had turned into “Lassie” while he was away! I would end up wiping tears away as I led him to the barn to get tacked up for the first two weeks. 

But the best was yet to come. Our time apart had changed Lad and my relationship. I had learned during the barn job that I missed enjoying a ride for the simple fact I was on a horse doing what I loved. And so instead of grilling Lad with what he “HAD” to work on for this goal or that show or this skill set, I just rode him. Sure we still worked on consistency in the bridle, bending and using his hind end, but in between I would walk around give him mints (mid ride) and stare out over the farm enjoying the sights from the back of my best friend. And Lad had changed too. He didn’t resist work when I doled it out in the new smaller amounts with frequent breaks. And he seemed to like the new system so much I would feel him trying harder and being better. Huh imagine that… give the horse the time and space to “be” and he works harder for you. That was one of those moments when I went home and looked in the mirror and realized “Yep riding is definitely like golf. You will never learn everything before you die.” I laughed at myself for missing something so obvious in hindsight. 

So Lad and I got back in the swing of things, my fitness improved and eventually I felt like taking him somewhere to do something. Oddly Lad and I were able to do much more fluid courses with our new way of relating so going against the grain I chose to take him to a hunter show. And God knows I have never been competitive in hunters, but hey it’s easy, local and cheap. So off we went. And off we came back with a ribbon!!! In a class of 15… so not even a gimme! Huh new way of training works, next thought after that is a constant self-beating for not having tried to chill out YEARS ago, but oh well. So we rode our wave of success and a while later took him out to a couple paper chases. And again, brought home a ribbon! I watched in wonderment as Lad, MY Lad, started populating the ribbon wire in my home office. New ribbons went up nearly monthly to take their place alongside my favorite winning memories of my entire equine career. He won a Combined Test Derby in October and I was just beside myself. (True we were the only entry, but dad and John said it best, “You still could have lost!.” Very true guys. And in years past I have done just that.)

We were entered for an event at Plantation to round out the year of “rebirth” but sadly it snowed and they cancelled. So Lad went on a mini vaca and I sat back and rested a bit. But as happens sometimes in the quiet moments you start to concoct “brilliant” ideas. Ideas that the recesses of your mind make you believe will work out in ways and successes that you won’t have ever believed. And the dark lore of these new fledgling ideas calls to your mind as only you’ve ever heard in the Lord of the Rings. “My precious” idea was to try out this new “brilliant” training system on a new OTTB. And a young one I could train a bit and sell on for LOTS and LOTS of money. And so the search began and I could hear the future announcer’s voices in my heads announcing my winnings with the name of every available CANTER horse’s name in my head.  But finally one stood out. And we jumped in the truck and drove west.

January in Harrisburg, Pa. is not the warmest month. No, in fact on this day it was a whopping 16 degrees when John and I pulled into the backside of Penn National Racetrack. 16 degrees at the track isn’t fun, as my experiences with winters both at Belmont and Fair Hill will qualify. The horses are wild, the people are cold and the day cannot end quickly enough so we can retreat to any machine, device or person whose warmth will work to revive our frozen skin and souls. That morning we tread cautiously into the appointed barn. And I couldn’t help but feel sadness as I witnessed the disparity between the backsides of Belmont, Saratoga and Delaware compared to this barn here at Penn. I know the purses they run for are large here, but the backsides and how the horses and horsemen look where I stood well this wasn’t the “good” side of things.

 I shrugged off the sadness and breathed deep the fresh smell of straw and thoroughbreds in the morning. And about halfway down the shedrow there he was. “Petey.” All 15.2 hands and Zenyatta sized ears of him. For an instant I thought we’d wasted a trip as when one looked into the stall from the shedrow he appeared much smaller than 15.2. What played to all of our advantages was that we were already there and it wouldn’t hurt to look closer. So we went in the stall and I felt myself sink as I walked in. Some former tenant had gotten bored and decided to try to dig their way to comfort, freedom or maybe some other incentive for them was buried beneath the once level stall floor. But now it was a crater within that made a mini skate park for hooves. So once I was “lowered” to Petey’s level I could see he was indeed big enough.

We took his blanket off, all the while he nuzzled me and seemed kind and interested. We led him outside to the level ground and looked at him. He had all the right raw materials in a late bloomer of a body. So with some amount of trepidation we asked if they would jog him for us in the shedrow. Just a few steps if you don’t mind, we just need to see him move. So picture this, a 4 yr. old gelding, he hasn’t been trained at the track or taken out of his stall much in the last 14 days since they decided to quit on him and sell him, it’s 16 degrees and all around the stalls are horses sticking their heads out as he goes by. Yep…. This should light up the place like the fourth of July, but I didn’t care if he was wild, he had every right to be. 

But what we got was a calm horse who willing jogged in hand (Something not all track tb’s know how to do or are willing to do) and only 2 bucks. John and I looked at each other with huge grins, well I think we were grinning there was a lot of wool, polar fleece, scarves and hats involved. Petey came around the next lap and jogged again and we noticed the graceful almost purposeful way he placed his feet. He is not a huge floaty mover as Lad is, but rather a precise and graceful animal with a willingness to perform for strangers in the cold. I knew then we were taking him. And so I walked him around the shedrow myself for a few turns and explained that life was about to change and get a lot more fun. It’s a total guess but since he had finished last in all 4 of his starts, I think this news pleased him. 

The next night we showed up with the trailer, in the sleeting rain and 20 degrees. It was after dark and the wind was blowing. Petey had taken me at my word that I was going to make his life more fun. You ever notice how you just kind of don’t recognize some dominant parts of a beings character until you’re in a rare moment? I mean who didn’t see the determination in Michael Phelps’s features at the Beijing Olympics? You could nearly touch the gratitude and all-encompassing fear in the eyes of those who emerged from the World Trade Center towers alive. And I doubt any of you will forget a moment of personal achievement from your own youth that is so strong within your own mind that you are recalling it now. And on that dark cold night I watched relief and hope cross the eyes of a horse that never missed a beat as he walked willingly into a dark trailer and never once looked behind him as we closed all the doors and ramp. And so Petey joined our brood and headed home to meet his new brother Lad. 

There are more tales of Petey and Lad to come. There will be blogs about the dogs, my crazy life and family and all sorts of things. And this time I promise to deliver for a while. But I think it’s best for all of us to start back and catch up progressively. I would hate to burn out my readers as my job burned me out. All will be revealed in time. And it’s that sense of patience and metering out work in small doses that has literally changed my life and brought more successes than I ever dreamed to me. So here to I will dabble progressively and allow you all a moment between blogs to stop, catch your breath and enjoy the scenery. 

Thank you for reading and stay cool today!

~Emily

Pic1: Lad and me right after he returned

Pic 2: Meeting Petey in the cold. (Check out those Ears!)

The days have passed and the summer is warm. The splendor of the lightning bugs and swooping bats has risen to its peak and every night I stand in the moonlight I feel a sense of rebirth. Ahhh and so begins another annual event, the birthday celebrations. Years have come and gone and each summer my odometer clicks onto a new number forever eclipsing and leaving behind the predecessor. As a mantis sheds its exoskeleton so too do I attempt to shed the layers and traits of my life that have worn out their usefulness.


And as I sit on the perch of the looming “39” I am struck with a sense of wonder and delight as I gaze back to some of the past moments that inevitably make the yearly ‘highlight reel.’ For you tonight I include some of them here. They mean nothing individually, less even. But these are the threads that woven into the quilt of my existence to this point stand out and catch my eye every time I glance backwards long enough to trace the steps that led me to where I stand now. I hope you enjoy them as surely therein will lie something that may spur a memory in your own collections of yarns.



1.) The time when I was 4 or 5 and watched as horses and riders rode by me for the first time. I felt the ground shake a bit and I know that my world changed as those hooves passed before me. Cockeysville, MD

2.) Watching “Wild Bill Hickock” at an O’s game on my 12th bday, up close. Memorial Stadium, 1983

3.) The time when I was fishing off a dock and caught a 4’ long eel, when I was deathly afraid of snakes. Harwich Port, MA 1983

4.) Sitting in a plastic sled, in our backyard stream trying to canoe with a shovel from my beach pail. And dad telling me to never be afraid to keep trying, even if you fail. Cockeysville, MD 1976 (Side note, that sled was buried into the silt of the stream, I wasn’t going anywhere!)

5.) Cantering a horse for the first time and having the mare lose her footing and go down with me onto her side. And jumping back up, hoping on the horse and doing it right. Jacksonville, MD 1982

6.) Watching my grandfather swim off Cape Cod, every day, every summer.

7.) Getting the trademark Nana hug and hearing her make this sound that I have yet to hear any of us be able to mimic exactly since her passing.

8.) Playing miniature golf, Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders and baseball with my family when we still were intact.

9.) Trying to return my sister to the house after she fell off her bike….with a wheelbarrow….when she had a spiral fracture of the femur. That didn’t work at all. Towson, 1986

10.) Standing in Grampa’s workshop looking at a block of wood, and then next to it a complete set of models of old ships, sailboats, river boats and the like and knowing that the vessels around me had only a destiny to be a piece of wood until he came along. West Boylston, Ma 1980’s

11.) Seeing and playing with Gramma’s worry bird necklace, nearly everytime I see her from childhood through the present day. That little gold bird and the scent of Channel no. 5 will always take me to Massachusetts.

12.) Worrying over and over for Dad as he flew flight after flight across this amazing world and then finally one day understanding that there’s no use worrying. He is living his passion with planes as I live mine with horses. We both understand the risks, but it’s not enough to deny our truest loves. And so he flies and I ride on.

13.) Watching as Mom shifted from “mom” to Sarah Daignault, the next coming of Napoleon, Joan of Arc and Genghis Khan. (Ie… You know that expression, “Lead, follow or get out of the way” ?? Well just step back, she’s coming through!)

14.) Watching and cheering as Cindy graduated from Friends and Stanford. Both times I was totally proud and amazed to watch the girl that was a little cherub thing I grew up with turn into this rather amazing creature who fears no challenge and always hits the ground running with a plan.

15.) Knowing that I was probably going to need to improve my riding when as I was wheeled into our ‘regular’ ER the head reception nurse looked up and said, “Which horse was it this time Emily?” Towson, 1992

16.) Watching the sun set over the Atlantic, Pacific, and an innumerable number of ponds and lakes and rivers and always pausing long enough to think, “Wow. How gorgeous is this? I wonder what tomorrow will bring.”



~Emily

A good day in the cheap seats..

I just had to drop by and post about my first "horsey" day in a long while yesterday.


So I left the job at the farm March 31st and ever since I have done lots of fun and cool stuff but I haven’t sat on a horse since. And what’s more, I haven’t wanted to either! In its own way this is a very interesting moment to be standing around watching how I have interacted with horses and their people for the last two months and what I have felt. Now don’t get me wrong, I have been around horses still just not totally embroiled in them like a steamed lobster.


Here’s some of the things I have done in my time away from my horsey life:

1.) Went to the Wood Memorial at Aqueduct

2.) Went to the Kentucky Derby for the first time

3.) Made an entry for the Purina Blog O Spondent contest

4.) Shipped horses to and from a local farm to a horse show (3 x)

5.) Went to help set jumps at one of Jimmy’s clinics up here

6.) Saddled a horse for my old boss at Delaware park

7.) Went to watch a friend have a lesson with Laura Chapot

8.) Went to three Point to points and Steeplechases (actually tailgated)

9.) Went to Devon Grand Prix

10.) I volunteered a full Sunday at Fair Hill HT, timing stadium

So yesterday I got off my duff and gave a friend of mine her first lesson with me in an attempt to prepare her for a couple starter trials this summer. She hadn’t had lessons for a while and God only knows how long since I taught, though I do love it. So off we went and schooled and practiced and in the beginning I ended up hopping on for a second to show Steph that yes “Mikey” did in fact know what bending was. The first time I got on in over 2 months. It felt great, then I was a little ouchy. Made my point and got off. He’s a comfortable ride and over the next 45 mins he and Steph both learned a bunch of useful stuff that will improve their time together.

I ended up washing Mikey while Steph chilled and drank Gatorade and I remembered what loving horses is like for the simplicity of it. Funny I’m not sure I realized how far I’d left that part drift out to sea.

So I loaded Mikey and sent them on their way. Then I went off to the barn where Lad had lived and moved all my jump standards and rails to be close to the barn. I found a buyer for them and I am gladly shirking off one more possession I don’t need. As I ferried the jumps up the hill in my Subaru I couldn’t escape how in all the time I spent at the farm yesterday I didn’t miss Lad. Don’t get me wrong, I do miss Lad, for who he is. But I don’t miss the labor that my own riding had become around the BO there. (I do think it’s about the place and the aura there, and not about Lad and me)

But I looked at the course my jumps were set in, how a pony clubber had decorated them with flags and streamers and such and I know I used to do that too, but all I could think was about the curmudgeonly stuff about young folks not respecting property. And I realized that for each of my 4 min on Mikey, I still have a long way back to go to get to the fun part of riding full on again.

Once upon a time I was a girl who lived to ride. Now I have become a woman who lives a life of responsibilities and tasks and to do lists. There’s a chasm that’s grown between the two sides of my personality, a chasm that comes into many lives. All I have to do now is figure out how to rebuild the bridge that I used to cherish. I don’t know if, when or how it will come back. But the mere minutes I was on Mikey reminded me of so many moments that I cherish, how can it not return at some point.

Thanks for listening.

~Emily

The view from a Greyhound Bus

The old saying goes that you don’t know a persons life until you walk a mile in their shoes. Since walking isn’t all that popular a method to cover long distances nowadays, we have adapted and use more diverse methods of transport. Chief among them would be automobiles and other highway driving machines. Over the past few days I have traveled 1200 miles on Greyhound buses and in this time I realized a lot about my life and things I had never known nor seen before. I spent a fair bit of my time talking to my fellow passengers and America and its citizens took on new and more diverse meanings than I had ever yet realized. I truly didn’t know what type of people I was going to meet on a bus.


It seemed like an easy idea; take a bus to Kentucky for the Derby, save the car from another 1200+ miles of use and depreciation. I booked the trip online and voila, 14 hours to go down, 18 hours to come back. Ok so I’ll use it as preparation for my ultimate dream of visiting Australia, which is just as long on a plane. And off I went expecting the same kinds of camaraderie and company as I have always experienced on the planes. But once I started off on the first bus I started to realize that an entirely different subculture exists running across this great nation on buses everyday. It genuinely never occurred to me that a recently released prison inmate would be given a bus ticket to go back to their home city or destination of choice. I had failed to notice immediately the lack of metal detectors and hands-on security at the stations I passed through. And the unwritten rules of bus traveling were slow to be communicated because my fellow passengers simply thought that I knew that being in the back of the bus alone, was a very bad idea. You can go in pairs or more, but alone….no way and especially not for a single white woman.

That was another thing. PC didn’t exist on Greyhound during my trips. I was white and the folks I know as African American will correct you and tell you they’re black. I spoke for hours with people. We debated lively about our country, our towns, and our future. And we listened to each other’s opinions. Some may not have agreed with everything said, but none turned and changed seats. My first leg I was seated with a young Mexican man named “Minor” who had a twenty three hour trip to Joplin, MO. ahead of him. Thankfully my Spanish from the barns has emerged to be about the Mexican 2nd grade equivalent and when I struggled with words, he helped me out. He asked me questions he’d wondered about, like how did I pay for school? When did I first get married? How many babies did I have? Where was my husband? Where was my family living? Why did my parents and sibling live so far apart? And it’s odd that when faced with the scrutiny of another culture’s ideals it made me question the answers I had. He couldn’t comprehend a never married 38 year old woman without any children just taking off for five days to go watch some horses run in circles. And when I looked at it through his eyes, I couldn’t explain it very well.

Further down the road I spoke to a very intelligent woman from Detroit. Now I can read a newspaper and watch the news, I know that life up there right now isn’t great, far from it. But talking to Diane made the intellectual detachment of a 5 minute newscast story shrink its distance and the gravity of her life struggles were then in my lap. I couldn’t flip the remote, and I couldn’t just say “Oh, I’m sure you all up there will work it out.” And it didn’t even occur to me that anyone would have to surrender their children to social services and leave to try to make enough money to make a life work. Not just to work for her, but hopefully a successful enough life that she could come back for her kids. Maybe one day. I didn’t even have a Kleenex to offer her as she wept.

On and on the miles clicked away and the stories of the world as it is for riders of the Greyhound buses came to me. And though their lives don’t resemble mine and the privileges I have been afforded, most all of these folks seemed to have a firm grasp on hope. None of the people I spoke to across the four states seemed ready to give in to their fate. The 2 boys, ages 19 and 20, who had just been released from a 2 year stint at a prison in Florida were moving to Cincinnati and were nervous. In jail they had learned to communicate with sign language so that their conversations were just between them. And after two years together, the one Ohio native had convinced the Florida native to return with him to a new life in Cincinnati. I asked the Florida native what he was going do. “Get a job.” When pressed what he’d like to do, he kind of looked at me like I was a little slow. “Get a job. That’s all I want. I don’t care what, I need to do something with my life, put some money away and move forward.” All over the 1200 miles I saw the spirit of determination and a willingness to dream that tomorrow could be the start to a better day, to a better life. And I wondered if fate would be kind and let them win one here or there.

In between these two road trips I spent an amazing two and a half days surrounded by people that have quietly been surrounding me my whole life. A whole universe exists that I know so well where wealthy people enjoy levels of privilege far beyond those who ride the bus. I saw opulence in farms, horses, restaurants and clothing stores. Men walked by me literally carrying thousands of dollars in cash as their gambles on equines paid off in spades. I walked the hallways of Churchill Downs in my finest dress and the loveliest, large Derby hat. I crossed all through the track down to the lowest ticketed seats and back up to the hallowed ground of celebrities and famous folks. I made my little gambles and paid off with a winner ridden by a poor boy from Louisiana. A man who has trouble reading and who never finished his education beyond the 8th grade. A man that broke into the upper echelons of the world of racing aboard a horse named, “Street Sense.” Someone who’s carried his luck and skill forward while remaining true to his roots. He has believed in his dreams for a long time. And somewhere along the way I’m willing to bet that he’s ridden a bus or two.

~Emily

Tales of the Triple Crown

Many people have asked me over the years, how was it that I became so enthralled with horses? Was it family? No. Was it friends? Well, sort of. What really helped you to love horses? That answer is simple; it was ABC and Jim McKay.

I followed the Triple Crown of horse racing because year in and year out it was the only horse sport on television. And each year I would start trying to follow the televised races sooner. I would absolutely love to say that I remember Secretariat, but I don’t because I wasn’t even 2 yet! Now I do remember Affirmed winning the Triple Crown in 1978. And I recall the fervor that followed him as he progressed from Louisville to Baltimore to Belmont. I suppose it’s appropriate in a way that my memory starts with the last Triple Crown winner.

I can still recall some of the oddly captivating stories behind each Derby, Preakness and Belmont contender over the thirty two seasons of racing that has passed between. I remember the glory of the watching Genuine Risk defeat the boys and how happy my mother and her friends were. I still remember the newscast detailing Swale’s untimely death. I watched, as most did, at the amazing rivalry between Sunday Silence and Easy Goer. And yet the glory of the connections as each gleaming coated winner swept under the wires has transfixed me for years. Every race, every blanket of flowers adorned, each moment of victory, and yes even some defeats felt like my own. I still can’t watch Real Quiet’s Belmont. I have the tape on VHS and every time I pick it up I want to cry.

Over the years my family usually watched the races in the TV room together. And so of course we’d root for our favorite horses. By the time the gates would pop my family would be rooting for every runner in the race. And more often than not we would have the winner and second place finisher backed by all of us at the end. (Jumping ships mid race was allowed by some in my household) My greatest coup was the 1990 Belmont stakes. A new entrant from Europe was coming in, “Go and Go” an Irish bred trained by Mr. Dermot Weld and ridden by Mick Kinane. Dad thought I was nuts to like him, I kept screaming “But dad he’s Irish, a mile and a half is nothing over there!” Dad didn’t buy it. He stuck with Unbridled, the Derby winner. As they came into the turn Unbridled made the beginning of a huge move up to Go and Go as they sat behind the two front runners. And then he stopped. Go and Go kept on and sailed down the lane to steal the show. Dad tore up the ticket I had made for him and looked at me as mom smiled, “You know she might just have been learning all these years.”

And so now we come to another exciting year and we’re in Derby week! Sadly Mr. McKay has long ago been replaced, and more and more people are covering the sport of kings, and more and more horses are being run for the roses. One of my dad’s favorite songs still is Dan Fogelberg’s “Run for the Roses” and I can’t think of Louisville in May or the Derby without entwining the great melody and my constant handicapping nemesis from the TV room of old. But this year will be different. For the first time ever I get to go to Churchill Downs and stand where millions of horsemen, horse lovers, gamblers, and yes even politicians and royalty have stood. I feel a bit like the little girl version of “Virginia” being given a trip and a tour of the North Pole. (Though I doubt those elves there curse as much if Rudolph can’t beat Dasher in a 5 furlong sprint!)

If it’s not clear from my earlier writings, I believe in a lot of stuff. Hollywood has no trouble getting me misty eyed in almost any film. So already I am imagining the walk through Churchill, seeing the track before me for the first time and feeling a bit like Costner in Field of Dreams, Elizabeth Taylor in National Velvet, Tom Burlinson in Phar Lap, and so many other great people who conveyed with alacrity the awe that befalls people when you actually stand in a place or a moment you’ve only dreamed of.

Now to get to this, I have some buses to ride, some fancy clothes to throw on, and yes a grand hat to perch on my head. But to really glance back and see how I got here, well I see all the people I initially denied credit for this: My father, my mother, my sister and all my friends who have understood over the past 32 years that for three Saturdays my butt would be parked in front of a television, daring to dream that anyone can win.

I wish all the horsemen, horses and fans a lot of great luck and grand racing. Look for me in the big pink and green hat with the million dollar smile!


~Emily

I haven’t blogged in days and I am starting to get a taste of regret!! So I am back now to toss one onto the net before I head to Maryland for a weekend of drunken debauchery in the form of my high school reunion. I figured that it would be best to write before the weekend, since after the weekend my brain could quite possibly be a bit fuzzy.

The piece of life I am going to share today is about my last day of high school, because it was, in and of itself, a memorable day. Right now my family and classmates are snickering because they of course know what I am referring to. But before we get to the end, a little background would help you along the way.

I have attended many private schools while growing up in Baltimore, MD. I never seemed to fit right into any of the schools I attended. For one reason or another I kept being that lone student with something missing. I was always defined as “different.” During my stint at Garrison Forrest for 7th and 8th grade, my parents and I could see that GFS wasn’t a perfect fit. The academic program is exceptional and challenging. And the expectations put on the students are high. This is all well and good but I was coming to GFS straight out of 3 years spent at a school for dyslexic children as I learned how to learn with the various learning disabilities I had. So because of the challenging academia present at Garrison, I was again having a difficult time succeeding in my studies. Mom and Dad were patient but it was clear to most that a change would have to be made. The search began and I toured schools, sat in for classes and walked many miles of pristine campuses. And finally I found my home at Oldfields School.

Oldfields has a very good program for their students in their “two-track” system. There are classes offered at both the “A and B” track level. The classes were the same, but how the information was covered differed based on the success level of the student. The “B” track classes covered things a bit slower, while the “A” track was typical of most schools. By having this system, if a student started to fall behind in an “A” track course, the advisor would be consulted and the student could be shifted, permanently or temporarily to a “B” track class to catch back up. Or if a “B” track student could excel, they could be moved up to an “A” track class. It was brilliant and my parents and I agreed it was the place for me.

I attended as a boarding student, even though the campus was a mere fifteen minutes from home. But they had a barn, a variety of dorms and 24 hour candy machines!!! Why on Earth would I stay at home???!!! Over the course of my four years I went through all the normal highs and lows that every person experiences in high school. I had first loves from school mixers with boy’s boarding schools. I learned to use a calling card like a pro. (The boy’s schools were all out of state) I rode every semester of every year and only acquired 2 concussions, a broken wrist and a toe. Pretty good for any four year time frame in my life! I succeeded in classes, I struggled in classes and I acted in school plays and sang in the music groups. I experienced all the diversity you could ask for.

Oldfields is a school with many traditions to it, and chief among them has to be the graduation ceremony. The first difference from many high schools is that all of the enrolled students are a part of the graduation day ceremony. We all are to be dressed in ankle length white dresses and carry the appropriate bouquet of flowers; mixed flora for underclassmen, a dozen roses for seniors. Then once all are congregated we are lined up, shortest to tallest underclassmen in pairs, with our bouquets being carried to the outside, then all the seniors one by one, shortest to tallest. Ok great, so now the music from a live orchestral band begins. (5 members I think) We must begin the walk down graduation hill. Oh but did I mention that we’re all barefoot??!! This will play in later. This ceremony is so elaborate that the week prior to graduation we have anywhere from four to seven rehearsals. It seemed to depend on the enrollment’s retention levels as to how many times we needed to practice. The walk down the hill leads to the flat level of grass below where we will initially see the underclassmen make a “V” shape. Then the seniors will file in down the center and make an arch behind the underclassmen. Then the may court will come down and stand or sit on their platform. Then the underclassmen come up to the may court, one pair at a time, now going tallest to shortest, and lay their bouquets before the may court. This takes some time as the underclassmen are about 70 pairs strong. Once the last bouquet is laid, the big ‘shift’ occurs. The underclassmen walk behind as the may court comes off their perch and leads the seniors front and center into a large horseshoe shape. The underclassmen now are in 3 ‘eyebrow’ shaped lines behind the seniors. Oh and there are no chairs for this shindig, you’re on your feet all the time. Except if you’re May queen, and boy did we all envy Wanda!!!

Now comes the easy part, the handing out of the diplomas. Mr. Rogers, our headmaster, calls your name, you walk up, and the plan is “Shake, take, tuck, hug, give.” Shake his hand, take your diploma, tuck it under your arm and hug Mr. R, and then give him the class gift. Our year we did a puzzle of a class picture, and each girl gave the puzzle piece with her image. By now I think you understand why 180 girls had to practice this multiple times. It was easy, but the myriad of things to do required solid knowledge before the big day.

So on my graduation Saturday I had slept terribly, been through about 2 boxes of Kleenex and was less than thrilled to see that 2 of my classmates had bought the same dress as me. I guess it was to be expected, since Laura Ashley was a hugely popular store for my schoolmates, and they only make so many wedding gowns. Oh well. My friend Scott had showed up on business…as a gorilla delivering balloons. I didn’t recognize him and he has never let me live it down. The time to go approached and I sat on the porch in front of old house and waited. I am tall, so I was one of the last to walk down the hill. I negotiated the descent fine, though I wished I’d had sunglasses, it was bright that day. I made it through everything without a blip, until it was time to go get my diploma.

Surely by now, most of you reading this have realized that I am a little ‘different.’ Square peg round hole, and that sort of thing. So it shouldn’t surprise anyone that I had to do something comical and different. I walked up to Mr. Rogers asking aloud, “Is it signed?” He smiled and nodded. The crowd giggled. I did the whole “Shake, take, tuck, hug, give” and then started to head back to line. But I didn’t walk…I power walked, in a hoop skirt and wedding dress. Then I ran, then I hit the small patch of dew and bare dirt soaked with dew, then I wiped out! *Sigh*

Yep down went the girl dressed, as Andie MacDowell called it in “Four Weddings and a Funeral,” like a ‘meringue.’ The crowd laughed, the next girl had to have her name called a few times and the laughter carried through as I hopped up and literally bounced as I stood in line. I did a hell of a “Tigger” impression, which is odd in that I always preferred Pooh bear.

There have been many parallels drawn how the fall was a foreboding of life to come. How we always must rise and face the crowd after a momentary stumble. How fitting it was for it to be me to fall, since I usually was coming off the backs of various equines over the years. (I actually was the president of the Dusty Bottoms club at Oldfields) And so on, and so forth. It was embarrassing, but never as bad as I thought it’d have been. It’s been brought up a lot in the 20 years since I left. I am still the only person to have fallen down on the flat. Others have bitten dust on the hill, but never on the flat. But then, I never was like everyone else.

And so today I get to go back once again, past the spot of my fame, and I’ll frolic with memories, friends, and a place that was the home that took me from being an outsider to being one of us. There’s a quote from the (second) version of the movie “Sabrina” that I couldn’t find on the internet, go figure. Sabrina talks about how Paris is more her home because she found herself there. I feel the same way about two places on this Earth, and Oldfields is one of them. So I’m off to go home.



~Emily

Scanning over Life's Moments

I have to ask for a little help today from Mr. Simon and Mr. Garfunkel,


“Time it was, and what a time it was, it was. A time of innocence, a time of confidences


Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph. Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you”

So I have mentioned, I think, that I have my twentieth high school reunion coming up next weekend. In a short seven days I will be reunited from many members of my class from Oldfields School. Since we’re highly educated smart women, we have a facebook group with a whopping 21 of our original forty some odd class members. And as such we have some new pictures being posted daily. This will be our fifth big reunion year returning to Oldfields and I am interested in seeing how much we have evolved over the time.

As part of this event, my classmates and I have gotten to spend some quality time with our scanners. I sat down yesterday with my laptop and big boxes of pictures from my life and started scanning away the physical reminders of my memories that I have. Some pictures I pulled out easily made the cut, “Oh my God…yeah I gotta scan this.” Others, “Well no I still like this person and I believe they’ll kick my butt if I post this.” This went on and on until it was one o’clock in the morning and the dogs reminded me to go to bed. In point of fact they got up, looked at me and left. As Crow licked my hand and walked up the stairs I knew I was being told, “Go to bed mom.”

So today has been a wild and sometimes wooly trip through my past. Not all of the pictures I scanned were from the Oldfields years. It was very satisfying to sort through the diverse images, 10, 15, 20 years old and see faces in them who are people in my Facebook friends. And as such I of course decided that they too should be scanned and given a quick blast from the past. I’m generous like that, especially if 70’s and 80’s fashion was involved!! In the past 24 hours alone I have received 85 various notifications, comments, new friends and such all relating back to the posting of 50 new photos.

The experience has been quite thrilling, humbling and amusing beyond my initial comprehension. I simply looked at the boxes of photos as being possessions that remind me of things, people, places, horses, and experiences I have had. I don’t think I ever comprehended that each one of the pictures in and of itself could hold a deeper meaning for the people with me when I shot it, in the picture as the subject or simply from a place that means more to other people. Take for example this picture:

It’s from 1996 the Fair Hill International CCI*** Three day event. The woman riding is my friend, Michele Trufant on her horse “Desi.” I barely knew Michele then. She trained with the same coach as me, and as such when she was coming around to where I was I snapped off a few pictures. Now here’s the kicker, when it comes to photography I am a hit and miss person. On this particular day, I missed with 98 pictures out of 108. Believe me I went through the three film folders from 36 exposure rolls. They’re mostly all crap. I had the wrong speed film, low light and worst of all, low camera knowledge for technical elements. But in this pile of lackluster stuff was this image. This image alone has gotten a lot of Michele’s friends talking. Her huge smile I think sums it up. She loved that horse so much, I grew to know this as Michele and I ended up working together for a while there after. Her comments when she finally found the picture online, I guess some friends called her, made me smile:

“It took me awhile to figure out what picture you all had seen and it made me cry when i finally found it....i loved that pony and love you all for sending comments!... emily, thank you again. i just figured out how to print it out. you are so sweet to have sent it.”


It never even occured to me that she'd like the image. But I was glad, and to have brought a little smile and memories of a great run into her day, pleased me. I have tried to include images from all different parts of my life, and sadly most of the Oldfields stuff is at my fathers house and I will be journeying there tomorrow to see Dad, and pick up my additional photos, so the scanner will be working overtime again soon. I really am glad that I have been interested enough in photography to want to have a camera ever present in my life. I have such silly, but fun images to look at through the years. I am amazed by my variety of shots, and think its time to show off a couple:

(These are of course for the most part tongue-in-cheek)

                                                                              

    

        

As I keep thumbing through the stacks and stacks of "Kodak Moments" I just keep wondering if I would remember my journey as fondly and as vividly if I didn't have all these pictures here to remind me? Would I be any different if I didn't have 300 pictures of Toto, and all my personal horses? The answer is going to have to sit, unknown with many other irrevelant queries. This week I have already taken pictures of my spring flowers blooming, and shots of the puppy. This weekend I hope to catch a few of the timber racing, and some more of my dad. My poor cell phone is bogged down with 600+ pictures and 30 videos. And I guess my point is simple, life is a journey that I document often with a camera.  

I hope you’ve enjoyed this little stroll through my life with Kodak, Nikon, Minolta, Yashica, and many others. Remember what Paul and Art said,

“Preserve your memories, they're all that’s left you.”

~Emily

Ode to a grand dame of horsemen.

(Mrs. Hannum on Our Ivory Tower)

Ode to a Grand Dame


When I first started competing in eventing seriously, I had a thoroughbred gelding named, “Patty.” He was a lovely horse but he wasn’t going to hold up to the stresses and strains of the upper levels. So we sold him onto a great pony clubber and once again were on the horse buying search. Now let me explain, buying a horse capable of taking a 21 yr old amateur who is just starting to put the right tools in her toolkit is not an easy undertaking. You need a horse that will be part saint, to overlook the many missteps to come, and part eagle, which will fly and soar and jump whatever, comes up in front of them. These searches can take awhile. In my case I was blessed to find the right horse in the wrong package right away. We were looking for an 8-10 year old 16.1+ hand gelding with a lot of preliminary level experience. We bought a 5 year old 15 hand chestnut mare with three prelims under her belt. This is called doing right, while looking wrong. The mare came with an impressive pedigree (to me) and was bred by one hell of a horsewoman.

I bought “Genie” from Bruce Davidson, and his then mother in law, Mrs. Nancy Hannum, had bred her. Even living in Maryland in1992, I had heard of the Hannums. Their name brought legendary tales of hunting over four foot high fence lines, timber racing victories and the like to the tips of the tongues of the experienced horsemen who surrounded me. My mare’s grandmother was in fact a champion timber racer. At the time, circa 1974, this was somewhat unusual for a mare, or so I was told. The grand-dam was “Our Ivory Tower.” I looked up her record and saw that she had won the My Lady’s Manor and the Grand National, in back to back weekends. Indeed her record on paper told of a very classy chestnut runner who was herself, not very large. When we bought “Genie” I was told of a day out hunting with Cheshire @1992, when Bruce D had led the field. The hounds took a record run that day. Something like 2-3 hours of straight running, and when the hounds finally put the fox to ground, all the horses and riders were so tired that they all went to the nearest member’s farm. The horses were turned out in a field together and the riders went to get their respective trucks and trailers to bring the horses back to their individual farms, after a few swigs of old brown of course! There was only one horse that was ridden home that day, my mare. And so the legends of Ivory Tower and her progeny were well implanted in my mind.

Two years ago, I moved to Unionville, Pa. and was extremely fortunate to take a job where I was able to hunt with Cheshire. More fortunate was I, that I was spectating at the Plantation Fields event soon after and I saw Mrs. Hannum.

(Now mind you, this is the first time I have had the pleasure to meet this woman. It’s been sixteen years since I purchased my mare who I will forever remember as the one who was taken too soon. She was killed by lightning at age10. My first phone call after getting the news that day was to Chesterland. The Davidson’s and Hannums shared my grief on the day)

This was two years ago and I approached and was introduced to her by Mary Hazzard. My immediate conversation starter? “Hello Mrs. Hannum, I want to thank you for making the best horse I have ever owned.”

("Genie" aka "Summa Cum Laude" 1996)

I explained who I was and which horse I was referring to and she remembered everything. She even recalled that Genie and I had finished in the ribbons at our first three day at Radnor. That was in 1993. To say this woman lived up to every expectation, daydream and such I had ever had about her, falls about 2 hours of running hounds short of an accurate statement! She surpassed it, trounced it and ran it to covert and then dug it out and ran it some more.

So I felt blessed, a second time, to be out in the waning weeks of the ’07-’08 season when Cheshire had a meet at Brooklawn, Mrs. Hannum’s home, for the first time in many years. As I would expect nothing less, she came along with the hunt over her property, in an older but sturdy Subaru Outback. (Being the owner of my second Subaru Outback, I must insist there is something about us Outback owners that separates us from the rest!!) As we were checked in the back field of Brooklawn I watched as the Subaru glided up a hill to our right. That alone had me grinning. But then not 3-4 minutes later the horn was honking. No excuse me, the horn was HONKING HONKING HONKING. Mrs. Hannum had a full view, Tally Ho and I think if she could have, she would have kicked that car into the base of the coop and expected it to jump as well as good old Ivory Tower.

This past fall the hunt met again at Brooklawn and collectively celebrated Mrs. Hannum’s 90th birthday. She was there, in another Subaru, smiling and taking greetings from the warmth of the front passenger seat. The hunt was late setting off as each person wanted to dismount and give their personal birthday wishes. A cake was brought out and we all sang with full voice, even one of the hounds joined in.

Sadly last Tuesday she took flight and is now hunting around a little higher elevation. I’m sure I don’t know enough of her to do justice to even guess what, who, where or even what horse she hopes to rejoin up there. But at her memorial service today I was afforded the rare gift of appreciating someone else’s journey on this crazy floating marble. Hers was a life done right, even if it held a few wrongs. (I have heard stories, but I don’t know personally) Her service had three hymns. My mother observed that all of them are no longer in the current Hymnals, and that’s a shame. Roughly 300+ people sang in great voice over the fields of Brooklawn, “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” “Amazing Grace” and “Onward Christian Soldier.” The who’s who of the horse world showed up to honor her for 90 years of amazing shared gifts and experiences.

I will refrain from going into the great volumes of things that this amazing woman has done for the world. Let someone else who knew her better give golden voice to this truest of horsemen. I can only say that for me the woman was always a legend, and she always will be still.

~Emily

Part two of the Wood and Easter Sunday hops in

Part two of the Wood Memorial story, a trip to Aqueduct Racetrack, Jamaica, New York.




When last I left of, I had included all the night before thoughts as we readied Scrappy T for the 2005 Wood Memorial. Now if you go to Youtube, the two minutes of the race are immortalized there. However the highlights of the day still bounce around my mind as clear as the sun is shining this Easter Sunday. And I have to wonder if the timing of all these thoughts isn’t somehow appropriate. Easter is of course about, CHOCOLATE!!! Whoops no sorry, I haven’t eaten yet today and mom’s old habit of hiding a load of candy in the house hasn’t been forgotten with the passing of the years. No anyway, Easter is about resurrection and surely my trip to the races yesterday was filled with moments of this.



In 2005 Scrappy, and everyone else, were soundly defeated by Kinsman Stables’ “Bellamy Road.” And when I say defeated, I’m talking totally trounced by 17 and a half lengths. That’s a heck of a lot of distance back to the next horse. We finished 3rd by a half length to the Phipps horse, “Survivalist.” The saddle on Scrappy had slipped up his neck leaving poor Rafael Bejarano with very little room to encourage him on. Why? Well physics on racehorses is a funny thing. You need a solid base so that the 120 lb jockey can rock and pivot their body and use their stick with accuracy. When that ‘base’ becomes a tilt a whirl, well, it’s a lot harder to get any kind of dynamic moves without yourself becoming a falling impediment to the horses around you. So Raffy couldn’t hit Scrappy with a full range of motion, he couldn’t shove his hands against the neck as the saddle was swinging forwards and back with a 16” range of slide. Not a great feeling. As a result of the 3rd place finish left us short on the graded earnings list and we all sat at home watching the derby.



Yesterday was the first time that I had ventured back to Aqueduct on Wood Memorial day to watch the races. I brought with me, my ‘good’ digital SLR camera to capture some of the moments from the day. I planned to meet up with a bunch of longtime friends who were my constant NY companions when I lived up at Belmont. Among them was my best friend from New York, Jeanne Wood. Jeanne has my dream job, well honestly any little horse crazy girl’s dram job. Jeanne is the on air handicapper for the Capital OTB network based in Albany. She gets to watch horse races for a living and tell people over and over who is the likely horse to win and why. Amazing, they pay people to do that??? How the heck do I get in??  We all had a lovely time in the Man O War room at Aqueduct. (By the way, the best food at the track is in this room. They have freshly sliced hot turkey subs that are heavenly, but expensive. But if you don’t mind trying to help save a dying track by ingesting a little L-Tryptophan, than Yurda and Jimmy will gladly set you up! Just tell them that “Emily” sent you.)



I had many people to stop and say hello to and many horses that I wanted to see up close as they make their way down the Triple Crown Trail. Chief among them of course was Eskendereya. Now I was awfully privileged to be in the paddock many times throughout the afternoon, mostly catching up with friends, and I kept hearing some of the guys talking about what this horse looked like, and how calm he was back in the detention barn. My curiosity was definitely peaked by the time the great chestnut strode into the paddock himself.



He is an awesome looking animal. My pictures do not do justice to him at all. Please go look up Barbara Livingston’s pics, or Tod Marks, or Deborah Tracy-Kral’s those fine photographers all know how to make the pictures that capture his brilliance. And he is indeed a brilliant animal. Now whether brilliant on a cold Saturday in April will translate to brilliant on a warmer (hopefully) first Saturday in May, is anyone’s guess. As Jeanne and I stood in the paddock and watched the Wood entries parade past my eye kept being drawn to Eskendereya. Oddly, and this was mentioned among many knowledgeable folks, there are an unusually high number of dark chestnuts in this year’s three year old crop, and believe me, Awesome Act is gorgeous as was Carnivore. But the sheer bulk and presence carried forth by Eskendereya, it simply took my breath away. Gone with my breath were any thoughts of a horse from Scrappy’s time that was as daunting as this colt. My apologies to Mr. Steinbrenner, but Bellamy Road has nothing on this guy.



The horses were joined with their jockeys and I will forever recall the big grin that Johnny Velazquez is emanating in the only picture I took of them in the paddock. Surely he had that grin later as well, but I didn’t get to capture it. Jeanne and I went up and watched from right behind the finish line. Since it’s a race longer than a mile the gate was there as well. We watched as the six entrants stepped forward to the gate, some more readily than others, and the chills rushed up my spine once more as the gates popped and out came some serious racehorses.



Again, the race can be seen on Youtube, so I won’t bother with the play by plays. At the end, as it was the last time I stood on the same spot, a gigantic superstar rose to the occasion and came home with open daylight back to the closest competitor. I have experienced that thrill, and I know that the grin won’t leave your face for days. The smile lines I have that are fast turning to powerful wrinkles were well earned and are still very much appreciated. I don’t care how old I look; the age is going to be defied by the amazing memories that brought the smile of a champion moment to life. Todd Pletcher’s grooms, assistants, and the rest of the gang are gonna age like me too! Their smiles were broad, their pride evident and that all important glow of hope of the possibilities to come was all encompassing.



And so with some reluctance I once again left the Empire state and returned home to the quiet Pennsylvania countryside. Today Easter has come, but sadly not mom’s amazing stash of candy. I am headed out soon to attend the Brandywine Point to Point. More timber races, less televisions, but the same spirits of hope, glory and brilliance might still be captured here. I’ll have my camera on one arm, and a horse on the other. How better to spend an Easter Sunday than to resurrect my smile lines.



~Emily

A flash back to 2005, the night before the Wood Memorial

It's been five years, this fact alone just staggers me. Five years ago tonight I wrote the following and posted it to the Chronicle of the Horse forums. You all may or may not know that during Scrappy's run to the 2005 Triple Crown, I was posting stories of life on the track and more specifically the behind the scenes moments with my part in the Scrappy T story. For months I did this on the bulletin board. I don't think I'd have thought to call it blogging, but in a way it was.


So anyway, now we have come a full five years down the road from the night that the following was written. I'll try to write the "part 2" of it all tomorrow. It should be more than a bit fitting because tomorrow I am returning to Aqueduct to watch this year's running of the Wood Memorial. I'm excited to again be where the action is, even if it's only for a single day. My attention will be fixed solely on all the glorious 3 year olds who are going to be under the media spotlight as time is running out to make the all important graded stakes earnings to qualify for a spot in the derby starting gate.

But tomorrow is tomorrow. So I'll leave the story here as the night before, in this version, it's 2005. The horse looking to be the only sure thing was Bellamy Road. And he was on Wood day, but he wasn't at Churchill.

So on with the story:

There are just some stories that should be told. Maybe not for a good cause, hopefully not to flaunt, but rather to allow outsiders in to a moment so special that you would feel absolutely remiss if you didn’t allow others who can appreciate it in. And so lies the reasons for this post.

It’s the night before the Wood Memorial. I am sitting in a hotel room. I have just had dinner with my grandparents, in town to root our horse on. I am relaxed and calm considering the day and the events that lie before me tomorrow.

The horse I love, the 3 yr old who I have been riding off and on since last August has developed into an accomplished enough mount that he is running in tomorrow’s premier east coast Triple Crown prep. Even typing that makes my mouth dry. And yet the things I said last year still hold true. No matter what he will remain a winner in my book. Yet in 24 hours much of America’s racing fans will also be allowed to judge for themselves just how good he is.

Now he doesn’t have an easy task. Top horses from California, Florida, New York trained by Hall of Fame trainers are out there ready to prove that he’s not as ready for the race as they are. Every one of his 7 opponents could defeat him. But then this has been the case in every race he’s ever run. And his worst finish ever has been a 3rd in his last stakes. Not bad, no matter what level you run in.

His name is Scrappy T. His sire is Fit to Fight. His mother is Perpetual Light. And he is a big ol goofball. :-) He loves peppermints, enjoys nibbling on my jacket and will occasionally try to step on my toe as I lead him to see if I am paying attention.

He’s as ready as he can be. All the details are done. My outfit for the walk to the paddock has been altered and is clean. I spoke briefly to the NBC reporters today, and tomorrow from 4-6pm we’ll be there. Where I usually sit and watch nestled in my sofa with my dogs, instead I’m going to be a very small part of one moment of racing history.

I feel so mixed up and jumbled. I am proud, worried, scared, thrilled and most of all, happy to see him accomplish the goals the owner and trainer have excellently prepared him for. Robbie is a great trainer and an amazing person. He’s just the most normal laid back guy. To see him accomplish this has also been thrilling. He deserves this success and all the highs that come with it.

The people who work behind the scenes on him, from his groom Benny who adores him more than he lets on to Benny’s wife, Minerva who is our hotwalker and who plays with him in her spare time. To Julie and Ricky who are working hard down in Maryland now, but those two were the brave first ones to ride him at Colonial last year. (And believe me the word brave is an understatement) So many people hold this horse in their hearts. We all believe in him and know that no matter where he finishes, in our hearts he’ll forever be a star.

I know we all ‘know’ there’s a lot more support crew to every horse we see on tv and in the races. I hope that this brief moment of reflection gave you a little insight into what one cog in the wheel thinks right before a big day.

I am going to go to bed knowing that while it may seem big, tomorrow is just another day. Our horses need to be ridden, fed, wrapped and groomed. The stalls will need cleaning everyday and the glories and failures are merely moments caught in time. The continuity of caring for and riding these guys and gals is far more exciting than the momentary high we’re all caught in now. Here’s to a great race, and all the horses coming back safe.

As I say to the jocks everytime,

“Have fun, be safe, come home”

~Emily

(Pics courtesy of Charles Mann ©2005-2010, www.cmannphoto.com)