Looking Back

I want to take some space to describe my history as a horse lover from where I started the journey that got me here and is taking me where I’m going. I haven’t always ridden dressage, and the majority of my years of equine education were far from classical. I share this backstory not only to introduce myself and my background, but also to show the importance of learning and openness– we always have more to learn and it’s just as valuable to know what you don’t want to do as what you do. Horses still teach me every day how much more learning I have to do. 

All my life, I’ve had a fascination with horses. Even before I began taking riding lessons at age 6, I was enthralled by the care and training of horses. My grandfather on my mother’s side got a miniature horse named Tidbit and her two babies Lila and Daisy for the three grandchildren. I was obsessed with  grooming and loving on these little horses, making sure they understood what was being asked and that they were comfortable. My family’s biannual trips to Oma and Papa’s farm in Tennessee were some of my favorite times throughout childhood. I savored the freedom and open space and time to be present in nature with a growing herd of tiny horses that I would train one by one. 

Celebrating Christmas with Tidbit the miniature horse

Training Honey to lead

The miniature herd

I grew up in Connecticut, where my mom first enrolled me in riding lessons at a prominent hunter/jumper barn. While typically the ponies were tacked and ready to go for lessons, I insisted on grooming and tacking up myself, as I wanted to learn everything I possibly could and stretch out the time at the barn as long as I could. I lingered and asked questions and watched and breathed with the horses in their stalls. The value of those precious moments with the horses has not faded, and to this day I still groom and tack every horse I train. The horses had so much more to say and to offer than what I heard in my riding lessons.

Before long, I was on the show team, traveling with my favorite pony Whisper all over Connecticut and New England collecting ribbons. A few mothers and trainers came to my mom during these first couple years, already commenting about how good I’d be at dressage. They complimented my balanced seat and light hands. At the time, neither my mother nor I really knew what dressage was, other than some kind of dance with horses. To my limited exposure at this point, I judged dressage as artificial and strange, and didn’t look into it just yet. Of course, our impressions of dressage were limited to the competitive dressage that was often televised and in my young equestrian magazines, and was just that– artificial and strange, not to mention becoming increasingly cruel and counter-intuitive, but perhaps that’s for another post.

Showing Walk-Trot on Whisper

After a couple of years of hunter flat classes and year end ceremonies, I was ready for a different barn. Already, I was more interested in training and horsemanship than I was competing. We wanted to move away from the fancy show barn with immaculate untouched pastures, gaudy as golf courses while the ponies stood in their dark stalls, moving only to be ridden and bathed.

I soon discovered dressage and eventing and the world of green horses. I leased my first pony, Wee WIlly Winky (aka Willy) who taught me to use my seat and redirect urges to rush jumps. We showed low hunters and introductory dressage together, already scoring in the mid 70s together for my first dressage tests. I rode other horses– some that would not stop, others that would not go, some who wouldn’t turn or who yanked the reins from my fingers.

Wee Willy Winky, my first lease

Before long people were asking me to school their horses and I got my first training gigs from horse owners and other farms who had heard about me. My incredible mother would drive me from barn to barn after school so I could work with as many horses as possible. These early days of training began when I was 8 years old.

Janny— early training gig

At age 10 I was ready for my first project pony. I was determined to find a very green pony and train him myself. I found Sir William, a 7 year old Welsh/Hackney cross backyard pony whose little girl decided she preferred softball over horses, soon after he was started under saddle for her. Sir William was admitted to a local lesson program and was promptly kicked out for bucking off all the students. He was perfect!

My first ride on Sir William was full of bucking and giggling and a sprawl of pony legs. He jumped like a deer. My parents were brave enough to buy him for me. Sir William was a wiggly gumby  who shied from his own shadow, but was immeasurably sweet, loving, and willing. He taught me to use my breath to invite him to breathe and ground the two of us as one, through his hooves in the sand. He taught me how much leg and where would get me different types of movement. I trained him through second level dressage, dabbling in third,  and schooled training level eventing.

Sir William jumping

This was a pony my trainers said would never learn to tuck his legs over a jump. I was encouraged to go shopping for warmblood sporthorses with one, but I was already more interested in developing horses of any shape, size, or perceived ability to their full potential. I wasn’t as interested in the horses that were bred with naturally showy movements.

“Dressage is there for the horse, the horse is not there for dressage. Our way of training should add to the horse’s health, well-being, happiness and overall quality of life.”

— Craig Patterson

In this period of my life, from ages 10-14, I received my premier dressage education from very skilled trainers, and while I grew my skills to perform leg yield, shoulder in, to extend and collect down to baby half steps, there were moments in my lessons where I really questioned the process. I was told to collect the horse by driving with my leg into closed hands, catching the energy with my squeezing fingers. Wasn’t that just a fancy way of saying to kick and pull at the same time? Looking back, my intuition was right, no matter what technical disciplinary jargon we want to put on it. This was training by compression and submission, and my little fingers wouldn’t hold it. There were so many things I chose not to do in those lessons, but I didn’t know of any alternatives to progress this dance I was being taught called dressage.

And so my questioning of modern dressage began. I was told to “play” with the reins to get the horse into a frame. Didn’t that mean pulling on the bit from side to side onto the horse’s tongue? Wasn’t that uncomfortable, and wasn’t the round neck just an evasion of pressure? 

Sir William at a dressage schooling show

In 2013 my family, Sir William included, moved to Tennessee where two of Papa’s miniature horses kept him company. When I outgrew Sir William, I reluctantly began teaching riding lessons on him– I didn’t want uneducated little kids ruining my training. I didn’t want my fancy pony to be annoyed or confused by their newly developing aids. But I managed to make it work, enforcing a strict rule that my students had to ride without reins until they mastered the rest of their bodies enough not to abuse the hand. I insisted that they do everything without reins and stirrups before moving forward, both to protect my pony and teach my students to be responsible, accountable riders who relied on their own stability. I developed a successful lesson and summer camp program at Red-Wing Meadow Farm.

Sir William as a lesson pony

I found my next horse, who I named Sage– a huge 18hh (17.3 at the time when his withers hadn’t emerged with a boost from his thoracic sling), Appaloosa/Quarter Horse/Thoroughbred cross with a career in preliminary level eventing. I spent my first four years with him fine tuning my dressage and delving deeper into eventing. As I got to know him better, his anxieties and traumas from earlier in life began to show up. I discovered that he had whip and lunging anxiety, and he broke away from my teenage hands many times. He was often behind the vertical and gave me the illusion of lightness, or was frustratingly stiff in dressage. In cross country he was sometimes a speed demon and other times slow motion. 

Sage running cross country

What I learned was that he was often not in his body, and no amount of fine tuning could adjust him to find comfort and true lightness. My skills in modern dressage– the only dressage I knew up to that point– were not what was needed to ground him and develop healthy patterns in his mind and body. Celie Weston, an incredible trainer specializing in classical dressage and horsemanship, reached out to me on Linked In and we chatted over the phone about Sage. I eventually took her online courses and discovered the philosophy of lightness. Also in this period, I was introduced to Phillipe Karl in an online horse convention and was deeply enthused that the many of the modern dressage principles I had questioned earlier in life were in fact against the biomechanical nature of the horse, and that there was a classical alternative. I began educating myself in classical principles of training. I came to the conclusion that my horse was not happy and what I had been taught previously was no longer working. It was time to start over. Classically.

I did tons of body work, and on his good days began riding Sage in the round pen bareback and bridleless. I found my seat and my trust and abandoned hands and legs for  a moment so that Sage could reconnect with me at my core. I began bitless riding and reintroduced the bit at his pace, with his permission, teaching him to self bridle. It was his choice to wear the bit and not something I would impose anymore. From that point I taught jaw flexions, lifting half halts, and neck extensions from the ground. I watched Sage’s mind and body transform. My saddle fitter had to widen the gullet of his custom saddle 3x that year, as for the first time, Sage developed his trapezius and the supportive space between shoulder and ribcage began to expand.

Sage coming into his body after restarting

When I began riding with the bit, I paused and performed lifting half halts and jaw flexions frequently, and insisted on an open throatlatch. My new baseline contact was the weight of the rein, and nothing more. It was so hard letting go of the harder habits I’d been taught, but Sage was patient and kept me motivated on healing and rebuilding ourselves together. I rebalanced his body through careful gymnastics. I rebuilt his sense of trust and attunement through extensive groundwork and time just being together without asking anything at all. Sage egged on my appetite to learn better horsemanship. He transformed from an anxious, flighty horse to a calm one that looked to me for guidance and security.

Fun with Sage

In March 2021, I started Equine Connection Freelance Training here in Kentucky while finishing the final semester of my psychology degree at Centre College. Each horse and human I work with teaches me something more, and always will– the more I learn, the more I know I have yet to learn. I’m devoted to training that benefits the health and happiness of the horse– I want horses to be able to balance their bodies with and without a rider. To be able to easily roll and get up and down well into old age. I want to develop horses who tell us when they hurt and feel safe enough to show us how we can help. I couldn’t have gotten here without all my trainers over the years, some of whom showed me what I know I don’t want to do with horses anymore, and others who were true role models. I’m grateful for them all.  

“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”

― Maya Angelou

Read something that piqued your interest and want to hear more? Suggest a topic for future blog posts!