I
tipped past the half century mark a few years ago, and now (as I sag along), as my equestrian riding years tip closer to that half century mark, I find myself reflecting about their start. I have to laugh at how unassuming and flip about my youth I have always been. My first years as a rider were exactly—yes, I lived the dream. I sincerely hope too that yours were, was, or are, as good as mine was.
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Jeff Wilson and Warnercrest Dandy at the NY Regional Syracuse 1978
years as a rider were exactly—yes, I lived the dream. I sincerely hope too that yours were, was, or are, as good as mine was.
Just today I was wishin' I could just come home, and hop on a horse and go ridin’—through the valley fields again, past the deer grazing and sniffing in the open air, and around that knoll; then, at full gallop, spritz across the river, and finally pause for a minute on the other side, jump down onto the wet gravel and soft mud river bank to wiggle open up the barbed-wire, heifer-fence gate so my fancy horse and I could continue our ride. Reins a flyin’ as we continued to ride, and ride, and ride.
Who gets to do that? I mean, “No worries, just riding the day away!” Oh wait, I still get to do that.
Life had its worries and frustrations as I grow’d up inside ye ‘ole Wilson homestead, so I found my escape to be exactly right on top of ye ole saddle. High-tailed it right out of ‘da drama you might say, heels and elbows f’flyin’. Sad-souled cowboy I wasn’t though.
My list of horses and ponies I rode was lengthy and I rode them all. Paints and Quarter Horses, Appaloosas and Thoroughbreds, Morgans and Arabians, Saddlebreds and Trotters, mutts and ponies. On a dairy farm’s home, you can always find room for another breed, bunch, or sprawl of furry, four-legged friends.
I also always did 4-H. 4-H was a full-tilt experience to do everything you could do in the short season of riding in the Northeast. My 4-H leader was my aunt who could raise up a barn and outdo any tornado doin’ it too. She got things done and you either kept up or got out of the way. She told my pop (her kid brother) I had an announcer’s voice in a conversation one day and that seemed official enough for Dad.
“I do?” I thought. “Well I never knew that before, gosh.” So off to horse-show-announcer-sessions I went. I was the only guy. The hardship. I have a love for so many of those things now that I learned then (I don’t have an announcer’s voice, but I do love to sing). My point is, my feet were firmly planted by the words and actions of the adults around me.
Never underestimate the power of your words in a young mind. You might “speak” something into existence that might never have been realized if you hadn’t had vision and action. Speak something into existence in a young equestrian’s life (or even into an old one’s).
Never underestimate the power of your words in a young mind. You might “speak” something into existence that might never have been realized if you hadn’t had vision and action. Speak something into existence in a young equestrian’s life (or even into an old one’s).
If any of you have watched me perform with my Morgan stallions, you have seen my American flag that I carry. That flag was from my childhood 4-H club, “The Ghost Riders.” It was carried in parades through our NY itty bitty cowtown as a kid in the 60’s and 70’s. I don’t remember if I ever got to carry it then though. I do remember we had some bossy bosses in our club in those days that did. What I mean to say is, I honor my country every time I carry it, but I also honor my riding as a young boy every time I carry it.
If any of you have watched me perform with my Morgan stallions, you have seen my American flag that I carry. That flag was from my childhood 4-H club, “The Ghost Riders.” It was carried in parades through our NY itty bitty cowtown as a kid in the 60’s and 70’s. I don’t remember if I ever got to carry it then though. I do remember we had some bossy bosses in our club in those days that did. What I mean to say is, I honor my country every time I carry it, but I also honor my riding as a young boy every time I carry it.
Once upon a time my father made me try out a Morgan horse. He thought I needed another horse since so many he purchased for me before (from the cattle-dealer and the auction) lemoned out with either soundness issues, training vices, or both. I reasoned then—simply “thee” most important fact and also that I was so insightful and wise enough to know this—that because I was in a (mostly) all American Quarter Horse 4-H club and everyone had that—a Quarter Horse—that a Morgan horse was, and would be, in this teenager’s super exact world, the super exact wrong breed for the demographic at this super exact moment of opinion. Anyway, it was a, “No, Dad,” from me when I tried out the horse, and my hot-shot father had him delivered anyway to our farm because he had vision and action enough to see a finely trained (and bred) horse that his son needed—so his son could perhaps experience horsemanship at another tier, and boom the rest is history, you might say.
Thanks, Dad. You were super exactly right.
"I hope you, and wish you, the best ride of your life comin’ right up! I also hope you, and wish you, the opportunity to speak something into existence into someone’s e-quest-rian experience that needs to hear something inspirational, and that someone gets to be you. You have that superpower too, Wrangler Jane."
—Captain Wilton Parmenter
bosses in our club in those days that did. What I mean to say is, I honor my country every time I carry it, but I also honor my riding as a young boy every time I carry it.
Once upon a time my father made me try out a Morgan horse. He thought I needed another horse since so many he purchased for me before (from the cattle-dealer and the auction) lemoned out with either soundness issues, training vices, or both. I reasoned then—simply “thee” most important fact and also that I was so insightful and wise enough to know this—that because I was in a (mostly) all American Quarter Horse 4-H club and everyone had that—a Quarter Horse—that a Morgan horse was, and would be, in this teenager’s super exact world, the super exact wrong breed for the demographic at this super exact moment of opinion. Anyway, it was a, “No, Dad,” from me when I tried out the horse, and my hot-shot father had him delivered anyway to our farm because he had vision and action enough to see a finely trained (and bred) horse that his son needed—so his son could perhaps experience horsemanship at another tier, and boom the rest is history, you might say.
Thanks, Dad. You were super exactly right.
"I hope you, and wish you, the best ride of your life comin’ right up! I also hope you, and wish you, the opportunity to speak something into existence into someone’s e-quest-rian experience that needs to hear something inspirational, and that someone gets to be you. You have that superpower too, Wrangler Jane."
—Captain Wilton Parmenter
you. You have that superpower too, Wrangler Jane," Captain Wilton Parmenter.