horses, kitty cats, puppy dog, birds

An exciting, satisfying, gratifying, relaxing, and wonder-filled time in southern Quebec this past weekend. June and I (check engine light on) travelled north of the border to visit with Jane and her excellent 'family' of hoofed, pawed, and clawed beings.

For those who don't know, I've generally been frightened and awed by horses. Jane tells me that horses can see through our masks. Perhaps I know this intuitively and freak out because I can't fake my way into their hearts. I think it also has something to do with history. I had the delight of growing up with an obstinate pony named Dusty who took perverse pleasure in hurting small children. On top of that, our family owned a few high strung Thoroughbreds who similarly had little patience for awkward youths. If you've ever considered getting your children involved with horses, please follow the advice of Jane: have them take lessons for a few years, get them involved with horse care at a nearby farm, and then, when they're 16 or older, go halfsies, maybe.

Horses, even moreso that doggies, need a great deal of space, knowledge, time, energy, training, and care. And they need other horses. They're a herding animal, right? So many of us, particularly women, are drawn to horses. I could share my thoughts on why this is but it would probably just give you unnecessary insights into my own psyche and neuroses. I'm grateful for people like Jane who have put their passion, time, and energy into really being with horses so as to provide a link and access point for the rest of us.

Case in point: Yesterday the sky turned black in the middle of the afternoon and a torrential system moved across the skies and accosted the farm and surrounding area. The horses came in from the fields to seek protection. Jane opened the door to the indoor arena and we all came together under one roof (8 adult horses, 2 foals, 2 women, 2 cats, 1 dog). The air was electric and the winds and rain unleased on the outside walls of the arena. The horses started moving and I could feel myself holding my breath, my eye to the exit. Some nicked and kicked at each other, some rose up on their hind legs, some raced around shaking their heads, whinnying. Jane sat calmly and quietly on a white plastic chair near the middle with the 2 cats on her lap. My eyes were saucers and I kept my body close to the open door in the event of needing to escape. I played with relaxing. I played with re-establishing my ground underneath me. I played with how much power and energy there was in one enclosed area. I liken it to sitting on a surfboard, looking out to sea, watching the building and collapsing of 30 foot waves rolling towards me. I wanted to surrender and simply enjoy this much energy so close. Part of me stayed present and part of me felt compelled to disassociate a bit to moderate the arousal and fear in my system.

While my natural horsemanship skills leave much to be desired, as the weekend progressed I felt noticeably more at ease moving around the horses. And for the most part, the horses were very patient as I learned. I am remembering a suggestion I offer to parents who struggle with holding their ground around their rebellious teenagers: "Don't pretend to be something you're not. Name your experience, own it, make contact with it. Don't make it your child's job to fix how you're feeling. Then you can find your ground from that place of authenticity. And don't stop breathing!"

Thank you, Jane, for sharing your gifts with me.