Saturday night...a really long, rewarding day, and in many ways one worth remembering. I've been sitting here pondering for a while, just returning from the Cheshire point to point cocktail party after another successful foray watching others eat and drink some scrumptious food. I'm loathe to say it's getting easier, because the first hour was anything but...hands in the pocket, lots of talking and even more listening seem to have done the trick. Better write that down for future reference...
Back to my pondering. I spent this morning riding alone with my trusty ipod, singing like only I can. Ahem. It was one of those mornings you just can't help but looooooooooooooooooove. Cold spring morning with bright sun, frisky horses. I took one of my young horses out for our 2nd to last day of foxhunting, and Snuff was great. What got me to thinking later in the day was a question posed to me by an older gent...he asked me if I was going to succeed my father as fieldmaster, whenever that day might come. Of course I had no answer, since it certainly isn't my decision. Fieldmaster is the person who leads the entire group of folks on horses, and it is an important position to hold. The fieldmaster decides where everyone goes, has to understand what the hounds are doing, where they're going, oftentimes before one can truly tell...a good fieldmaster is kind of like a great referee; you hardly notice what they're doing. And a great fieldmaster is one who can keep up with hounds when they are running (chasing the fox) without making a wrong decision about how exactly to do that...believe me, it ain't easy. Fortunately for me, Dad is just about the best anyone has ever seen. A tremendous part of my knowledge about riding and life with horses has come from following Dad the past 30 years. When I was at the cocktail party, I couldn't help but notice the age of everyone, and how I'm still one of the younger ones in the local horse community even at the age of 39...at any rate, what has been percolating in me since driving home is the passing of years.
When I was little, my sister and I would take our ponies or horses out hunting and simply have a blast...running and jumping, never knowing what was coming next. The rush of jumping fences you wouldn't dream of doing on your own, surrounded by others, the inexplicable adrenaline rush you get when you have no idea what is around the next corner and under what circumstances you'll get there...will someone cut you off, jump in front of you, FALL in front of you, will two horses converge side by side just as they jump smack in front of you, thus robbing you of any view...for a kid with a great pony, a little bit of guts and tons of trust, it was nirvana. Naturally, I didn't know it at the time. I grew up thinking this was simply life. As the years passed, my life as a steeplechase jockey began to supplant foxhunting, as did the all the many ups and downs every Saturday. A good days foxhunting when I was growing up was often like riding two or three races in a day, and it was the perfect breeding ground to riding races, but as racing took more and more of my time, when I did manage to get back out hunting I couldn't help but notice a subtle shift in my experience. Granted, I never once forgot how amazing three or four hours with your horse out hunting can be so damn exhilarating. The shared moments of fences jumped well, or poorly, of holes just avoided stepping in, the agility courses in paths through the woods, jumping off banks or simply walking along out in nature among some of the most breathtaking countryside I've ever seen, ten feet from deer, a hawk peering down his beek at you from just above, 200 year old Sycamores proudly manning their solitary post. As the years went by, though my heart never took for granted all these wonderful things, my mind began seeing pieces of decay...fences we once jumped old and tattered, now too delicate to risk breaking. A line fence, enough room for five to jump together, by far the most fun and challenging, replaced by smaller chicken coops with room for two but jumped mostly single file, by far the most dreary experience on a horse. Folks getting older, a little less brave, the land slowly but surely shrinking in to smaller parcels fully equipped with some functional fence for one but nary a post and rail to be found. I kept noticing what I saw as deficiencies, of a standard I cut my teeth on diminishing such I found myself wondering if anyone got goosebumps anymore, if anyone relished those moments where your butt puckered and you had an instant of doubt before jumping/dodging/surviving whatever was rapidly coming upon you. I could see those moments becoming increasingly rare. And it made me sad. Melancholy. Just as I know I was born to ride a horse, my life has prepared me to one day follow Dads footsteps. For years all I could think of was how our precious countryside has been allowed to become average and mediocre. We don't have a Mrs. Hannum to pay for miles of post and rail fences. And almost as importantly, we haven't had anyone acknowledge the importance of a days hunting being a challenge and ensure that it remains so...Wouldn't you know it, a part of me has always kept a running tab on how to do it. The stark reality, though, is the painful reminder I'm the exception on the back of a horse. I don't say this with the slightest hint of hubris or ego, for I know deep in my heart and my bones I am nothing more than a reflection of hundreds of amazing horses. It was said in the last century a person had a talent for something. Not that he or she is talented, but they have a talent. And though I do indeed have a talent to understand what a horse is thinking, I can't take credit for it. It is simply a part of who I am. I didn't buy it, discover it buried in a hidden forest, nor conjur it out of thin air. If there is any pride in this talent, it is merely in my willingness to use it every second I'm with a horse. Time and again you'll see someone riding a horse as if they're driving a car. Frankly, it drives me batty. Why on earth would you even care to ride a horse if you're not interested in experiencing it WITH the horse?!?! And the harsh reality is today most people out riding/racing/eventing/foxhunting are doing it while missing out on the best part...having the best seat imaginable watching/feeling/understanding what your horse just did. To spend your days so close to a horse, to first help him navigate and understand and then to trust him implicitly is beyond measure. I'm old for a jockey. Really quite old. I've pondered finally hanging up the boots for six months now...and my young horse Snuff had me dreaming about winning the English Grand National in three years time this afternoon. Plotting how to get there. Imagining how we would do it. It was so real and vivid you might think I'd been smoking funnybush. Not being a parent denies me knowing this for sure, but I'd swear any mother or father who even has the slightest inkling of joining a young horse in his journey through life would agree it is much like having a child and raising it. It is what makes for a life well lived. Hell, me'thinks it's even better because in my case I'm right on their back while they're doing it!!!!!
So I sit here and I wonder. I wonder if 30 years from now I will have succeeded in ensuring people get goosebumps while out foxhunting. I wonder if I could handle being shouted down for wanting to do so. I wonder if there is a way to allow the older folks to age gracefully while bringing back bigger fences so the younger ones can have experiences like the ones I grew up with. I wonder if I'll help some 12 year old start to see life the way I do now, if I can sow the seed of trust so it may reap looking forward to the unknown, not fearing it...or if life on the back of a horse as I've known it will become nothing more than an old mans memory.
I'm so torn, in so many ways. To have a talent and let it go to waste is shameful, and for the last 20 years I've used it so many times it feels a part of my breath...but to share it? Share it when some don't even want it? Do I continue on or do I allow the spiritual journey with a different community to become the central focus of my life? Is there another magical National Velvet movie to be made, or has the time come and gone...mercy do these thoughts wreak havoc on my mind. I see my 75 year old father justly revered for leading so many on countless days of joy and wonder what my 75 year old fate will be.