Equestrian Network Magazine

Intimate conversations

by Ellyn Schumacher

"I'm going to do it again, that was awful," I said.

"No!" she replied, "don't punish the horse for your mistake. Go on, put you and your horse together and then try again, when you have a chance to do it better."

I've been taking English "dressage" lessons for many years and this was new information. Past instructors had drilled me to "do it again, still not right, do it again" sometimes until I was so tired I couldn't hold the reins.

After this lesson, my instructor's eyes showed her surprise when I shared my revelation. She patiently explained that the transition was poor because the horse wasn't prepared and my aids were unclear. Repeating a transition badly without clear aids was unfair to the horse, and something he could interpret as punishment. Especially a very well-trained horse who knew the difference. This new understanding was another step in a path to a horsemanship that I'd never dreamed existed for me.

I came home with a different view of life and a decision not to make lack of talent an excuse.

I had met Creeky Routson while scribing for her at dressage shows. We developed a good rapport and after a few years, I gathered up the courage to ask if I might take lessons with her. "When can you come?" was her reply!

I showed up the following weekend planning to demonstrating my capabilities, but her retired FEI horse Legend had other ideas. Like any great schoolmaster, he relentlessly did exactly what I asked, which was rarely what I thought I was asking. We both struggled with my limited abilities, but only one of us was discouraged. Legend didn't mind my suffering and always seemed to be kindly thinking "eventually, you'll get it." Legend has passed on and I remember his patience with much fondness. His successor, Cloud, is more serious about his duties and less patient with my shortcomings.

I continued to scribe and develop my intellectual understanding of dressage. I enlisted the help of everyone I met, including Hilda Gurney, dressage's legendary "hardest working woman." Over lunch, Hilda lectured me about the importance of having a sound horse with a good mind and one that was suitable to the rider. She admitted that many people seemed to do just fine at first level without a solid command of their bodies or riding skills, but asked me if I would be happy at first level for the rest of my life. I said "Well, I'd be happy to GET to first level!"

"Come to Keenridge," she replied.

It was exciting, it was frightening, but with Creeky's support, it happened. I spent a week at Hilda's barn taking twice-daily lessons with her and her equine teaching partners. When I wasn't riding I watched her ride or teach her regular students from grand prix competitors to other training level strugglers. I came home with a different view of life and a decision not to make lack of talent an excuse.

I saw a photo of a horse for sale. While Creeky believed the right horse at this point in my riding would be an experienced and well-trained horse, she relented and we agreed on a training plan for the youngster, a young mare named Persephone, who would change my life.

My semi-monthly 120-mile round trip commute doubled to weekly visits to watch the progress Creeky made with Persey. When she was safe for a novice to handle, the young mare and her trainer taught me what they'd been working on that week. It was my introduction to groundwork, something I'd never spent much time on. It was also my introduction to what Creeky calls "intimate conversations."

Photos by Creeky Routson

When it was my turn to work with Persey, Creeky showed me how we would let her know that I was the one to talk to now. Subduing all of her other movements, Creeky handed the lead line to me. I was to be quiet with my voice and body and take the lead line firmly, receiving the attention of my horse.The procedure had the simplicity and formality of a tea ceremony in which intention guides the smallest of actions.

Experienced horsewomen and men know that this is a special hello, one that says "we're going to talk only to each other right now, with everything we have." It is the initiation of a day's intimate conversation.

At the same time I began learning about groundwork with my young horse, Creeky was determined to develop my skills in the saddle. The earlier work with Creeky had prepared me for the intense experience I had at Keenridge, and the work with Hilda provided the push I needed to firmly solidify changes in my body. The two instructors turned out to be perfect compliments, their values and approaches, even their phrases, dovetailing in a way that left no room for confusion in my mind. My weekly commute doubled to twice-weekly and I made plans to return to southern California in a few months for another intense session.

Hilda had echoed Creeky's statement that "You can't talk and ride" and when I opened my mouth to object, she left no room for ambiguity saying "Ride or leave the arena."

Intimate conversations with a horse have no room for ambiguity, either. As I stopped trying to explain to my instructors, I realized that clear explanations to my horse required not only my complete attention, but also better body control. Riding only a few times a week was not getting me strong enough to "whisper", and Cloud had very definite opinions about my shouting.

"He's rushing because you're gripping with your legs," Creeky translated for me. "You're shouting at him! He needs you to be QUIET."

I went to the gym with a different attitude. Instead of going through the motions, I got serious about my form and balance in all exercises. I pushed harder, not just to lose weight, but to develop more control over myself.

I also started to watch more riding lessons. One session in particular stands out in my mind. Within moments of starting the lesson, the horse leaped several feet in the air. The rider was a brave man and didn't seem very upset. He continued on and started talking about what just happened. Creeky stopped him. She asked him to stop the horse, which he did, gathering the reins and moving off again. I nodded to myself "Right! Before he can find something else to leap at!"

"No," she said, as if in response to my thought. "Stop him. Stand and let him think about what happened for a minute. Horses need to learn to calm themselves. To be a successful eventer, your horse needs to learn to calm himself so he can refocus."

As the three of them worked together, observers could see the horse beginning to settle more quickly and explode less frequently. The rider, not only brave but smart and attentive, was able to quickly change his response. Pleased, he left the arena smiling, "I thought I'd just have to wait for him to grow out of that," he said. "Wow!"

"Another intimate conversation established," I thought.

This pursuit of intimate conversations is also what led to the most fulfilling time on a horse I've ever had. Several weeks ago I experienced minutes of existence where the line between me and the horse I was riding was so blurred I didn't know where the tips of my fingers ended and the skin of his lips began. Surely there was leather between my seat and his back, and some between my legs and his sides, but it melted away. For a few minutes I experienced an inter-connectedness that was joyful and timeless. I had always held the achievement of harmony as the epitome of riding experience, but I thought I'd have to wait for it to come to me, in its own time.

As it turned out, learning how to initiate and participate in an Intimate conversation was what made those moments of harmony possible. Intimate conversations are created by attentiveness, focus, and quite a bit of very hard work. I can't imagine anything more worth the effort. I am humbled and grateful and inspired. Thank you, Creeky. Thank you, Cloud.

Note: My deepest thanks too, to all the instructors whose hard work, patience, and dedication got me to a place where I could even fathom the ideas so recently learned.

Photos by Creeky Routson

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