Christmas on Horseback

Photo By Hubertushof

In 2008, my family and I moved to Vienna, Austria, where we lived for two years. I soon found a small barn that I liked, and there I started riding a somewhat wild pony, Prince Charming (see left). He was a ton of fun, but he would take off all the time with me on his back and just run. He may have been small, but he could run. Just the tiniest noise or movement would set him off; I would feel him scoop his hind legs under himself and then he was gone. We would race around and around the arena, he never getting tired and me secretly enjoying the thrill of the speed. We made a good pair.

Around Christmas every year, the barn would put on a Christmas show. There would be cookies and hot apple cider, lots of people all in good spirits. The riders would participate in Quadrilles, sometimes in twos, fours, tens. That's right, tens. For one quadrille, all the kids from the barn would participate on their ponies. We would ride simple patterns to cheery Christmas music, all dressed in shades of red and green. This quadrille was always the highlight as well as the most chaotic part of the day.

I, of course, rode Prince Charming. The crowd and music would drive him crazy. We all had to go at the same speed, and the other ponies all trotted along at a comfortable pace. I was sitting on top my little one pulling on the reins as hard as I could, doing everything in my power to keep him from exploding. It would work, until someone in the crowd laughed too hard or another pony sneezed. Prince Charming would tear off, causing half the other ponies to do the same. Pretty soon the whole arena was filled with galloping ponies and terrified kids. Our trainer would have to step in and bring everybody back to order, and we would exit the arena as fast as we could. The crowd. of course, loved it, and there was no doubt in anybody's mind that the same quadrille would be performed the next year. To tell the truth, I miss it
.

From Sunny Skies to Snowy Rides

I'm always cold. I'll be at the barn at 8 am shivering in my down jacket, complaining about how freezing I am. People laugh and say that I live in Southern California, I don't even know what cold is. That's where they're mistaken.

When I was ten, my parents and I moved to Vienna, Austria. We hadn't even moved into our new apartment yet when I started barn hunting. It didn't take long until I found the perfect place; The kids were nice, the teacher was great, and the horses were fun. It didn't seem all that different from the barn I came from.

Photo from Wikimedia Commons

Needless to say, our first winter in Austria came as a bit of a shock to me. At first, I loved the cold. I loved the rain and the snow. My barn had two indoor arenas, so I didn't see how it could be a problem. After about a month, however, I started missing California's blue skies and sunshine.

Riding in the cold presented more challenges than I expected. Grooming and tacking up was made difficult by the fact that my fingers were numb, and I could hardly hold on to a hoof-pick let alone actually pick a horse's feet. The horses were always frisky in the cold, and the loud noise of raindrops on the tin roof of the arena didn't do much to calm them down. Every now and then a crack of thunder would ring through the sky, causing all the horses in the arena to take off galloping in different directions.

That wasn't even the worst part though. The worst part was getting off. Your body would generally warm up pretty quickly riding. That is, every part of your body except for your toes. I remember dismounting my pony and trying so hard to land gently on the floor. Every now and then, however,  I would swing off with too much force, and land hard, right on my toes. I remember feeling sure every time that happened that that was it - one of my toes had fallen off. My eyes would fill with tears and I would bite my lip in pain. Then it would go away, just like that. I would later on discover that all my ten toes were still, in fact, all attached.

The hardships of that day were soon forgotten, and an hour later I was already looking forward to my lesson the next day.

Love At First Sight

Exactly one year and two days ago, I was sitting in an airplane on a direct flight from LAX to Amsterdam.

Meeting Esso

Ever since I started riding, I wanted a horse of my own. For seven years, every Christmas and every birthday, a horse was always the top item on my wish list. My parents, however, made it clear to me that a horse of my own would not be a part of my immediate - and even not so immediate - future. That is, until about a year and a half ago. Around that same time I started riding with my current trainer, Kristina Harrison. When my parents told her that we were looking to buy a horse, she immediately suggested that we fly to Holland, and find a horse there through international Grand Prix rider Bert Rutten.

So, there I was, about half a year later, anxiously awaiting my arrival in Amsterdam. When the plane finally did land, my dad, who happened to be near Amsterdam on a business trip, picked me up from the airport. We drove to our hotel in Weert where we would be spending the next two nights, dropped off our luggage, and headed straight to Bert's stables. There we met up with Krisi who had arrived in Holland about one week before I did. She immediately told me about this amazing horse she had in mind for me - talented, willing, and good-natured. Oh, and there was just one other little thing she thought I should know. Esso was three years old, and had only been under saddle for sixty days.

We weren't looking to buy a baby, but Esso and I were a perfect match. It was love at first sight. He was the first horse I rode in Holland, and might as well have been the last. It's been a year since I got Esso and not a day has gone by that I don't feel like the luckiest girl in the world to have him.

A Small Girl With a Big Horse: How It All Began

About ten years ago, my mom and a friend, who also has a daughter my age, went on a walk to the San Pascual Stables in the Arroyo. They sat down on some rocks and watched the goings on of the barn, when my mom's friend wondered aloud whether we (her daughter and I) might decide to take up riding one day. My mom replied that I better not, it's much too expensive of a sport.

Two years later I took my first riding lesson, at no place other than the San Pascual Stables. I rode there for three years (until my family moved to Austria) with "Cowboy Dave", my first trainer. Before I mounted my horse for my first lesson, Dave held up his closed fist for me to see. That, he told me, is how big a horse's brain is. Dave would tell me this over and over again. He encouraged me to not be afraid of the horses, constantly reminding me that while they might be a whole lot bigger than me, I'm still a whole lot smarter than them.

I immediately fell in love with riding. I started taking more and more lessons, spending as much time at the barn as I could. After three years of jumping I discovered my passion for dressage, and I haven't looked back since. I go to the stables almost every day, and am working as hard as I can to become a professional rider. My mom, despite her former aversion to the sport, is now my number one supporter, right next to me every step of the way.