“I used to own a horse” Such a simple sentence but for most people it might as well be said in a foreign language. Not long ago I was speaking with a coworker who grew up in New York City. She is a standard city girl, used to walking everywhere and not big on nature. I casually mentioned the time in my life when I had my own horse. For a second, the atmosphere in the car changed and the look she gave me said it all, “You and I had very different lives.” The truth is she isn’t wrong. We did have very different upbringings but probably not in the way she imagined. I’m sure anyone who isn’t familiar with horse ownership imagines only what they see in movies and on TV. They think I grew up surrounded by girls my own age, all of us rich and well-kept with our fancy riding clothes and our shiny ponies hanging around the barn gossiping and going to big fancy shows together. The reality, my reality anyway, was much different. My family was far from rich. Yes, my father had a good blue-collar job that earned him a good living and my mother’s cleaning business brought in a decent amount, but I was never the kid who was handed everything.

I started riding just like every other hobby, with basically no specialty gear of my own and one semi-private lesson a week. Of course, my mother, being who she is, when it became clear I might stick with this new sport bought me my own helmet since sharing headwear grossed her out. As I grew as a rider and a horse woman, I wanted more riding time. An opportunity became available to work weekends and after school at my barn for more rides and of course I jumped at it. I wasn’t the kid with a lot of money strolling around in my custom tall boots. I was the kid cleaning stalls and grooming horses and riding in a pair of second-hand full chaps. Yes, there were some girls my own age, but we came from different worlds, and they already owned their own horses while I was still begging for rides. I worked in big barns and small volunteered at a handicap riding stable and even taught riding at a summer camp. I would do anything to be around horses and to earn more riding time.

The decision to buy me a horse did not come lightly or quickly. I had been riding and working with horses for four years before my parents decided it was time to consider getting our own horse. If any of us had known back then what we know now about horses I’m sure we wouldn’t even have gone to look at this horse. She was a three-year-old thoroughbred mare off the track and was selling for $1,500. I was a 13-year old with four years riding experience and no earthly idea what it meant to be a horse owner. It was love. She wasn’t shiny and fancy, she was a little gangly with a pretty short tale and a mop of a mane. I didn’t put her in a fancy trailer and take her back to a big show barn either. We loaded her into a 2-horse side by side that was older than I was and barely long enough to fit her, and headed to her new home, a large piece of property owned by an ex police chief. Her stable was a three-sided shed that opened up into a 12-acre pasture where she lived with six to eight other horses in a herd. Everything we did was on a budget.

Yes, I did get the all the tack and equipment I needed to be a legitimate horse person but everything we bought was consignment or on sale and I only ever got the things I needed. My beautiful girl didn’t spend her entire time with me at the same barn but everywhere we went I worked to support her. I was a working student getting other riders ready for their lessons to pay for my own, I taught beginner lessons, and my mother and I both worked cleaning stalls on weekends. Everything I did for the next 5 years revolved around my horse. Sure, I had non-horsey friends and jobs outside of the barn. I played an instrument and worked on the school play but everything took a back seat to her.

The work and the care I put into my mare paid off more than I could have hoped. She taught me patience and compassion and confidence. I, with the help of trainers much more experienced than myself, taught her how to be a show jumper. Even with her rough board upbringing and that fly away mane that never really laid exactly right we caught the eye of a big-time local trainer who trained with one of the greats! Leaving behind my childhood trainer and moving up to ride with her lead me to one of the greatest opportunities of my riding career, I got to ride in a clinic with George Morris. Now if you aren’t a horse person that doesn’t impress you even a little and you can probably skip to the next paragraph. If you know who that is please indulge me while I brag just a little as I tell you that this pair of misfits killed it in front of one of riding’s most notorious trainers. During the jumping portion of our lesson, as I came off the back end of the gymnastic, we were working I heard George Morris say, “This one does it right every time!” Yes, he was probably talking more about the talented creature beneath me but it is still one of the proudest moments of my life!

I think back on my life as a barn rat, the name for girls like me who hang around the barn looking for scraps, and I wouldn’t trade a second of it. I didn’t grow up surrounded by girls my age who all had fancy show ponies, I grew up with people who had worked and struggled to get to where they were. I made friends with horse women much older than me who could teach me how to do this sport as cheaply as possible and then, later, how to turn my love of horses into a career. I met some pretty cool kids while teaching and got some wonderful opportunities thanks to their mothers. I was kicked, bit, and thrown to the ground more times than I can count. I once went through a time when I was helping to train a young gelding where I was so frequently bruised my mother wrote a note to my gym teacher, so she wouldn’t call child protective services! I have had some pretty spectacular falls in front of large groups of people in a show ring. There is even a video of me going over my horse’s head, through the jump rails, and into a water jump! Now that was chilly!

Yes, I had a very different childhood. I was stronger than most boys my age, forget about the girls. I was 15 tossing a 50-pound feed bag up onto my shoulder while my boyfriend and his friend had to carry one together. I was athletic, and tough, and usually smelled faintly of horses. There wasn’t a thing I owned that didn’t have hay or horse hair or mud on it. While other girls my age worked in retail and then hung around the mall after I spent my weekends taking care of horses before showering in a wash stall and heading off to my night job busing tables. I learned the value of hard work and dedication before most people my age had even had their first job. Owning a horse shaped me into the person I am today. Everything I did was for her. My grades couldn’t fall because then I would have to spend less time at the barn and more time studying. Getting in serious trouble wasn’t an option either because getting grounded meant not going out to see my horse. I was by no means a perfect child and some of the trouble I did get into was while I was at the barn but all in all I’d say I turned out more than OK.

So next time you meet someone who grew up with horses don’t make assumptions about their lives. Ask them about their experiences and what it was like to share their childhood with a 1,200-pound playmate. My experiences are just that, mine and they are no better or worse than anyone else’s. Horse people are a special breed. Sometimes crazy, usually passionate, and always smelling faintly of horse.