The Southlands Foundation is excited to share stories from the southlands with you!
ANONYMOUS - hYDE PARK, ny
Southlands is a “stage of life” for me. That, perhaps, sounds a bit “deep” but I mean it to be. Two decades of my childhood/young adulthood were spent riding, showing my horse and occasionally hunting with the Rombout Hunt while a student at Netherwood Acres in Pleasant Valley.
My riding instructor, Bob Smith, would occasionally remind all of his riders that we should be appreciative of the surrounding property owners who permitted us the use of their trails - as we explored the land and the apple orchards behind his riding stable.
I left the riding world at the age of 30 to raise my family and to pursue my career. It wasn’t until three decades later when I realized that the wonderful memories of my childhood weren’t quite enough - I wanted to get back on a horse again! My grown sons gifted me a Mother's Day gift of a lesson at Southlands on May 9, 2010 and I was totally hooked!
And so, as I enter this later stage of my life at Southlands, it occurs to me that the stewards of this farm, led by Allison King and all the trusted employees, have spent decades not only caring for the horses but also maintaining the land and buildings so that another generations of children might enjoy all the memories that my parents afforded me. And I have come back so that I, too, can enjoy my “childhood” once more - here at Southlands…
Caro - Rhinebeck, NY
There’s a sentiment amongst horsepeople - it goes something like this:
“If you want to find out who you really are, learn to ride.”
When my husband and I decided to land in Rhinebeck (Fall 2018), the unrealized dream of riding rose to the top of my list. After exploring other facilities, I chose The Southlands. Here are some words that help to explain that decision:
Foundation, Rich History, Stewards of the Land, Stellar Staff, Open to the Public, Pony Camp, Nature Camp, Grow their own Hay, Children and Adults Together, Schooling, Community, Service, Acres of Upstate Land, Forest, Mountain Views.
Now, every.single.time I pull up to the barn, I know that I’ve found my tribe. They are looking after me with patience and humor. After 16 months in this program, I am beginning to put together the intricate details in the application of proper aids while riding a powerful and sentient being. I have also been well schooled in the care and attention to detail required to look after an equine safely and with compassion. In fact, I’ve fallen so hard for this endeavor, that I bought a beautiful bay mare, Coco, who now lives at The Southlands. She and I are in this together but we would certainly be adrift without Allison, Sarah, Michele, Jonathan, Pam, Susie, Manuel, Wicho, Edgar, The Board of Directors and the incredible horsewomen, men and children that I’ve come to love and respect. Friends and teachers, horses and ponies, working hard and playing hard, trying and failing, trying again, succeeding.
I wanted to find out who I really am so I’m learning to ride – At The Southlands.
Savannah - rHINEBECK, Ny
I began riding at Southlands when I attended Summer Pony Camp at 8 years old. Before that I had never ridden a horse, but 6 short years later, I’m now jumping fences as high as 4 feet. I owe thanks to all the trainers I’ve worked with at Southlands during those 6 years, who have each taught me something new and unique. They guided me to my very first champion ribbon so many years ago and have always made sure I use every show and every lesson to learn and better myself. My current trainers, Jonathan and Michele, have recently graduated me from ponies to horses and I’m now learning the skills it takes to handle a more powerful ride.
My overall experience has been so amazing from the ponies and horses; the barn friends, the Southlands team, and all who have helped me meet amazing people and gain unforgettable opportunities along the way. Allison, our Executive Director was the very first person I met at Southlands and she continues to lend her guidance and support to me after all this time. Whenever I go to the barn I feel so much better, no matter how my day was going before that. I can be there for hours and it only feels like 5 minutes!
Southlands is truly a special and beautiful place!
Phil - Rhinebeck, NY
A MOST SPECIAL PLACE
I come from a horsey family and when I was a boy, I had horses and showjumping on the brain. I started riding at our local hunt club and the school bus simply dropped us at the barn where we spent the rest of the day riding and playing. There was a kind of magic to that place—there were kids running around everywhere and we regularly interacted with the barn’s adult clientele. There was even an elderly instructor there who had taught my father when he was a child. We had a lot of group lessons, and trail rides and bareback jumping were a staple of the curriculum. There was a large selection of school horses and ponies to choose from and we all had our favorites. The more serious kids eventually moved up to their own ponies.
It was a stable that placed demands on a child and over time, we were expected to grow into proper young horsemen and women. This was the first time in my life that I can ever recall feeling any sense of responsibility beyond my own immediate self: I had been entrusted with this nice pony and was expected to look after it. It certainly wasn’t a fancy barn and we were required to do much of the work of grooming and tacking up ourselves, but it was a stable that offered unlimited opportunities and a lot of exposure to the horse world. It was the sort of place that could transform a conscientious, hard-working young person into a well-rounded horseman and in the course of six or seven years I received an invaluable, rudimentary kind of education at this most special place.
I moved on to a series of increasingly competitive show barns and eventually trained under two Olympic show jumpers. This was the big time: These barns were immaculate and everything was taken care of for you. You only ever got your hands dirty if you really wanted to and none seemed to want to. We were each assigned our own groom and whatever issue arose, they would take care of it for you. Looking back now from the perspective of an adult, I realize that while it is necessary that show barns project a sheen of professionalism, I believe that by entirely removing any sense of responsibility for the horse from the young rider, something indispensable is lost.
In time, I grew up and left the horse world. My family operated a commercial stable so I was never very far from it, but I made the very conscious decision to avoid spending time around it. I never went to horse shows and you really had to twist my arm to get me to sit on a horse. It is a time-consuming and expensive pursuit and I had better things to do with my time and money. For decades, I deliberately held my first love of horseback riding at bay: That period of my life was over.
Then I became a first-time father in middle age. My boy started with lead line classes at Southlands and suddenly, I was all the way back to where I began. As I am now hemmed in by the confines of the school year anyway, I am back to riding at the age of 54. I have my own horse and plan to ride in the HITS Saugerties series of horse shows this coming season.
Southlands is a magical kind of place with kids running around everywhere who regularly interact with the adult clientele. Everyone gets their hands dirty and the youngsters are expected to look after the horses they ride. Southlands isn’t a fancy barn but any time you’re debating the particulars of your barn’s heated indoor ring, you can safely proclaim the facilities to be adequate. Because of Southland’s functional disposition it remains an affordable proposition, particularly if a rider is willing to make use of the excellent school horses.
Having gone through the mill as a young rider, I believe that giving a child too much too soon is counterproductive. When a rider competes at a high level it is necessary that everything be spit-and-polish, but if a child is to ever to grow into a true horseman, they must work for it. Southlands is a rough-hewn throwback that grows well-rounded horsemen from seed, and the true horseman learns to be resourceful and make due. They’ll take the horse world any way they can get it and If hot-and-cold running warmbloods aren’t in the offing, they’ll gladly substitute a good Thoroughbred or Appendix Quarter Horse, because the true horseman knows that some things don’t have to be expensive to be valuable.
All told, I was taught by three of the best show jumpers who ever sat on a horse and now find the level of instruction at Southlands an exceptionally fine fit for me. Jonathan and Michele Edel can teach every level of student including expert, and both of these complete horsemen are capable of punching well above their weight. I am fortunate to have easy access to such talented professionals and I expect it will be quite some time before they run out of things to teach me.
Child riders don’t necessarily have a master plan for a grand future in the horse world. They simply do it for the sheer love of the thing and money and prestige never enter the equation—they just get on and go. There’s a lot of that going on at Southlands and while I can afford to ride at any barn of my choosing, I specifically choose to ride at Southlands because it is clearly another most special place.
Anna Kalishman - Rhinebeck, NY
Four years ago, when my mom first told me that I would be attending a horse-back riding camp, at The Southlands Foundation, I was excited. I was happy I would be trying something new with my friends, and that was it. I did not realize that going to this camp would be a life changing experience for me.
As soon as I walked into the barn on the first day of Pony Camp, I instantly fell in love with it. Everything from the amazing people, to the beautiful horses, and gorgeous landscapes and scenery. I had a feeling of, well, home. I felt happy and welcomed at Southlands, like I belonged there. I wanted to be a part of it, and from that day forward, Southlands became a major part of me.
Fast forward four years, I am now a stronger and more confident rider. Every time I walk into the barn, I feel a rush of joy come over me. At Southlands, I have not only learned good ridinging technique, but also how to properly nurture and care for the horses. I have worked with many different trainers, all who have greatly helped me to develop my riding skills , and I have created life long bonds with both horses, ponies, and people.
For me, Southlands has become more than just “the barn where I ride”.They say “home is where the heart is” and a part of my heart has attached itself to Southlands where it will remain for many years to come. I am looking forward to this year’s competition season, and improving as a rider even furthur. Southlands is the place where I feel most comfortable, relaxed, and proud of who I am. I have grown immensely as a smarter and stronger rider, and I owe it all to its amazing staff, trainers, barn friends, and of course, horses.
Aubree Hartly-yokota - Red Hook, NY
Hi, I’m a thirteen-year-old rider at The Southlands Foundation. I have been riding there for almost two years. The first time I went, I was attending pony camp, my goals for the week were to gallop, jump, and to be amazing. I hate to say it, but I may have been a little too ambitious... After that week alone I knew I wanted to become a part of this community.
Southlands introduced a new world to me, a world of horses. And unfortunately (for my parents) I am hooked. I always want to be there, no matter the day or time. I purposely arrive an hour or so early so I can say hello to all the horses and help out with anyone who needs it. The environment, the people, the horses they all make everything so special. Every time I leave, I just want to turn around and go back. The environment is so supportive and accepting. Every time I go to the barn, I am greeted with such kindness and encouragement. All they want for anyone there is for them to succeed, and not just the person, but the horse as well. The best part, of course, is the horses. Whether you are just visiting or you have your own horse, you learn quickly that they will love you no matter what. If you give them energy filled with devotion and appreciation, these horses will give you that and more. They will make you forget all about your troubles and make any bad day into a great one.
I remember who I met first, it was Allison King. I still remember her humor and way to turn anything positive from that very first day. When I moved my lesson day to Thursdays, I remember missing her being there! But I also soon met or bonded with Sue. She taught me everything! From tacking up and grooming to learning how many carrots they deserve. She still helps me today! And lastly, my trainers who still teach me today, Michele and Jonathan Edel. They have taught me the most. Every time I go into the ring, I remember what they made this sport means to me. They made me realize that the quality of work and the effort you put in is better than anything else. I cannot even begin to imagine my life without this barn.
Bruce Dedrick - Rhinenbeck, NY
Tales of Sunny Boy
This is an account by an old timer who started riding and working at Southlands Farm in the mid-50s, and went on for a few years after that. Fairly recently, it was a real pleasure to make contact with another Southlander from that same era, only they continued on for decades, and are still there to this day! In their words, “When we old timers get together it's a novel of characters and stories.” What now follows are some of those characters and stories.
Growing up in Rhinecliff with my grandfather’s small farm just next door, gave me advantages of; operating farm machinery, taking care of animals, running a chainsaw, splitting firewood, fencing, gardening, and so on. I was a husky young fella and enjoyed the hard work. Some big chunks of wood from large trees would be gnarly and hard to split, but dad taught me how to “read” the end grain, which made it much easier. Over the years I shared dad’s knowledge with others, who were thankful. Splitting firewood was always a joy. This was all pretty much good stuff, BUT, my grandfather had no horses! These “advantages” of mine came in very useful at Southlands.
The Smells
When walking into the stables and smelling that wonderful horsey aroma, along with the hay, straw, oats, etc., gives the brain a sense of comfort and pleasure. This must also be a favorite smell to millions around the planet.
There is a vague memory of $6/hr. for riding lessons. In the mid-50s this was a fair chunk of change on an ongoing basis. In the early 60s, teens worked on different farms while on summer break from school. Most got 75¢/hr. but on some farms I got 90¢/hr. as I could operate the machinery. After a while riding at Southlands, and I guess after I proved myself, I worked there on weekends and during the summer when there was no school. Then, no money changed hands and my riding lessons were no longer charged. I also got to do much more riding at no cost. Making hay was one of the jobs that was just plain fun. This is where another smell arrives. Those who have had a breeze come in across a field of new mown hay will appreciate this.
Rein, Joe, and Garret were full time Southland employees and fun to work with. Joe and Garret lived there and Rein was an older gent who lived on South Street in Rhinebeck. A family member said that Rein and his wife were Germans from Bessarabia. The family was German, but went to Bessarabia in the 1800s to settle on land that the Tsar was offering. Today it is part of Romania and the Ukraine. Rein spoke several languages including Russian, which helped him survive a Russian POW camp during the war. Another source said that he was in the Russian Cavalry, which undoubtedly made him so good with horses at Southlands. He was a wonderful man with much knowledge and wisdom and was interesting to talk to. His accent was a bit mesmerizing. We ate lunch together each day in the tack room. Most times he brought raw onion to go with his lunch but he always had a few cloves of garlic that he ate with a sandwich, to improve health. He took a bite of sandwich followed by a nibble of raw garlic. He gave me a bit to try a couple times, and sure enough it was a good piquant combination. When standing close to him after lunch, while he was talking, was another smell I remember. Mom wasn’t too impressed when I asked for some raw garlic to go with my sandwich at home.
Another job was to clean out the stalls and put the soiled straw and road apples into a very deep large wheelbarrow. The more you packed in the barrow, the fewer trips you had to make out to the manure pile. The pile got higher and higher as time went on. Some long planks were laid end to end on it, forming a narrow ramp that went all the way to the top of the heap, which was maybe 10 or 12 feet high at times. A running start (and muscle) was needed to get the overfilled barrow all the way to the top, to tip the load down the backside of the heap. Old, rained on manure and urine soaked straw takes on an unpleasant ammonia smell after a while. If the barrow wheel was just a few inches off to one side of that plank ramp, while screaming up it at a great rate of knots, with an overfilled heavy wheelbarrow full of horse dookey, the barrow would tip off to one side and for all the money in the world, you could not stop it. Of course, the harder you tried to hold on and stop it from tipping, the further off balance it would pull you, until you eventually fell off the narrow ramp and joined the over filled barrow lying on its side in the middle of the older and stinkiest part of the manure heap. This is another smell not to be forgotten. Mom, who did my laundry, didn’t think much of it either.
There were many new things and experience for me to get under my belt with all the horses, etc. at the riding stable. Rein and Joe took advantage of this at times and used to lead me up the garden path. I really didn’t mind and we all had a good laugh afterwards. Once I had a chest cold that I just couldn’t shake off. Rein and Joe came to the rescue with this old time horse liniment that they were sure would clear up the congestion. They told me to rub it all over my chest, which I did, and it had yet another pleasant new smell for me to experience. The forest fire on my chest didn’t start for a couple minutes as the liniment slowly burned its way through skin, flesh, and bones, right down into my soul. I was hooting and hollering and all they did was laugh. It turned out that they had both applied this devil’s mixture to themselves at one time or another and I guess after my experience, I then became “one of the boys”. It did have a very nice smell to it which helped convince me it was a good thing to rub into my chest. I wonder if it felt good to the horses.
The last, and very pleasant, smell to mention is that which is experienced when the air is cold and crisp, on a fall or winter day, and your nose feels more alive than usual. Some scents are pure pleasure and bring back such fond memories. This is one of those. We built a fire under that huge cast iron cauldron outside, and poured in: oats, bran, molasses, and water, to make a hot mash. The horses always loved it on a cold day and to them it must have been like warm candy! I always gave a bit extra to Willow, who was a favorite! I would sneak a goose egg or two out of the nests in the tractor shed and toss them in the cooking mash to become hard boiled. They would be my lunch at times. Rein and Joe would watch and laugh hard as the geese pecked me and beat me with that hard leading edge of their wings. It really did hurt, but I always ended up in a fit of laughter myself, as they were beating me up! The pleasing smell of that cooking mash wafted through the crisp air and is one of the fondest memories that bring me right back to such a wondrous place and time at Southlands. You can imagine the excitement of all the horses as they also smelled the mash cooking and knew they were in for another great treat! They would talk to each other about its pending arrival.
The South Barn
I would get dropped off, or drive down through the fields on a tractor, or at times take that old Studebaker pickup, that was such a temperamental thing. It didn’t like wet weather at all. If you drove through a large puddle on that dirt track, (and there were a few), it would just quit. The electrical components under the hood had to be dried off and after a respectable period of time, and residual engine heat to help evaporate remaining moisture, it would start again, if you were lucky! It didn’t take long to learn to give any water a wide berth.
At the South Barn were: more farm equipment, a bulldozer, a dairy area with big stainless steel milk coolers, cows, cats, at times a stallion, a teasing pen and breeding yard, which when in use would sometimes stop traffic on Rte. 9!
Another job was to milk the cows with a vague recollection of; Daisy, Blackie, and Buttercup. The barn cats loved the milking as they lined up in military formation on the far side of the cow, looking underneath at me. It took expert aim to squirt the milk straight into their opened mouths, and none went to waste as they licked each other clean afterwards. Some was also put in their bowls which they loudly said they appreciated. The buckets of milk were poured into the coolers, but before you did, it was tradition to get a cup full of that delicious cold cream that was floating on top. It was wonderful on a hot summer day! Sometimes a bit also spilled into the cat’s bowls as desert. I enjoyed milking and the cream treat at the end.
It wasn’t me, but someone left a full wagonload of bailed hay right at the bottom of that very steep southwestern most lot, that had a small pond at the bottom. Since that hillside to get out of there was so very steep, it should have been obvious that no normal tractor could get such a top heavy load of tons of hay, up out of that place. By the way, the bails were not locked in to each other as normal, because the load was not stacked correctly. I had to tear it all down and restack it, by myself. Over at the South Barn, Joe had told me to take the dozer and bring the load of hay back. He never mentioned the sloppy stacking that had to be redone.
Tractors were fine but I scratched my head looking at this relic of a dozer. There was no key activated starter or separate starter button. Joe showed me how to start it and gave me a quick 5 minute tutorial before I drove off. There was a gasoline engine attached to the side of the large diesel engine. This was called a “pony motor”. You had to wrap a piece of old rope with a wooden pull handle, round and round the starting pulley before you gave it a tug with all your might. Once it finally started, after you neared the stress level of heart attack from all that pulling, and after it warmed up, you had to flip a couple clutch levers that engaged the pony motor to the large diesel engine, and it then roared to life billowing black smoke. The pony motor was turned off, I hopped aboard, and off I went to get that wagon load of hay. I was maybe 13 years old, roaring off into the wild blue yonder, all by myself, on my first experience operating a bulldozer! It was exhilarating to say the least! This story is getting far too long.
I’m at the bottom of the Valley from Hell; the load is restacked; the hay wagon is hooked to the dozer; and I have to select the most perpendicular route up that steep hill, or else the load would tip over sideways. Has anyone ever walked on some loose dry hay or straw left lying on the floor? It can be like walking on ice at times. Whoever raked, left lots of dried hay on that hillside. It was so steep that I can understand this, however, the safest route out of there (least likely to tip over sideways) crossed all that loose hay. See what’s going to happen? And sure enough, about half way up, those dozer tracks lost traction and started spinning in that loose hay. With tons of hay on the wagon; tons of bulldozer, and me at the controls, on that steep hill, and with slippery hay, gravity was not our friend. The three of us (wagon, dozer, me) started sliding backwards down that hill. I stuck it out for a few seconds, and just as I was about to bail out, enough traction was regained so we jerked our way out of the Valley from Hell. Joe saw a different side of me after I got the load over to the South Barn. I once had to take a load of hay, with a tractor, down the highway and back roads, from Southlands, over to Morse’s place. It’s not a certainty, but this could have been that same load.
The Stable
Attached to the stable by a breezeway was the indoor ring. This breezeway is also where horses were tethered when the blacksmith came or when the vet’s services were required. I always enjoyed helping them and wondered about a career like theirs.
The stable had a tack room, a feed room, a large hay loft with trapdoors to drop the hay and straw down to the stalls area where at a rough guess; there were about 16 or 18 stalls. Some of Southlands residents were; Snowflake, Willow, Rebel, Duse, Plufer, Wels, Snorter, Thumper, Molly, Gay Head, Broad Cross, Jones, Hans, Fritz, Kaesong, and a fair few others who elude me at the moment.
On the western side of the stable was a tractor shed with two or three open bays where farm equipment, supplies, and riding items were kept. This is also where some of my friends, the geese, nested!
With these three large buildings right next to each other, and with all the nooks and crannies, it was just perfect for a game of hide and seek. Two of my favorite spots were; to curl up in the corner of a box stall and cover myself with straw. The horse was a bit surprised at first! The other spot was to climb inside one of the feed bins, but the oat and bran dust made breathing a bit different. The hay loft was a favorite for others. Rein and Joe would watch and laugh, and at times give someone who was in need, a little hint where to look. Such fun, with screams of delight and laughter!
The tack room had such a good feel to it, and a pleasant smell of all that leather and saddle soap. Each horse had their own set of tack so there was a fair bit of leather and steel hanging off the walls. There was a small stove so this made it pleasant on a cold damp day. Sitting in there cleaning tack with Rein or Joe, on a rainy day, was for some reason very satisfying. This is where much knowledge changed hands and was a favorite place.
The indoor ring had soft loose material on the ground which was probably “bone friendly” if you took a spill and also not too hard on the horse (and rider). Not long after I started riding, I was having a lesson in the indoor ring with Mrs. Dows as my instructor. That loose material on the ground would get tossed up into the corners a bit, as the horses were making the turns. When a horse turned at a corner, you could feel a bit of centrifugal force pushing your body towards the corner and against the saddle. For some odd reason this reminded me of how some of the rides at the Dutchess County Fair forced your body against the side structure of the ride, so you didn’t even have to hold on. Here comes the “duh” part. I was on Snowflake coming into the SW turn, Mrs. Dows was in center ring, and dad was sitting watching over on the bleacher type seats next to the entrance. Yup, I relaxed my body and leaned a bit to the inside, expecting centrifugal force to do its job and lift me up and press me into the saddle on that turn. The very next thing was me lying on the soft stuff with my leg pinned under poor Snowflake, who was thrashing about on top of me, trying to get vertical again! The Old Lady, as we affectionately called her at times, came running over and in her loudest voice hollered “How dare you throw that horse down!” Due to the buildup of soft stuff in the corner, Snowflakes legs were angled upward, higher than normal, so he kept struggling trying to get up, and meanwhile my leg is pinned under him. I’m not sure if she even asked if I was OK, but probably ended the event with some words of wisdom and “learning” for me. She was a born teacher and taskmaster who cared dearly for her horses and other animals. Dad and I laughed about “How dare you throw that horse down!” on the way home!
Mrs. Dows had pet names for her students such as; Chick, Chickie, Young One, Sunny Boy, etc. For this story I have used Sunny Boy, which makes me smile.
The Horses
Many rescued horses came to Southlands via a horse trader named Charlie. Some were in poor condition with poverty lines, ribs showing, etc., but Charlie had a keen eye for “potential”. It was so nice to see these neglected animals to now receive attention, and regain condition and spirit. Charlie was funnier than a pocketful of monkeys. He had this saying that he hollered out at times; “Hotsy totsy get your ice cold peanuts.” Don’t ask me. I have no idea.
There were also other animals at Southlands. A menagerie of dogs and cats, various fowl, cows, and so on. Highland cattle look majestic with their long shaggy reddish brown coat and long dangerously sharp pointed horns. The one at Southlands was named Esmeralda, but she had nothing to do with The Hunchback of Notre-Dame. There was a pair of goats that roamed around freely and made many friends. One’s name was Banana, who could be a real pain at times if you were sitting outside eating your lunch. She was a moocher extraordinaire who was relentless. She also used to stand on her hind legs to eat the yellow legal paper riding list, hanging from the stable wall. When she was feeling frisky, she would give you a butt when your back was turned. For revenge, I would give her a friendly squirt with the hose. (smiling).
When Mrs. Dows was away for a few days things were a bit more relaxed, and some liberties were taken. Joe told Vicki and me to bring our swim suits the next day. It was a hot summer day, with no riding scheduled. There were a couple nice ponds down past the main house, and one didn’t have all that much weed in it at the time. Joe knew a nice spot to get in the water, where the depth increased gradually for the horses, so they felt comfortable. Swimming with the horses (bareback of course) was a wonderful experience! When you get out in the deeper water where the horse is really swimming, you float along over their back, with a handful of mane, while they tow you along like a tug and barge on the river. As you returned to the shallows, you stopped floating and your bare legs went back against the horse again. It gave the feeling of warmth and of being rescued! It sounds odd, but this is how it was. It’s hard to explain, but this swimming seemed to have a kind of bonding experience, that made me feel closer to the horse. (A big smile goes here!). They are powerful swimmers!
When there was no more riding to take place, and the weather was decent, the horses were turned out to pasture through the sliding doors at the north end of the stable. They knew what was coming and loudly voiced their approval, just like with the warm mash. Each one was turned loose from the straight stalls and the doors were opened on the box stalls. No one had to be led and it was a mad rush as they all hurried down through the stable, by themselves, to get outside in the green pasture and open spaces. Once out, they ran around, kicked their hind legs in the air, and jumped for joy! It was just wonderful to watch all this happiness and it was a good part of the day! When it was time to come in, almost everyone walked back to their own stall by themselves, and went in. Now and then a mistake (or perhaps on purpose?) was made with a two horse pile up trying to get in the same stall.
There were also ponies that had their own pasture next to the pony barn. A small wooden gate, which closed against the barn wall, gave access to a holding yard and the open bays of the pony barn. There was a normal sized farm gate that opened to the pasture from the holding yard. The barn was made out of large heavy concrete blocks that were painted white. One day, someone finished riding Mickey, who was a husky guy, and he was up by the stable waiting to be returned to the pony pasture. He had no bridle and only had a halter on. Maybe because it was a hot day and I didn’t feel like walking all the way or maybe just because I was young, daring, and foolish; I grabbed his lead rope and hopped up on his back to ride him down to his home. It could have been a horsefly that nailed him, or something else that spooked him, or maybe just because he was full of piss and vinegar. He took off at a full gallop, at the speed of a thousand startled gazelles, down that gravel road to the pony barn! That little wooden gate was always kept closed so it was necessary to stop there before entering. Someone had left it open and this was not good at all. Mickey swerved a bit to the left just before we tore through the gate, which threw me over to the right side. My shoulder took out a few of those concrete blocks leaving a gaping hole where they used to be. I must have cracked a bone or two because the pain lasted for some weeks. I told Joe what happened and of course he told The Old Lady, and I was expecting to get chewed out at any time. She never said a word! That’s how she was.
Gymkhanas were an awful lot of fun; however, a couple of the events could get a bit rough and tumble. One was when we all had a balloon pinned to the back of our shirt collar and each of us was given a pin. Once we were all mounted and ready, the word was given and then all hell broke loose! We tore around the ring with pin in hand; trying to pop the balloons on everyone else’s back. The last one with an un-popped balloon won the event. Some reached out and leaned over a tad too far, and down they went. Collisions were common. There might have even been a little tugging on clothing and shoving at times. The longer the event lasted, the smaller and less brave riders became fewer, and the roughness increased. Alliances were formed to gang up on others, but lo and behold, your ally would surreptitiously stab you in the back with their pin! It was dog eat dog and no one could be trusted! (Laughing here).
Another event was musical stools but I seem to recall a whistle being blown. At the signal, we raced down to the far end of the ring to where all the little metal stools had been placed in a row. To claim a stool, and stay in the event, you had to dismount, hold on to your horse, and put your foot on it. If your horse pulled away and you no longer held the rein, that stool was then open to be claimed by another, even if you still had your foot on it. This happened a few times. Some students were a bit timid and had never gone faster than a canter. For some, this was your chance to ride like the wind at a full gallop leaving others in your dust! Near the end of one of these events, it was; Mitch, his brother Jim, Joe, and I left. These three louts were talking to each other and looking over at me. The alliance writing was on the wall and I never had a chance! At a gallop, they pushed me away from the stools and claimed them for themselves. They were all a few years older than me, but not being weak, and being a little on the wild side, I feel I made a good showing. We all laughed together but I was a bit mad at the same time! (Smiling here.)
Getting ready for a horse show was serious business. The horses had to be groomed to perfection, the tack had to be spotless, boots polished, clothing pressed, hat cleaned, etc. Yes, it was also serious business for a “young one” to muster up some courage and perform in front of all those people. When a ribbon or cup was won, it was tense when you had to go back in the show ring to collect your prize. Afterwards, when you calmed down, is when the feelings of “well done” and accomplishment came in. This all created good structure and built character.
Trail Rides
Trail rides were simply a pleasure and provided good opportunity to be amongst nature and take in the many wonders. The different animals didn’t run and hide like they usually did, as long as you stayed mounted. In their view they may have just seen a large friendly four legged animal walking along with a big lump on its back. It was the same with deer in a field, as long as you stayed on the tractor. Of course, there still had to be some training content on the trail ride, so students could progress and become more experienced. One of these was maneuvering your horse into a position where you could lean over; unlatch, and open the gate for everyone to go through. Someone else might be picked to close it afterwards, but if the opener didn’t do well, they required more experience and could be chosen to also close the gate. Some people just couldn’t manage gates, and with everyone else watching and waiting for them, they could become a bit nervous, which made matters even worse. Perhaps some horses purposely took advantage of situations and enjoyed giving their rider a hard time, by displaying a little horsey humor, or maybe they were showing off for the other horses. Joe once showed me a little trick. I usually never carried a riding crop and on one occasion, whoever I was riding decided to give me a hard time at a gate, and was being as stubborn as stubborn could be. I rode over to a nearby tree, broke off the end of a small branch and trimmed it down, so I now had a switch. I swung it through the air very fast to make a crisp swishing sound. It never touched the horse, but I then had some wide eyed attention and cooperation, and easily dealt with the gate. I remember there were some (at least one) positive comments from the other riders, but I never told them that Joe had showed me how to do this. Instead, I just let the credit come my way. (Another smile here).
The longest, and best ever, trail ride went from the stable over to a beautiful area previously known as Fox Hollow Farm, where the Dows family once lived. Over there was an old amazing structure of stonework, forming a narrow arched bridge, which crossed Fallsburg Creek. I believe it may have been known locally as Moon Bridge, however, it was shown on 1908 post cards as Col. Olin’s Bridge. Another old timer from Southlands had to say this about riding across it: “What a frightening and extraordinary experience to cross that.” It was indeed! Being mounted puts you up in the air a bit. Being mounted and crossing that narrow and highly arched bridge, way above the rocks and waterfalls far below, is yet another matter. If ever there was a place where you didn’t want your horse to spook, or to lose control, this was it! I don’t specifically remember, but I’m sure there must have been a lot of smiles and conversation once we were all safely across.
After this we rode through the old estate and then took a disused service road that went downhill and was quite steep in parts. It came out by the old gate house at Ruppert’s Falls, where it met Fishing Ground Road (now named South Mill Road). Part of that service road had washed out over the years and part still had some very smooth blacktop paving, put on steep parts, to stop further erosion. On one of the steepest sections, with smooth blacktop, and smooth metal horseshoes, and somewhere heading towards a ton of weight of horse and rider, this was another occasion where gravity was not our friend. The horses started slipping and sliding and everyone was now widely awake from such a peaceful and entrancing part of the trail ride, going through a beautiful wooded section. Luckily, no one went down, but this imparted (or should have) a good learning experience and wisdom.
We were now at the roaring falls, on Fishing Ground Road, where Fox Hollow Creek (aka Landsman Kill) emptied into the Hudson River at Ruppert’s Cove (aka Vanerburgh Cove). As an aside, this is a historic area where there was a gristmill and sawmill built by Henry Beekman in 1710. Before the railroad came, this was not a cove, but instead, part of the main river where ships could navigate. It was very good fishing there and I have another story about George Weber and me being there one sunny spring day. That gatehouse was built c1910 and in 1917 my great aunt and uncle, Olive and Percy, worked for Tracy Dows and lived there. In March of that year Percy went on a trip for several weeks to Jekyl Island, with the family of Tracy Dows. (Small world).
From Ruppert’s Falls, we traveled SE on Fishing Ground Road to another bridge that crossed our old friend, Fallsburg Creek, where it emptied into the cove. However, this bridge was constructed by the highway department so it was in no way similar to the hair-raising Moon Bridge. (Big smile). By the way, it was also good fishing underneath this bridge, in the shade, on a hot summer day. We continued along the road for another ¼ mile or so, and if you didn’t know exactly where it was, you would have missed a narrow bridle path hidden amongst the scrub and brush, that meandered up to the top of a hill and a clearing. From there, we overlooked the Valley from Hell below, with the little pond at the bottom. We headed north, out of the hilly areas, towards the stable. Once on level open grassy ground again, which we hadn’t seen for quite some time, came a good opportunity for a full gallop through the fields back towards the stable. Some didn’t like to gallop but others just loved it!
So many more memories are flooding back; however, this story just can’t keep going, so they must wait for another time. For you folks having children, who you want to have good grounding in life, get them up on a horse so they can learn horsemanship. Riding lessons, horse anatomy, tacking up and cleaning tack, grooming (which some horses just love), caring for animals, and maybe even a bit of farm work. These things build character, teach respect for animals and nature, and make it easier later on in dealing with life in general.
Cheers, good people. :)