Winter: It's Not My Thing, Really

by Natalie Keller Reinert

I'm having trouble with this whole wintertime thing, guys.

Natalie's First Chapter Book!

Here's the thing: I'm from Florida. Technically I was born in Maryland, and I lived there long enough to do things like learn to tie my own Punky Brewster hi-tops and read chapter books (the first being Emily's Runaway Imagination by Beverly Cleary, chosen for the horse on the cover) and write my name in an uneven cursive. 

But by the time I had read everything else Beverly Cleary had ever written, and Punky Brewster had gone off to juvie or whatever happened to her, and... well my cursive was still fairly uneven I guess.... I had been shipped off to Florida, and I was adjusting to the markedly different weather.

And I adjusted... very well. In fact, you could argue that I've never been so well-adjusted to anything in my environment as I have been to the weather in Florida. I once stood outside of a Magic Kingdom merchandise location in the full July sun wearing a long-sleeved black blouse, black slacks, and my hair loose around my shoulders. A sweating couple, faces flush with sunburn, asked me somewhat incredulously if I wasn't hot. I glanced up at the midday sun, shrugged, and said, "It's warm, I guess."

And a few jaunts back to the Northeast -- once when I was a teenager, once when I was an adult -- were short-lived and involved a lot of grousing about the weather, and the short days, and the weather, and the weather.

But I moved to New York City in 2010 and the weather... you guys, it's just awful.

Take today, for example. Today, it rained. Except when it was sleeting, and for a few deceptively promising moments when it was almost-snowing, it rained. It was thirty-five degrees. You guys. What is this even.

Working with horses when it's cold out is possibly my least favorite thing to do. In Florida, I had a loose guideline for cold weather: if it's below 55 degrees, leave the horse alone. I would be too miserable to function properly, and the horse would be too happy to deal with in my defective state. Forget it. 

In 2010, galloping racehorses at Aqueduct, I had already resigned myself to losing the feeling in my toes before I got to the first quarter pole. And that was in November. I couldn't put on enough layers to stay warm: bulk up with more than two sweaters, and I was too constrained to safely ride the horse. My ears I considered already lost to the icy winds off Jamaica Bay after just one mount. It was a bad scene, and I couldn't stick with it. I stayed home the rest of the winter and wrote the rest of The Head and Not The Heart instead.

Last winter I barely went outside. Forget it. I wrote two new books (both of which await rewrites) and hovered over my radiator.

But this year, I realized, I had to suck it up. I had to deal with winter head-on, face-first. I couldn't waste half a year -- and that's the unfortunate part about New York City, it's winter for half a year -- hiding under my down comforter. I had to do grown-up things, like keep my job, and accept reality, blah blah blah... some people actually do live in cold climates, and survive.

Like, on purpose.

There was some spending to be done. A whole new wardrobe had to be acquired. Warm riding boots reacquainted me with my toes and made posting trot less of a dangerous stab in the dark. Riding mittens from SSG are an acquired taste if you, like me, enjoy riding one-handed, but they're worth the trouble. And beneath the layers and layers, Heattech everything. Heattech leggings. Heattech socks. Heattech shirt. When in doubt, throw technology at it. 

And I give myself pep talks. Like, hey Natalie, when you were in high school you actually survived blizzards and worked twelve hour days at farms without any heat and then went riding. That's always cheering. Proof that I've lived through way, way worse.

And the result? I can ride in the cold, so far, without actually bursting into tears. I can make myself get out of bed in the morning. My body is still whispering Hey... Natalie... now would be a great time to curl up under your comforter and write all day and never leave the apartment... but I'm resisting. So far. 

But I still question my sanity when I look at the weather forecast! So if anyone has any suggestions on staying warm, in or out of the saddle, this Florida girl is all ears... if she can regain the feeling in them, of course.

The Light

by Laura Crum

We’ve been riding quite a bit this winter, as the weather has been great. 60 degrees and sunny, most days. I know we need rain, but the truth is we can’t influence the weather by wishing or complaining…so I’ve just been enjoying it. And I’ve been meditating on what is so special about these winter rides.

Its the light. Pure and crystal-clear and sharp, winter light is like no other light. Illuminating the bare trees and dark water—a chilly, brilliant sparkle. Look at the photos below, taken from Sunny’s back on a recent trail ride, as I follow my son on his sorrel horse, Henry, following our friends on two dark horses, down the side of the canyon to cross the creek at the bottom. Doesn’t the light just speak to you?

And again, riding on the beach, awash in blue-- surreal, thrilling winter light, with a breeze tossing the horses’ manes and tails around.

The above photo shows my son on Henry, riding towards Moss Landing, a small town on California’s Monterey Bay.

Of course, much as I love the winter light, I delight equally in the soft green/gold light of spring, and the mellow, full-bodied, dreamy light of summer. Oh, and I love the long, golden slant of autumn light. I cannot say that I have a favorite season. I can say that I love the brilliant light of winter.

I guess light is a subject best illustrated with images rather than words. So here are a few more winter moments from my world with horses.

My barnyard at morning feeding.

Winter roses—this is Crepuscule, that reliably blooms this time of year in my garden, shot from Sunny’s back. The name sounds ugly in English, but means “evening” in French.

My son took this photo of his horse, Henry, coming up our driveway after a ride on New Year’s Day.

Riding down the trail on my fuzzy little yellow horse on a misty day last week. The light is softer, but still has that frosty-white quality.

How about you guys? I know you live in many very different climates—is there anything special about riding in the winter for you? Or is winter just a huge negative, and riding pretty much impossible, or unpleasant at best?

My trail riding here in the winter usually gets shut down by rain. Our trails are all hilly, and if they’re wet they can be slick. And I am, let’s face it, a big baby about conditions. I want to feel safe and uhmmm, reasonably comfortable. So I won’t go riding if its too cold or very windy, or, oh well, you get it. Feel free to call me a wimp.

Today is supposed to be sunny and 65—I’m off to ride the trail that goes down the canyon to Aptos Creek (shown in the first three photos). It’s a nice ride on a reasonably warm day. Since it goes through the redwood forest, it’s a little too cool and shady most winter days. But we’re not having a normal winter (so far). And I might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Happy trails!

Winter, Horses, Books, and Life

by Laura Crum


Its that time of year again. The days are short and chilly and we have rain (or snow) and the horse corrals are muddy (or frozen). Most of us aren’t riding as much as we were and its easy to feel guilty about that (see my previous post on “Taking a Break”). Its also easy to feel down this time of year and focus on problems, like my saintly kid’s horse who wasn’t a saint on his last few rides (see my previous post on “The Lazy Horse”). These last six months have brought me the loss of three friends—two to death and one to disagreement, and its easy to feel sad about that. My husband and son have colds…well, I could go on, but I won’t. Suffice it to say that the winter season can get you down.

But Monday night was the solstice. We lit candles together as a family and acknowledged that we’re turning the corner…now the days will begin getting longer. We’re headed toward spring. And I thought about all the things in my life that are beautiful and delightful, as the candles sparkled in the winter night.

My husband and son are happy and (besides the colds) healthy, as are my horses, dog and cats. Henry may be lazy, but he’s hale and hearty, after going through colic surgery at the age of twenty. How grateful I am for that. We built a little addition to our house this summer—a small separate house with two rooms and a bathroom—much needed, as we live in a 650 sq ft house. This new little house turned out great and we’re so happy with it. I’m grateful for that. We live in a beautiful place where I can keep my horses at home and go trail riding out my front gate. I’m really grateful about that. I have the use of a lovely pasture just ten minutes away to keep my five retired/rescued horses—I’m thrilled about that. I have good friends and family around me. My life is great—I’m very lucky. I try to say “thank you” every single day.

On the writing front, the eleventh book in my mystery series about equine veterinarian Gail McCarthy comes out this spring. Titled “Going, Gone”, it revolves around the murder of a livestock auctioneer, and includes kill buyers, rescue horses, and a heroic horse blogger. Not to mention, for those of you who are fans of mugwump chronicles, “Going, Gone” features illustrations by mugwump herself. I’m sure you will all agree that the book is worth its purchase price for Janet’s drawings alone.

I hope that those who have enjoyed my books in the past, or enjoyed my blog posts on EI, will read “Going, Gone”. Many of my horses are used as characters in the story, and my local trails provide much of the background. I think you will find lots to interest you, and I’d love to get your reviews. The book should be out in April—it can be ordered from the usual sources or directly from the publisher—ordering info is on my website.

Currently I’m hard at work on book number twelve. The publisher has agreed to buy this book and release it in Spring 2012. Since my goal has always been to write and publish a dozen books in this series, I’m pretty tickled to be working on number twelve, knowing it has a berth. I’ve been very fortunate in my writing career, and I’m grateful for that, too.

Finally, I’ve very much enjoyed writing blog posts for EI, and getting to know those of you who write back. Season’s greetings to all, and I hope many blessings come your way. The earth is now tilting back toward the sun, for us in the northern hemisphere; may the coming year be a good one. Cheers--Laura

Taking a Break

By Laura Crum


I mentioned in a post awhile ago about “finding balance” that I have a really hard time feeling Ok about not riding four or five days a week. Today I want to explain why I feel this way, and ask if any of you struggle with this “guilt issue”. I know that for me, it can really take the pleasure out of having horses and I am always working on finding the right balance in my life and not obsessing on riding. So, how did I get to be this way?

Well, I was raised to be a bit of a zealot about riding my horses regularly. My tough old team roper uncle, who was my first and main teacher, felt that you should ride your competition horses (and practice horses for that matter) virtually every day to keep them legged up. The horse trainers I worked for in my twenties espoused a similar ethic (though they didn’t always practice it). During the ten years Gunner was my main mount it was a rare day that I didn’t ride that poor horse. I bought him as a coming three year old and retired him at fourteen, due to various arthritic issues. I firmly believe those issues were caused by early and fairly intense training, and just an awful lot of miles.

By the time I was riding Flanigan and Plumber, my ideas had changed. My team roping partner was a more relaxed guy, and though he liked to ride and did ride regularly, if the weather was bad, and/or there was some other reason, he was perfectly happy to let a horse stand for a few weeks and then go roping on him. And lo and behold, nothing bad happened. The horse wasn’t too fresh; the horse didn’t get hurt. The horse didn’t even lose that much condition. This went on for years.

I learned something. You don’t have to ride a broke horse into the ground all the time to keep him going. It’s a fallacy.

I began riding my horses when I felt like riding. Sometimes that would be four or five days a week. Sometimes it would be once a week. The horses did fine. Plumber and Flanigan both stayed sound and competitive until they were twenty—far longer than Gunner had done.

Now, I grant you this won’t work on every horse. I’m not arguing that point. But on our fairly easy going mature QH team roping horses, it actually worked better than riding every day. The horses felt better, seemed happier, had less lameness and overall just did better.

I should add into this equation that I keep our horses in large (100 by 100 on average) corrals where they can run around and play if they feel like it, so they are not stuck standing in a stall or small pen when we don’t ride.

So, anyway, hey, sounds great, right? I’m riding when I want to, the horses are happy, no problem.

Well, there is one slight problem. I was raised by my zealot uncle (in the horse biz, anyway). I’m a Catholic school girl. The problem, in a nutshell, is guilt. I feel guilty if I don’t ride five days a week. At some deep level I still believe I’m “supposed” to. That the horses need this.

Fast forward to the present. I spend my riding time trail riding and riding with my son. Our mature easy going horses do just fine whether I ride them once a week or five times a week. They’re reasonably fit and I never demand too much of them. A long trail ride is a three hour ride. If they start to puff, we rest and let them air up. They are never ridden to the point of being really tired.

So wouldn’t you think I could let go of my guilt issue and just enjoy these horses?

Well, sometimes I can. And sometimes I get sucked right back into my old way of thinking. This fall we rode a lot. The weather was good—my son and I went riding three or four days a week. Week before last we rode six times. And then the weather got cold and wet. Suddenly I’m back to riding one day a week if I’m lucky. And I start to feel guilty.

Oh, and lets not forget the mud. I live in a part of California where we get a lot of pleasant weather all year round. It virtually never snows—it doesn’t get real hot or real cold. But in the winter we get these long rainy spells. And during these rainy spells the horse corrals get muddy. Even big corrals get muddy in heavily used areas. And I look at my horses, squelching through the mud and feel guilty. Never mind that none of these particular horses have ever had one mud related problem in their lives (if any of them had a tendency to develop abcesses, I’d be more concerned). But there is nothing like muddy corrals to ratchet up the guilt factor.

It took a conversation with a friend, another recovering “ride em every day” horseman, to show me what I was doing to myself. Between work and such, she is lucky to ride one day a week sometimes, just like me. Her corrals are muddy, too. And, as she pointed out to me, her horses are thriving. They are both sounder than they were when she rode more often. She reminded me of what I already knew, but had forgotten. Its Ok to take a break. Its Ok to ride when you can. Its Ok not to push too hard. Both our horses and ourselves benefit.

Now I’m taking a break, while the rain rattles on my tin roof. My horses are dozing in their sheds, taking a break, also. And we’ll all enjoy a trail ride on the next sunny (non-muddy) day—guilt-free. Or that’s my goal, anyway.

Anyone else have this issue? How do you cope with it? Any suggestions?

Guest Blogger--Mary Caelsto--Frosted Poines

Hi, everyone, I'd like to welcome guest blogger and fellow author, Mary Caelsto, talking about why she loves winter and horses.

Mary Caelsto indulges her love of intriguing new worlds and spirituality by writing science fiction, fantasy, and metaphyiscal non-fiction. She currently runs Jupiter Gardens, LLC and its publishing division Jupiter Gardens Press, where she hopes to share her love of the spiritual and the fantastic through books and products designed to nurture people’s inner worlds. In addition, she’s created Equus Manifest for people to get together and discuss all aspects of horses and equestrian activity.
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Being a lifelong Iowan, I’m not ashamed to admit that winter is my favorite season. Sure, it could be because that’s three months out of the year that my allergies don’t bother me. Or it could be the stark beauty of the season. I may fuss over my pasture boarded mare, concerned that she’s not warm enough. And yet, I long to see her, and her pasture-mates in the morning with frost on their backs and whiskers. Really, is there anything truly more heartwarming than throwing your arms around a fuzzy winter-coated horse and just holding on tight?

Because my mare is a companion animal, and she’s pasture boarded, she’s kept as natural as possible. I trim her feet, but she goes barefoot. I curry her thick, winter coat, and brush out her tail (and the inevitable burrs from August to October). She doesn’t require a lycra horse hood or two layers of blankets. Pressed in with her buddies, tucked into the corner of her shelter, she’s nice and warm. It is truly amazing, after all, how well horses are built for the winter weather. Their hooves insulate them from the ground and their thick coat protects from most anything
mother nature throws at them.

With a whicker and a plume of frosty hay-scented breath, my mare greets me when I go out to the stable. I hang onto her when the ground is slippery; she has four feet and I skate around on two. She looks at me like “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be leading.” I always reply that it’s her job to hold me up. Considering that she’s an “easy keeper”, she’s a lot sturdier than I am when it comes to making our way into the barn.

Wearing full-length coveralls. Banging the ice out of buckets or sloshing chilly well water on your boots. Frozen thighs and the inevitable mud, mud, mud that comes with spring. For just one glimpse of frosted ponies, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

When you’re a horse owner, every season is beautiful, but I think winter is the most beautiful season of all.

http://www.equusmanifest.com/