By JESSICA SHANNON
Riding trainers can have an incredible impact on who we become and how we see ourselves. We may reflect on some trainers with feelings of fear and inadequacy. Or, we tell fond stories about the trainers who taught us to wrap a horse’s hoof to draw out an abscess or sail around a course on the steadiest of canters.
I started riding when I was eight at a barn outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. My trainer there took a young girl’s interest in horses and turned it into a passion. She showed me what it meant to feel strong and confident, making me realize that my short stature (my genetics stopped me from reaching 5 feet tall) would not stop me from doing anything.
Just shy of two years into my life with horses, however, my family moved to Texas. My brother helped me find my first Texas trainer through a girl at school who rode horses, and she and her family also attended our church. Being surrounded by teenage riders gave me my first experience with ‘barn rat’ status, and with it, independence.
Whenever that barn’s trainer was out of town, her cousin, Crista Bandini, would teach our lessons. Like other riders in the program, I would shine when she visited.
Crista knew how to identify our strengths before pointing out where we needed to improve. Her teaching style motivated me, unlike many of my math teachers at school, who believed tough love was the way to get me to learn. Crista brought out the best in me, and others, and when she started Glendaloch Farm outside of Austin, many of us eventually joined her.
Crista was the trainer who taught me how to count strides, but she also wanted each of her riders to be true horsewomen. She expected our tack to be clean, and noted the physical and spiritual benefits of grazing our horses after every ride, no matter how we felt about the ride itself. (I still graze my horse daily to build our bond and enjoy some quality time.)
My foundation as a rider, horse-leaser, then owner, and later as a working student took place at Glendaloch Farm. Crista’s barn became a home and a sanctuary. My mom rode there, too, and the horses and people of Glendaloch were exactly what a teenage daughter and her mother needed to find common ground. When my mother died suddenly, the barn proved to be the family I already felt that it was.
The Strength of Community
Soon after my mom’s death, Crista rang the doorbell of my family’s home. She handed me a tiny box when I opened the front door, asking me to put its contents in my mom’s hand before her cremation. Inside the shiny gold box was a lock of our horse Wind Dancer’s tail, braided into a heart.
I have often imagined Crista, tearfully snipping a piece of Dancer’s stark-white tail and braiding it into a heart in grace-filled grief. Mom and I shared Dancer, and Crista’s loving gesture meant Mom would have a piece of him with her—a horse that had fulfilled her childhood dreams. Under Crista’s guidance, my barn family at Glendaloch Farm also scrubbed our home while my dad, brother, and I were at my mom’s viewing, so it would be tidy for the endless visitors who stopped by to express their condolences.
Barns are a family and a community with their own culture. Like other communities where we find ourselves in early adulthood—from places of worship to work—each barn and trainer had something to teach me. I learned as much about horses and myself giggling in the barn aisle as I did when navigating a particular conflict.
At Glendaloch Farm, we were all there because of the love of the horse. But that’s not always the case. Over the last decade or so, I’ve noticed that I would often leave the arena feeling accomplished as a rider, but feeling cut down as a person. Unfortunately, that is not an unusual experience in our sport.
In the years since middle school and high school, I began to wonder if my riding experience with Crista was an outlier instead of the norm.
Borrowing Belief
Fortunately, in late September of 2023, that all changed when my horse Gunner and I joined Taylor Manning’s program at Manning Estate. In less than a year, Taylor has helped me rediscover my gifts in the saddle while fully supporting my ‘middle-aged barn rat’ persona.
Taylor is open to her riders sharing their dreams and asking questions. My work ethic at the barn is as disciplined and intentional as my desire to bond with my horse—something Taylor celebrates. I also appreciate that the culture she has built at Manning Estates is generous and welcoming.
The fact is, I had lost my confidence and belief in myself in the months before changing barns. Taylor and a couple of my new barn mates believed in my current horse, Gunner, and me enough for both of us, though, allowing us to borrow some of their belief until I found my own.
Taylor’s encouragement, vast knowledge, and visible care for my horse reignited parts of me that had become buried. She is patient with my seemingly endless questions and stories, and she gives me a sense of peace, knowing that someone else sees my horse the way I do. What Taylor has done for our partnership in nine months is extraordinary, and the future appears hopeful again.
While my teenage trainer Crista made me a rider, Taylor reminds me that I am one. They’re similar as trainers too: when they offer a critique, they make me want to fix the issue for my horse, for them, and for me. Most importantly, each trainer has taught me that the horse is the ultimate teacher.
For the Love of the Horse
I’ve had many important horses in my life, including Dancer, who taught me how to be brave, keeping me safe over fences. He was such a gift to my mom and me that we promised each other he would be protected for the rest of his life. My best teacher, however, is my 7-year-old, off-the-track thoroughbred, Gunner.
A handsome athlete with a huge, goofy, and loving personality, he stole my heart immediately after stepping off the trailer four years ago. Gunner was adopted from the New Vocations Racehorse Adoption Program in Kentucky when he was three, at a time when I was acting as the solo chaplain at a children’s hospital during the pandemic.
Restarting an ex-racehorse or bringing up a young horse (especially if you prefer to be hands-on) requires time, love, patience, commitment, and dedication. To build our relationship, I intentionally took my first year with Gunner slowly, allowing him to release any negative physical or emotional aspects from the track.
I made him a promise the moment he arrived: I will listen to you, and you will be safe and loved for life.
At the anniversary of our first year together at a previous stable, we were cantering two lines and chatting about taking him to shows. But soon after, that barn split up when the property was sold. Gunner and I spent the next two years in what felt like a standstill.
I made excuses for it at first. As a chaplain, I have a habit of minimizing my own experiences while giving other people all the space they need to process theirs. Chaplains are accustomed to pretending that everything is okay while carrying the heavy stories of everyone around them. Finding someone who desires to be that safe space for you is invaluable. For me, Gunner is the exact teammate and teacher I needed, but it took time to learn that lesson.
During our early years together, there were times when our “standstill” did not seem to have an end to it. Even when we moved to Manning Estate, Gunner’s adjustment period to our new home under saddle was longer than anticipated. Eventually, though, he began to let things go, one at a time, while showing me how to do the same.
Gunner expressed how happy and relaxed he was in the barn by finally letting his goofy personality show. Then, for the first time in two years, he laid down for deep naps in his perfectly bedded stall. It was clear Gunner felt emotionally and physically safe. As mirrors for each other, soon, I did too.
We are now progressing with every ride. We started back over fences, and there is no doubt that Gunner loves jumping as much as I do. After borrowing some self-belief from Taylor during our early months together, my confidence is now back, my horse is shining, and Gunner is loving life in and out of the saddle.
Wherever he is home, I am home, and he has been my safe space through a lot of grief and complex experiences. For the first time in three years, I am daydreaming of our first horse show together: I penciled in “fall 2024” for our debut.
I’ve always thought putting things in pencil is ideal. It gives you a goal to work toward, but it also allows you to erase that goal and move it forward or backward as you truly listen to your horse. Gunner has shown me, especially this last year, the importance of taking a breath, being still, and being in the moment. He taught me about patience, the power of actively listening to him, and God’s timing.
While showing him may be penciled in on my calendar, the most important goal is that Gunner feels safe, loved, and happy. Everything else is extra.
Listen to Learn
My young gelding has also taught me that my emotions and my point of view matter. There was a time when riders were regularly told to release any heaviness of the day before getting on their horse. But Gunner and I are too close for that.
Often, he already knows my mood before I do. I’ve learned that my body communicates anxiety and excitement in the same way to him. But Gunner is not going to waste time figuring out if I’m eager or if I’m panicking: He’ll worry first and find out the truth later.
I grew up with a voice that was minimized at the dinner table. In the classroom, I told jokes to mask insecurities. If I am honest with Gunner, though, I know I can release a feeling rather than hang onto it and let it affect him.
It’s a lesson I’ve also learned from my most significant riding trainers, Crista and Taylor. Working with teachers who respect you, believe in you, and trust you—both human and equine—there is no need to hide who you are, how you feel, or what you think.
Crista instilled the value of putting the horse first, something that has always stayed with me. She also taught me to carry the bravery I felt in the saddle to other parts of my life outside of the barn. In less than a year, Taylor’s belief in me and my horse has helped me rediscover who I am as a rider.
And then there’s Gunner, who teaches me every time he sticks his velvet nose out of his stall window to greet me. He teaches me as I watch how his body responds to different brushes while I groom him. He teaches me as we say our little prayer at the mounting block before I climb up those three short steps and sink into the leather of my saddle. He teaches me to dream while also living in the moment.
After all, no matter how our time in the arena goes, he is ready for kisses, our daily grazing time, and to show off the dog toys in his stall to any horse or human who will look his way. If a rough ride does not sit with him and ruin his day, it shouldn’t alter my mood either.
He and I have already won, because we get to spend another day together.
This was a submission to the 2024 Equestrian Voices Creative Writing Contest sponsored by The Plaid Horse. The goal of the contest is to promote fine, literary prose involving horses and the equestrian experience. This contest is open to writers of fiction and non-fiction, regardless of any previous publications, and awards 16 prizes. To learn more about the 2024 contest click here.
