By DAVINA MARSHALL
Anyone in the competitive equestrian world will tell you that horses are an expensive hobby. The financial burden to board your horse at a full-service show barn is a heavy one, and that doesn’t even include farrier work, vet bills, or entry fees–let alone the cost of buying the horse itself!
If you’re like me and not a billionaire, you might find yourself struggling to reach your equestrian goals all while being bombarded with the latest and greatest brands, innovations, and comforts. Technology has advanced so far that some saddles even have Bluetooth connectivity that can track your riding data and analyze your performance. If that’s not a cutting-edge advantage, I don’t know what is.
But I’m here to tell you something:
It doesn’t matter what saddle you ride in.
Heck, it doesn’t even matter if you have the best horse. At least not as much as you might think.
Of course, we all like it when we compete and win, and having the high-end horses with the high-end saddles and the high-end everything else can be a great thing and definitely brings the upper hand. However, that’s not what makes this sport beautiful. Instead, it’s the dedication we demonstrate to ourselves and to our equine partners.
It’s the rides in the rain when our fingers are numb from the cold, the sun on our skin forever leaving its mark of early wrinkles and rosy cheeks, and the courage it takes to keep trying and failing and trying again. It’s the hours spent in the ring when we could be anywhere else, the aching muscles, the tears of frustration, the feelings of joy when we see our hard work pay off. It’s the partnerships we build with our horses, the soft thoughtful look in their eyes when they invite us to connect with them. These are the things that join us together and make this sport so wonderful.
As a travel nurse by profession, I have the opportunity to train with some of the most influential horsemen and women all around the United States. I work three days a week and spend the other four as a student of the horse. I’m thankful for what my career allows me to experience, but it’s easy to feel small in such a big expensive industry.
Currently, I work in Northern California and have the privilege of riding for one of the top A-rated show barns in Monterey County. Nestled deep in the luscious green hills of Carmel Valley, this facility is phenomenal, if a bit intimidating at times.
Yet, I keep on showing up because I love the sport. That’s what equestrians do. We show up and we push ourselves past our comfort zones because we’re committed to ourselves and to our horses.
Today, I finished my rides later in the afternoon and was the last person to leave the barn. Standing in the tack room with the sun pouring out its last drops of light, I took in the peaceful silence and scanned the long wall of meticulously kept saddles, examining each one and noting the premium brands: the majority were Voltaires made from buttery dark chocolate leather, followed by CWD and Antares. I looked back at my old PJ that I bought used a couple of years ago to replace my well-loved but rapidly deteriorating Pessoa Gen-X that I had ridden in since I was twelve years old. There it sat, gracefully perched on the back of a sturdy recliner chair in the tack room lounge that was three times bigger than my living room at home. And you know what? I haven’t been more proud of owning that PJ than I was at that moment.
That PJ symbolizes the hard work I’ve put in to getting where I am despite limited resources. It gets to share a tack room filled with custom-made Voltaires, and so do I. I think that’s a pretty neat thing.
I still wear half chaps and jeans when I train, not because I can’t afford a good pair of tall boots and breeches, but because I enjoy honoring my younger self, the little girl who mucked out stall after stall for riding lessons, who wore cheap paddock boots and five dollar jeans from Goodwill, giving everything she could to her horses and her barn.
In the end, it’s not the material items that bring meaning to this sport. It’s the hardships, the going without, the commitment we hold onto, the relationships we build with each other, and the friends who encourage us to keep going. We’re all on our own journeys, but we’re all connected through our mutual love and respect for the horse. That in and of itself is a powerful thing.
Besides, victory tastes better when it’s earned.
So the next time you feel small or inadequate, remember: it doesn’t matter what saddle you ride in.
What matters is what you carry in your heart.
A lifelong equestrian and granddaughter of a Pulitzer Prize-winning Journalist, Davina Marshall blends her equine background and writing skills to offer fresh takes on horsemanship as well as intimate stories of triumph, challenges, and love – all from the perspective of a horsewoman. Through honest and thoughtful writing, she shares narratives meant to encourage, educate, and uplift those dedicated to themselves and to their horses, further unifying the equestrian community one reader at a time.
Follow her on Instagram here.
