BY ANN JAMIESON
Judy Samuels grew up on Lou Don Farm in Galesburg, Michigan, where her parents, Louise and Donald, trained horses and riders. She wasted no time learning to ride—beginning before she could even walk.
As a child in grade school, Judy was already competing at shows around the country. One of her earliest memories is when she was in third grade. Her mother came home, took her hand, and off they went to horse shows throughout the United States and into Canada. Some of the shows they attended included the Chicago International Livestock Exposition, the American Royal in Kansas City, Missouri, and the Royal Winter Fair in Toronto.
Judy developed into one of the top riders in North America—so good that she was asked to be part of the United States Equestrian Team when she was only 18. She was even invited to join the U.S. Olympic Team several times. But she always declined, explaining, “If you were on the team, you brought your horse, and the team automatically took it over.” That didn’t work for Judy.
Initially, Judy focused strictly on the jumpers. In fact, she didn’t sit on a hunter until she was 18. To Judy, jumpers were pure fun.
“I like the jumpers!” she laughs. “And the higher the better!”
Height and speed never scared her. When people called her brave, she shook her head. “I don’t know if I was brave—I just never thought about it. I started so young that it was always fun. It was the best life!”
Back then, there was no gradual way to work your way up in the jumpers. Today you can start as low as 2’6”, but at the time, the lowest jumper height was 3’6”.
Judy trained with her mother and had two exceptionally talented jumpers, Sandstorm and Splish Splash (a leopard Appaloosa). They were the horses of her lifetime. She was particularly bonded to Sandstorm, a 15.3-hand chestnut polo pony from the King Ranch in Texas.
“He was so quick, and he could jump so high. I always had so much fun!” Judy remembers.
Sandstorm arrived as part of an entire polo team that had come to the barn to escape a hoof-and-mouth disease outbreak in Texas. He stepped off the trailer and into Judy’s heart.
“I taught him to jump, and that was it. He would never stand still—he would just bounce. He was the greatest. He never, ever quit. Whatever I pointed him at, he would jump. I was so stupid I didn’t know to be afraid of anything.”
Despite his high energy and nervousness, Sandstorm had one surprising quirk: he stood perfectly still whenever he heard the Star-Spangled Banner.
The family later moved the farm to the Battle Creek Hunt Club, a facility that hosted actual hunts complete with hounds. Spectators could enjoy watching a hunt unfold right in front of them. Judy’s brother, Donald, served as hunt master, and when he could no longer ride, Judy took over. Her siblings Donna and Mike also rode, and Mike and his wife Ena eventually took over Lou Don Farm.
Family and Fun
Westwind Farm’s philosophy is that “horses are family,” and Judy has always embraced that. “My horses were my family. I’d tell them all my problems, and we’d solve them. I would just go sit in the stall and talk to my jumpers.”
While she has accomplished an incredible amount, Judy is particularly proud of her performances at Madison Square Garden. “I won a lot at the Garden. It was fun for me! The horse shows I used to go to were amazing! Amazing horses, amazing riders, amazing fun!”
She remembers that courses were very different back then. “They were nothing like they are today. They started at about 4’3” and then just went up.” The higher the jump-offs were, the more Judy enjoyed them.
She recalls a high-jump class at a show in Dayton, Ohio. “It was raining so hard and my horse’s feet were squishing through the water. I won the class at 6’6”.” Another class involved several fences set in a straight row. “You would jump them, then they were raised, and you jumped them again.” It was hard work—but always fun.
Louise kept the farm going by buying horses at sales for a few hundred or a few thousand dollars and reselling them. Selling a horse for $20,000 was a huge deal at the time. Louise traveled to auctions while Judy stayed at the show caring for the horses and competing. Once the sale horses arrived, they had 30 days to get them ready to sell. The money from those sales funded Judy’s entries at the next show.
“It was a different time,” Judy says.
As the farm grew more successful, they were able to purchase a van and ship their own horses. No matter what they were doing, Judy and her siblings had fun. She recalls her brother and sister jumping cars, and once the three of them jumped a fence together. Another time she had her brother spread straw around a large metal ring, which was then lit on fire—and Judy jumped through it.
“Nobody does that anymore,” she laughs.
Her favorite pastime was to ride out into the woods, lay her jean jacket over a five-strand barbed-wire fence, and jump into the neighbor’s property. The neighbors didn’t mind, and she always had a great time.
Her daughter, Shawn Remillard, laughs, “They just did crazy things back then!”
At a show in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, Army servicemen in white uniforms were stationed near one of the jumps to reset poles. They weren’t horse people, and Judy remembers how nervous they looked. But during her round, she reassured them each time she approached: “Don’t worry, guys, I won’t knock it down.”
Judy competed with some of the greatest riders in the country, including Katie Prudent, George Morris, and the Jayne family.
“And I beat them!” she adds proudly.
Shawn mentions that she got to ride with George about 10 years ago. “He and my mom are like two little peas in a pod. It’s hilarious!”
Changes
Judy recalls how crowded the stands once were. “It was packed with spectators. It was so different.” Today, the stands at most horse shows are often empty.
Championships were also a big deal and treated with great ceremony. Awards were presented in the center of the ring with pomp and circumstance before large crowds. No one wore jeans and T-shirts—Judy remembers spectators in hats, fur coats, and diamonds.
She misses these traditions. Ribbons and trophies were not left in boxes for riders to rummage through. After under saddle or equitation classes, riders lined up in the center of the ring to receive their placings. Championships were awarded in the ring as well.
Horse shows were major news events, with stories and photos featured in major newspapers. The family saved many of those clippings.
Shawn notes another big change: the rising cost of the sport. Many kids now simply come to the barn, ride, and leave. “There’s no connection anymore—they’re missing out on how to be horsemen.”
In the past, most juniors came up through the pony divisions, becoming stronger riders and more knowledgeable horsemen. Now, many talented riders lack the financial resources needed to reach upper levels, while others can buy expensive horses and show often enough to accumulate year-end points. Money can buy results that talent alone cannot.
Shawn has an idea to help level the playing field: limit the number of shows that count toward year-end awards. If only four shows counted, wealthier competitors wouldn’t be able to “buy points” by showing constantly.
Shawn ensures her own students learn horsemanship—not just riding. Growing up, she had to make all her own horses, which proved invaluable.
A Family Affair
The entire family helps with the business, including cousin Chris Hanson and his daughter Tiffany Campos, who run Lou Don Farm in Michigan.
Judy opened Westwind Farm in Eagle, Wisconsin, and ran it initially. When Shawn turned pro in 1992, she began teaching there and has now run the farm for about 20 years.
Lou Don Farm in Michigan began breeding Irish horses when Ted Nugent (yes, that Ted Nugent) imported a stallion from Ireland and bred him to the farm’s mares. Later, the Wisconsin farm started its own breeding program, and Shawn helped with those horses, bringing over a few from Michigan. She trained and showed them, earning the nickname “the girl with the Irish horses.”
The Best Life
One year, Shawn opened the Wisconsin H/J Association banquet by reading an article about her mom. It began, “While girls are swooning over Elvis Presley, not Judy—she’s out riding!”
At 84 years old, Judy no longer rides. Shawn feels she is too fragile due to the loss of muscle tone.
“It’s too scary to let her ride,” Shawn says. “It worries me!”
Judy immediately disagrees. “Yes! She’s being overprotective!”
“Working with horses was the best life in the world,” Judy says. “And now for my daughter to be doing it, it’s wonderful to me.”
Shawn adds, “I wouldn’t be where I am without her. My grandparents, everybody. It’s a huge family of horse people. My brother rode jumpers. My cousins run the farm now in Michigan. We all work together, we’re very close, and it’s a lot of fun.”
Judy nods. “It was the greatest life ever.”
Shawn agrees. “Being in the horse world—being part of a horse family—that’s what your life was. The horses were just what you had to do. There was no one else to take care of them. Long hours, long days—that was the way we grew up. A different life.”
Judy smiles. “The best life in the world.”
