BY LAUREN MAULDIN
In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have told my wife that my show photos were as exciting as our wedding photos. But although it got me a solid eye roll, I stand by my statement. After all, I’ve been chasing pictures like this for my entire adult life.
I often joke that I horse show for the pictures. It’s not uncommon. We love these animals. They do so much for us in this bizarre sport we’ve put them in, and horses are just so damn pretty. After my childhood heart horse died from colic in the days before cell phone cameras or even really digital cameras, I realized I only have two photos of him. With every horse I’ve owned since then, I’ve vowed to over document them. And don’t worry show photographers—I always buy at least one photo.
Except for winter series this year, where I bought all the photos. Because they looked like this:
When I started riding, I didn’t know anything besides the fact that horses were the most beautiful, amazing animals and riding was the way I got to spend time with them. I grew up in a backyard barn and learned how to care for my horse, stay on, and mind your manners on a fox hunt. It wasn’t until college really, when I joined my school’s IHSA equestrian team, that the complex world of hunter/jumper horse shows opened up to me. And although I showed up to the IHSA tryouts in rubber boots, my velvet helmet, and hair up in a show bow (which I promise was just as unfashionable in the early 2000s as it is now), completely out of my element, I was hooked.
I started showing up at the Hunt Horse Complex in North Carolina during A shows just to watch and absorb as much as I could. I bought the right boots. I took lessons and tried to polish my workmanship but not exactly eloquent equitation. I’d grab any horse show magazine I could get my hands on, and slowly pour over the glossy pages. Sure, the articles were nice, but the photos are what drew me in. Braided hunters. Seemingly giant oxers with the rails painted like birch trees. Snappy “knees to nose” jumpers making everything look effortless. I thought this is what I want to do. My showing experience at that point had been limited to open, breed-show esque circuits and hunter schooling shows. Like Ariel longing for land, I watched the hunters go thinking, I want to be part of your world.
I didn’t have the money. I didn’t have the experience. I didn’t even have natural talent. But I wanted it. I wanted it so badly.
I graduated, moved away from home, started a career in web design that turned into a career in marketing. Moved states multiple times. Got married, became a widow, got married again. A lot of life happened, but along every step of the way I didn’t give up my hunter dreams. I still didn’t have a lot of money or natural talent, but I chipped away at the experience and hustled to make up the differences. Those countless schooling shows taught me how to swallow your nerves and do the thing. How it felt to pay a stranger to judge everything about you and your horse. I had different trainers, learned from each, and horses who gifted me lessons and ribbons along the way.
And I would say, “We’re just here for the pictures!” because I was afraid to say that I wanted to win. That I wanted to be as competitive as the people with the experience and the fancy horses and all that it required. To be honest, now that I’m showing on the circuit and finally where I’ve worked so hard to go, I’m still afraid to say that I want to win.
I don’t have to tell y’all—this sport will kick your butt. For every good picture, there are many more moments of anxiety, sadness, and frustration. Why can’t I get this right? How can I get my horse sound? Why did he have to die when we were at our best?
As I wrote those questions out, one I know are universal to all equestrians, I realized that I never question why I keep trying at this sport. Which one could argue, I should question it. It’s so expensive. It’s a hardship on our household finances. Now that I’m older, my joints ache for days after long weekends at the show. Horses have broken my heart more times than boys ever could. It would be so much easier to ride for fun, just hop on after a hard day and hack around the field. And I’ve tried to do that, to be passive and kill my competitive spirit. But it isn’t long before I pick up that outside rein, add my leg, and get to work.
That’s why when I saw those pictures from winter series, I immediately teared up. They are these snap seconds in time, frozen forever, with my horse’s snappy knees. I’m in sync with him. To most people, my beloved wife included, it looks like a nice picture of a big gray horse bopping around with his mom in the Adults. But to me, it’s decades of hard work and a dream that I refused to give up on.
So yeah, I bought all the photos. Because to me—and maybe to anyone still out there chasing what sets their soul on fire—they’re worth everything. For most of us, showing your heart horse is a short burst of happiness in a long and arduous devotion to this sport. I will look at these photos long after Captain is gone, long after I am jumping around the 3′. And when I do, I will still feel proud.
About the Author: Lauren holds an MFA in Creative Nonfiction from the University of California Riverside, and is a lifelong rider and writer. Through her writing she explores the intersections of mental health, equestrian lifestyle, and healing. She lives in Austin, Texas with her wife and furbabies and shows in the Adult Amateur hunters with her horse, Crusero.
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