BY HILLARY MORROW
If you grew up in the 80’s and early 90’s like me, everything was monogrammed. The Preppy Handbook was my bible, and if I could hold it down, it sported my initials: HHL for Hillary Louise Hytken. The lack of symmetry bothered me, so often, I did HLH instead, and in my barn colors of navy, white, and burgundy, of course.
These letters were on brass plates on my tack, on the chokers for my shirts, on my needlepoint belt and the small patch on the left hip of my Journeyman chaps, a treasured 18th birthday gift I still ride in today.
I remember realizing upon my engagement that my new name, should I agree to take that of my husband, would be correctly symmetrical. This made me happier than it should have. I would be Hillary Hytken Morrow, and the correct monogram would be HMH! After our wedding, my husband asked if I would replace the brass stall plates with my new name, and I happily obliged: “Harry” Owned by Hillary Hytken Morrow replaced my old plate. Anything new was monogrammed with HMH. The symmetry made me smile, and the fact that my husband understood the importance of the horses in my life was amazing.
This isn’t a story about my monogram though; it’s about my husband and his commitment to my hobby, our animals, and our family. His desire to be part of my life in every way makes him an amazing horse husband and father. My life, like my name, feels symmetrical since we made a commitment to each other.
He balances me. I’ll be honest: he shut down my dreams of a farmette early on. He stated clearly that he never wants horses at home. He doesn’t want to drive a tractor or fix fences. But he also accepted that I was committed to having two horses, and they were non-negotiable.
My husband treats Patch like a big chocolate lab. There are ear scritches, treats, and hand walks where Patch is often walking him. But when I need the tippy top of Patch’s stall cobwebbed, Mike’s on the ladder. When the bank barn at the farm needs cleaning and organizing, Mike is willing to spend hours of his weekend sweating and batting away the wasps to get things looking perfect. And, he never leaves Costco without a giant bag of carrots for his equine child.
When Sean took to riding at 18 months, Mike learned way more than he signed up for, and my monogram changed again. Mike can (mostly) tack up a pony, put on a halter, check a girth, and set jumps. He knows the order of the brushes and can give a bath in a pinch. He puts on garters and straps, straightens bow-ties, and never missed an IEA show last winter. He’s the king of the early morning Dunkin run for not just me and the kids but our trainers and barn family. He knows my one trainer runs not on Dunkin but on Diet Dr. Pepper and keeps the house and trailer stocked.
My monogram is now a simple, block-letter M of our full last name. The feminine script that I love doesn’t work in my house of boys, each of whom is invested in our sport in their own way. Mike is our support staff and muscle, Sean rides and shows with me, and my younger son, Declan, is ribbon staff and jump crew whenever needed.
When we bought Patch, I agonized over what to write on his new stall plate. His show name, Lambeau, after the Green Bay Packers’ legendary stadium, was chosen to include all four of us. I didn’t want the stall plate to only include me as the owner, and I was worried about leaving Declan out if I put “Sean & Hillary Morrow”.
The plate reads “Lambeau, The Morrow Family”, because that’s the truth. Patch belongs to all of us in different ways, and we, to him. Without the support of my husband, I couldn’t continue to ride, show, and share these amazing animals with my sons.
