RECREATION & LIFESTYLE

OCALA, Fla. (WCJB) - Fourth graders in Marion County are about to get a lesson about the equine industry as they gallop into the fictional world of a boy and his wild black stallion.

Through the Black Stallion Reading Project, elementary students in the north central Florida county are getting what could be their first or only encounter with a horse.

We’re getting a show this morning! Sham is a 5-year-old male black stallion. @MarionCountyK12 @WCJB20 pic.twitter.com/oVwh4S3TjV
— Julia Laude (@JuliaMaeLaude) March 29, 2021

In partnership with the Ocala Horse Alliance, these students will receive a copy of ‘The Black Stallion’ by Walter Farley, and their own ‘tack trunk.’

“It a great way to engage students in reading and give them exposure to horses and maybe even get them thinking about a career in the horse industry. And not just a book. They’re also going to get a tack trunk that has horse related items in it including sealed bags of hay and sugar cubes,” MCPS School Boar Chair, Nancy Thrower said.

Over the next five years, the Black Stallion Reading Project will allow students to get up close and personal with horses.

by Laura Hesse

The golden palomino standing before her with soft brown eyes and a silver mane and tail was drop dead gorgeous… and much too young to be that pregnant! What was a filly like her doing at a slaughter house auction? Would her father let Linda take her home? Times were hard. Could they afford the vet bills for the filly and her unborn foal? There were bound to be many. Find the answer to these questions in this amazing Hallmark style story about love at first sight and the girl who just wouldn’t give up on the filly called Easter, especially when Mother Nature enters into the fray. Inspired by a true story.

The Auction

“Dad,” Linda McCloud asked casually from across the kitchen table, a spoonful of Cheerios in one hand, the bowl on the table in front of her more cereal than milk.

“Yes, Sweet Pea,” Tom McCloud replied. He sighed heavily and put down the Financial Post, a dispirited look on his face. Beef prices were still low and showed no sign of getting any better. He folded the paper an extra two times and tossed it in the recycle box by the door: out of sight, out of mind!

“Can I come to the auction with you and Ross today?” his daughter beamed sweetly.

Tom looked up and grinned, his spirits lifting at the sight of the sparkling blue eyes and the earnest face that greeted him. Linda was the image of her mother: blue-grey eyes, shoulder length dirty blond hair and a full moon face. She was the picture of innocence, however cheeky her motive. His heart swelled with pride whenever he looked at her. His daughter never ceased to amaze him and he wasn’t surprised by her question. Tom tried to keep his face stern and sober. He already knew why she wanted to come today, but didn’t let on.

“You don’t think that you’d be bored? Cattle auctions, these days, aren’t much fun,” he said, lifting a mug to his lips. He gulped down the last of the strong coffee and placed the “World’s Greatest Dad” mug down on the table. It had been a Christmas present from his son and daughter a couple of years ago; it was his favorite cup.

“I won’t get in your way. I promise. I’d just like to go, that’s all,” she finished. “You’ve never taken me before and I want to see the bulls. I think it’d be neat!”

by Laura Hesse

The golden palomino standing before her with soft brown eyes and a silver mane and tail was drop dead gorgeous… and much too young to be that pregnant! What was a filly like her doing at a slaughter house auction? Would her father let Linda take her home? Times were hard. Could they afford the vet bills for the filly and her unborn foal? There were bound to be many. Find the answer to these questions in this amazing Hallmark style story about love at first sight and the girl who just wouldn’t give up on the filly called Easter, especially when Mother Nature enters into the fray. Inspired by a true story.

The Auction

“Dad,” Linda McCloud asked casually from across the kitchen table, a spoonful of Cheerios in one hand, the bowl on the table in front of her more cereal than milk.

“Yes, Sweet Pea,” Tom McCloud replied. He sighed heavily and put down the Financial Post, a dispirited look on his face. Beef prices were still low and showed no sign of getting any better. He folded the paper an extra two times and tossed it in the recycle box by the door: out of sight, out of mind!

“Can I come to the auction with you and Ross today?” his daughter beamed sweetly.

Tom looked up and grinned, his spirits lifting at the sight of the sparkling blue eyes and the earnest face that greeted him. Linda was the image of her mother: blue-grey eyes, shoulder length dirty blond hair and a full moon face. She was the picture of innocence, however cheeky her motive. His heart swelled with pride whenever he looked at her. His daughter never ceased to amaze him and he wasn’t surprised by her question. Tom tried to keep his face stern and sober. He already knew why she wanted to come today, but didn’t let on.

“You don’t think that you’d be bored? Cattle auctions, these days, aren’t much fun,” he said, lifting a mug to his lips. He gulped down the last of the strong coffee and placed the “World’s Greatest Dad” mug down on the table. It had been a Christmas present from his son and daughter a couple of years ago; it was his favorite cup.

“I won’t get in your way. I promise. I’d just like to go, that’s all,” she finished. “You’ve never taken me before and I want to see the bulls. I think it’d be neat!”

If you are over winter, like me, then here are some tips to stay motivated to ride and work with your horse!

Many equestrians focus on the care of horses during cold and icy winter months, which leaves little time to rider. If you are fortunate enough to have a full-care facility the chances of riding are much greater. Still, waking up to ice on the ground and freezing temperatures make it difficult to leave the house and spend time exercising outdoors.

For me, winter has always been the best time to ride. My bodywork clients are quieter because show season is suspended and my pony moves more forward.

Remember, a longer warm up is not only good for your horse but for you as well.

Get up, get dressed and get out.

Waking up in the cold and dark makes me want to hide under the covers. Still, I usually put my clothes out the evening before to make things a little easier. Shower, get dressed and ready for the day. The nicer I dress, the nicer I feel. During the time of COVID (ugh) it has been difficult to not wear my pajamas all day every day. Dress for the mood you want, not necessarily the mood you have. Save the pj’s for when you come back from the barn.

I know from experience, the hardest thing to do is make that first step into the biting air. How many of you regret ever going to the barn? Not me. But I do regret NOT going. The first step is the hardest but I always make the effort to at least leave the house. Once I do, it’s a no brainer to go to my favorite place .

Dress Yourself Appropriately

Dressing in layers is ideal. As you exercise you will increase your body temperature and begin to sweat. Make sure you have a moisture-wicking base layer so you don’t lose heat when you do. I work outside and there is a big difference when I come prepared.

A Burning Question In The 1890s – Shall Women Ride Astride? — Image courtesy of Pixabay

by Judith Martin Woodall

"In my opinion, from a physiological point of view, it would be immeasurably better for women to ride astride. This position, on horse[back] would, I think, render the exercise of much more benefit to women. The circulatory and muscular systems would receive the greater tonic effect from the riding in this symmetrical position.” Dr. Sarah A. French, M.D. ¹

In 1895 most horsemen and women would have answered the question with an emphatic, NO! But Dr. French was among 500 physicians in New York City who responded to an inquiry from Ernst Carl von Gillmann, the head riding master at Dickel's Riding Academy on West Fifty-sixth Street in New York in January of that year. The issue had been roiling for some time and was given added attention later in the year when the British actress, Dorothy Chestie, was arrested on a charge of disturbing the peace while riding astride in Central Park. She was apprehended wearing a knee-length fitted coat that draped across her upper thigh and back over the cantle of the saddle. To complete her habit, she sported a bowler hat, a high-necked white shirt, light-colored bloomers tucked into tall boots, and dark gloves. The actress, who was appearing in the play, The Newest Woman, a comedy satirizing the growing feminism of the era, declared that she always wore bloomers, always rode astride at home in England, and was herself a “new woman.”

Police Commissioner Theodore Roosevelt was asked to “interpret police duties in such a case.” The Commissioner frequently rode in the park where he could be seen in a top hat and frock coat, the complete opposite of his now prevalent rough rider image. He issued a statement that there was no law against women riding astride, provided they were riding “in a proper manner.” ² Based on existing photos, Chestie was not a polished rider, which may have been a factor in the mountie's decision to arrest her.

Gillmann confessed that he had never given much thought to women riding astride. The riding master found it difficult to obtain dispassionate views on the subject, especially regarding the female anatomy. It was an article of faith among naysayers that women could not ride astride safely because their cushioned derriéres prevented them from sitting deep in the saddle, and their legs from the hip to the knee were shorter and rounder than a man’s, making it difficult to "grip." Even if their thighs were not overly round, as "the weaker sex," they simply hadn't the strength to grip and needed the support of a sidesaddle. One horsewoman observed as late as 1912 that she might accept the "fraudulent notion" that women had insufficient gripping power if it were not for the numbers of men she saw falling off their horses in Central Park on a regular basis.

Horses: Portraits & Stories by Shelley Paulson

Take an inspiring look at horses through the lens of equine photographer Shelley Paulson. As you turn the pages of this beautifully illustrated book, you will experience the light and love that surrounds the special relationships we have with these majestic animals. You will also admire images that document the strength and unparalleled beauty of the horse throughout the four seasons, in action and at rest, with their humans, and on the ranch. Paulson also provides a stunning collection of portraits that show horses still living wild and free, untouched by human hands.

As you view Paulson’s storytelling, evocative photographs, you will read numerous stories that provide insight into the horses’ histories, characteristics, and unique personalities. Combining superb images, equestrian facts, and personal stories, this book provides readers young and old with a memorable and intimate look at a cherished part of American―and indeed, worldwide―culture

When I first began photographing wild horses, I knew very early on that I wanted to photograph the horses through the changing seasons, to show their character and their interactions through the changing weather and the changing colors and light.

I wanted to capture it all, even the life cycles of these magnificent animals: the tender newborns and their protective parents during the first buds of spring. The folly and growing rebelliousness of teens during the blazing heat of summer. The strength and swagger of maturing horses amidst the brilliant colors of fall. And even the resilience and dignity of the older horses in the crystal light and often brutal storms of winter.

Photographing in the wild requires great patience and readiness, but it’s often the unexpected actions I find intensely rewarding.

I feel at peace in the wilderness among all these wild things. Open spaces, no fences, together amongst the wild horses I feel like an explorer; like the photographer William Henry Jackson [1843-1942] first witnessing the American West through the lens of his view camera.

by Brittney Joy

IT WAS FOUR minutes past noon and I was chasing a two hundred pound steer down the barn aisle. At three minutes past the hour I had my butt planted on the long wooden bench in the tack room and was halfway through my turkey-mayo sandwich. My first swig of Dr. Pepper fizzled down my throat and I closed my eyes, reveling in the cold, wet gulp. The cool air in the tack room reeked of worn leather and dirt.

Amidst my gulping, I’m not sure which came first: the frustrated hollers from Marilynn or a chocolate-brown blaze of fur and hooves flying past the open door. Either way, I dropped my pop can and scrambled out into the barn aisle, looking from one end to the other. Marilynn stood with her hands on her hips in the barn doorway. Her five foot, petite frame didn’t make much of a silhouette against the sun, but her voice made up for it. She pointed at the steer trotting down the aisle. “Get that little bugger,” she yelled, and I turned, racing straight for him.

I ran like I knew what I was doing, but I didn’t. I pumped my arms and tried to lengthen my stride, but cowboy boots do not make great running shoes. Their slick leather soles slid against the concrete floor instead of gripping it. Trying not to twist an ankle, I steadied my long legs into a safer speed, but the steer didn’t slow a bit. In fact, he picked up his pace. With his tail flagged high over his back, his hooves clipped against the floor as he darted out the opposite end of the barn. Marilynn had spent the morning showing me the ropes. Mucking stalls, grooming horses, packing hay bales around—those were all going to be part of my job. I didn’t recall her saying anything about tackling cattle, but I didn’t want to let her down. Not on my first day. So I ran.

by Brittney Joy

IT WAS FOUR minutes past noon and I was chasing a two hundred pound steer down the barn aisle. At three minutes past the hour I had my butt planted on the long wooden bench in the tack room and was halfway through my turkey-mayo sandwich. My first swig of Dr. Pepper fizzled down my throat and I closed my eyes, reveling in the cold, wet gulp. The cool air in the tack room reeked of worn leather and dirt.

Amidst my gulping, I’m not sure which came first: the frustrated hollers from Marilynn or a chocolate-brown blaze of fur and hooves flying past the open door. Either way, I dropped my pop can and scrambled out into the barn aisle, looking from one end to the other. Marilynn stood with her hands on her hips in the barn doorway. Her five foot, petite frame didn’t make much of a silhouette against the sun, but her voice made up for it. She pointed at the steer trotting down the aisle. “Get that little bugger,” she yelled, and I turned, racing straight for him.

I ran like I knew what I was doing, but I didn’t. I pumped my arms and tried to lengthen my stride, but cowboy boots do not make great running shoes. Their slick leather soles slid against the concrete floor instead of gripping it. Trying not to twist an ankle, I steadied my long legs into a safer speed, but the steer didn’t slow a bit. In fact, he picked up his pace. With his tail flagged high over his back, his hooves clipped against the floor as he darted out the opposite end of the barn. Marilynn had spent the morning showing me the ropes. Mucking stalls, grooming horses, packing hay bales around—those were all going to be part of my job. I didn’t recall her saying anything about tackling cattle, but I didn’t want to let her down. Not on my first day. So I ran.