Love,
C.A. MacConnell
12/24/2013
Griffin Farm Now Available.
Love,
C.A. MacConnell
11/04/2013
All for Show: Full Circle
They say some things live in the blood, you know. Just the other day, I was taking a walk, and I randomly ran into one of my first riding instructors. It was a quick encounter that immediately sent me back in time. Reminiscing about horse people and barns, I thought about my first horse show, which was a true disaster, and the memory of it made me start cracking up in my car...
I was little, in the four foot tall range, and I was supposed to ride this small, chestnut gelding, a schoolhorse named Blazen Two Socks, who was a pretty good fit for my stubby legs. Usually, he wasn't too difficult to maneuver. The horse was appropriately named, since he had a pronounced white blaze and two white socks. He wasn't complicated, but the little guy definitely wasn't my favorite, and I think he sensed that. Late Night, a calm, sweet, dark bay gelding, and Honda, a little, wild, neurotic, white gelding, were my favorites, but neither of those guys did jumping lessons for some reason (probably for good reason).
I was little, in the four foot tall range, and I was supposed to ride this small, chestnut gelding, a schoolhorse named Blazen Two Socks, who was a pretty good fit for my stubby legs. Usually, he wasn't too difficult to maneuver. The horse was appropriately named, since he had a pronounced white blaze and two white socks. He wasn't complicated, but the little guy definitely wasn't my favorite, and I think he sensed that. Late Night, a calm, sweet, dark bay gelding, and Honda, a little, wild, neurotic, white gelding, were my favorites, but neither of those guys did jumping lessons for some reason (probably for good reason).
Now, schoolhorses at Red Fox Stables were usually extremely reliable; the staff was ultra-experienced and utterly careful, but when dealing with horses, of course there was always the unknown factor. Seems that old Blazen had a few secret tricks stored up in his compact body.
We had been practicing for weeks, and I had the course down, so I thought. The day before the show, we had a "schooling session," otherwise known as practice. Waiting behind the indoor ring, the students sat on their horses, checking stirrup length, tightening girths, and trying to stay still. No one wanted his/her horse to shift too close to someone else's. No one wanted a horse fight. Still, horses pinned back their ears here and there, flattening them, looking tough. And yeah, some creatures let out half-hearted kicks and squeals. The people didn't talk much. I was mute, and as was my custom, I was way too intense.
Usually, the instructors didn't open the enormous indoor ring back door, but that day, with great effort, the staff slid it wide open so we could practice coming in the back one at a time. In the real show, we'd have to enter this way. It was my turn to practice, so I trotted right into the indoor ring, then picked up a canter, and Blazen and I practiced the jumping course like superstars. Well, at first. After the last jump, old Blazen was pretty bored and/or excited about his performance, so instead of calmly stopping and walking outside to join the rest of the riders and horses, Blazen went momentarily insane, madly galloping out the back door, running smack into several horses, shaking everybody up. That's right, everyone was yelling at me, pissed as hell.
Usually, the instructors didn't open the enormous indoor ring back door, but that day, with great effort, the staff slid it wide open so we could practice coming in the back one at a time. In the real show, we'd have to enter this way. It was my turn to practice, so I trotted right into the indoor ring, then picked up a canter, and Blazen and I practiced the jumping course like superstars. Well, at first. After the last jump, old Blazen was pretty bored and/or excited about his performance, so instead of calmly stopping and walking outside to join the rest of the riders and horses, Blazen went momentarily insane, madly galloping out the back door, running smack into several horses, shaking everybody up. That's right, everyone was yelling at me, pissed as hell.
I held on until Blazen jumped over a huge ditch, and my little body went flying right into the ditch. Like a cartoon character, I sat there shaking my head, confused and embarrassed. I checked my arms and legs, moving everything. My body seemed to be working all right, so I sat there, chilling in the ditch, covered with mud. Like a wild mustang stallion, Blazen ran off to freedomland. No worries. Someone tracked him down before he got flattened by a semi truck barreling down Route 50.
Now, since my adventures with Blazen took a lot of time, I wasn't able to practice on Redford the day before. So the plan was that I would just show him cold turkey the next day. Well, the next morning, the morning of the big show, since Redford was so damn slow, the instructors handed me a crop, told me to canter him around fast, and then they sent me off to the side ring to gear up Redford for the ride. Get his attention, were the last instructions I heard. Well, I suppose I did a good job getting his attention because when the time came for me to ride Redford in the show ring, that horse was freaking flying. I remember hanging on to his mane, feeling the wind in my face even though we were in an indoor ring. Basically, throughout the course, I didn't do anything at all. I didn't move. I didn't steer. I was frozen, hanging on to that mane. Really, he did the course all on his own. Good thing he knew where to go. How, I have no idea.
And then there were all of the grins, chuckles, and out-right cackles.
The instructors mulled it over, and I guess they felt sorry for me, so they decided to give me a new horse for the show day. Old Blazen went back to his stall where he belonged, but that guy had a shit-eating grin on his muzzle, I swear. Now the new plan was for me to ride Redford -- not because he was awesome, but because no one wanted to ride him. On the ground, Redford was known for being mean as hell. Like Blazen, Redford was also appropriately named; he was a strange pinkish, godawful red color. Part draft horse and part dinosaur, Redford was damn ugly and huge. Well, his head was huge, and it was definitely out of proportion to his body. To me, since I was so vertically challenged, he looked like a red monster. I'd heard that Redford bit people when they tried to tack him up, but I knew that once I got up on his back, there shouldn't be too many problems other than that he was super slow. Usually, a rider had to start up a jet plane under Redford's ass just to get him to trot. Usually.
Now, since my adventures with Blazen took a lot of time, I wasn't able to practice on Redford the day before. So the plan was that I would just show him cold turkey the next day. Well, the next morning, the morning of the big show, since Redford was so damn slow, the instructors handed me a crop, told me to canter him around fast, and then they sent me off to the side ring to gear up Redford for the ride. Get his attention, were the last instructions I heard. Well, I suppose I did a good job getting his attention because when the time came for me to ride Redford in the show ring, that horse was freaking flying. I remember hanging on to his mane, feeling the wind in my face even though we were in an indoor ring. Basically, throughout the course, I didn't do anything at all. I didn't move. I didn't steer. I was frozen, hanging on to that mane. Really, he did the course all on his own. Good thing he knew where to go. How, I have no idea.
At a hunter horse show, a course is usually comprised of eight jumps; that usually means four "lines." A "line" means one jump followed by another, and there are a certain number of canter strides that you must do in between the jumps in the line. Well, where we were supposed to do five strides, we did four (or a little less) each time, which means that we were going so fast, Redford took up some amazing ground. I finished the jumps, and we exited the ring like champs, but I was still clutching his mane. My fingers were bluish.
When I went out the back door, the instructors all looked at me in shock; their mouths all turned into big "O's." I heard things such as this:
When I went out the back door, the instructors all looked at me in shock; their mouths all turned into big "O's." I heard things such as this:
"Wow, that was fast! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha."
"I've never seen Redford go that fast, ever."
"You looked like a speedy peanut up there!"
"Whoa."
"Oh my god."
"You looked like a speedy peanut up there!"
"Whoa."
"Oh my god."
"Whoa."
"Oh my god."
"Whoa."
"For the love of god, what was that?"
"For the love of god, what was that?"
And then there were all of the grins, chuckles, and out-right cackles.
No one had ever seen Redford go that fast, and I don't think anyone had ever seen any of the schoolhorses go that fast either. One of the barn workers held Redford while I joined my parents in the barn lounge; they were cheering like crazy. See, they thought the whole point was to be the fastest, and they assumed that I was a child prodigy at riding. But with hunters, the whole point is not to go fast at all. The point is to canter in a nice, smooth rhythm, jump the lines correctly at a sane speed, and get the right striding. To put it bluntly -- I totally screwed it up and none of us had any idea. Basically, it was so bad, it was as if I scored a basket for the other basketball team, and my parents and I were clueless.
Now, later in life I learned about showing and striding and all that, but what I remember most about that first horse show was the speed, the fun, and how ridiculously excited we all were about the horrible ride. That's right, we were oblivious to the reality that my performance was absolutely hilarious. That day, it didn't really matter. Since I didn't know any better, I was just beaming at my ride, my light speed course. In some ways, not knowing was a gift.
Weirdly, I ended up getting third place; this was because the people in 4th, 5th, and 6th place had some major issues that were way worse than mine...like they probably knocked jumps over or trotted by accident. And I believe someone's helmet went flying off and landed in the ring dirt. But I was still pretty proud of my yellow ribbon. When I returned to Redford and showed him our winnings, Redford had a pained, angry look, and I knew he just wanted to go back to his stall and eat. Alas, I didn't feel like the horse whisperer, but I had my damn yellow ribbon, so I gave him a pat on the neck and thanked the jerk.
Weirdly, I ended up getting third place; this was because the people in 4th, 5th, and 6th place had some major issues that were way worse than mine...like they probably knocked jumps over or trotted by accident. And I believe someone's helmet went flying off and landed in the ring dirt. But I was still pretty proud of my yellow ribbon. When I returned to Redford and showed him our winnings, Redford had a pained, angry look, and I knew he just wanted to go back to his stall and eat. Alas, I didn't feel like the horse whisperer, but I had my damn yellow ribbon, so I gave him a pat on the neck and thanked the jerk.
When I returned to the barn lounge, the older kids were cracking up, all whispering about my terrible, speed demon ride. Hearing them, I started coming to, realizing my ride was all wrong, but in my heart, I also knew that it was still the beginning of something, so I shrugged and clutched my yellow ribbon, checking out the snacks, feeling stubborn. And I thought to myself, I'll show you.
However awkward it was, it was definitely a beginning. Sucking at my first show made me work all the harder. And because I had to work hard at it, I didn't even realize it, but I was slowly learning how to pass on the wisdom of many trials and errors. I was learning how to become a good teacher. At fifteen, at the very same farm, I started teaching kids and adults. Years later, I was an assistant trainer there, and I got to watch my students practice for their first horse shows. Full circle. Hey now, wouldn't that be a good name for a horse? Has a nice ring to it...Full Circle. Hm...
However awkward it was, it was definitely a beginning. Sucking at my first show made me work all the harder. And because I had to work hard at it, I didn't even realize it, but I was slowly learning how to pass on the wisdom of many trials and errors. I was learning how to become a good teacher. At fifteen, at the very same farm, I started teaching kids and adults. Years later, I was an assistant trainer there, and I got to watch my students practice for their first horse shows. Full circle. Hey now, wouldn't that be a good name for a horse? Has a nice ring to it...Full Circle. Hm...
Redford wasn't such a bad guy. Simply, he was making his way in the world like the rest of us, and I have a soft spot for him now. Thinking back, something has occurred to me -- Redford took care of me that day, and he did exactly what he was told to do. I took him to the side ring to wake him up, and he responded. Despite his rough looks, and although all throughout the barn he was known for his resentful attitude, wild eyes, and rumored biting and kicking, I think it was all for show. He never tried to hurt me. Not once.
C.A. MacConnell
C.A. MacConnell
9/15/2013
Moving Forward with My Debut Novel
C.A. MacConnell
9/14/2013
Griffin Farm Update
Currently, I have reached page 294 of revisions for Griffin Farm, which will be my debut novel. Still have a little ways to go, but the revisions are going well; changes are mostly small. After I finish this revision, I'll go over it once or twice more, reading it out loud as a hard copy version. Then I will put it out there for sale in book form (which I still prefer since I am a dinosaur when it comes to technology). Of course, for you people who are living in this century, it will also be available electronically.
Once I get all this ridiculous shit ironed out, if anyone has any suggestions for promotion, I'd be all ears. I have a few tricks up my sleeve, but I'm always looking for suggestions in this area. Send 'em my way -- any information would be helpful. Eventually, I'll also be looking for a venue for a reading to release it officially. If you have ideas on this, I'd love to know that as well.
Just reaching out, taking it one step at a time.
Rockin, I'm fucking stoked,
C.A. MacConnell
Once I get all this ridiculous shit ironed out, if anyone has any suggestions for promotion, I'd be all ears. I have a few tricks up my sleeve, but I'm always looking for suggestions in this area. Send 'em my way -- any information would be helpful. Eventually, I'll also be looking for a venue for a reading to release it officially. If you have ideas on this, I'd love to know that as well.
Just reaching out, taking it one step at a time.
Rockin, I'm fucking stoked,
C.A. MacConnell
3/15/2013
Flakey's Baby
One of my favorite horses at the Loveland farm where I worked was called Flakey. We were pretty tight. I really loved the guy, now that I think about it. He was obsessive and nervous at times, but he tried so hard every single day, and I could relate, so I had an enormous soft spot for him. Now, Flakey was a lesson horse, but he'd travel to some smaller shows here and there, so every now and then he had his turn in the spotlight. Not sure that he cared about that or even liked it, but the look on his face told me he enjoyed showing off here and there.
All the kids thought he was just a rather cute white horse, not spectacular, but endearing. He got his fair share of apples and carrots. But when I washed him, I could see that underneath his white fur, his skin was multi-colored, which meant that technically, he was a Paint horse, and he had a free-spirited side to match his Paint lines.
Flakey worked his heart out for the kids; he was a superb lesson horse, but he also had his quirks, as all the horses did. So as the teacher, there were a few things about Flakey I had to remember (or else):
1. When presented with a new, strange jump, like a green rolltop or especially a jump with flowers, Flakey would freak out and jump straight up about four feet in the air to make sure he cleared it. The horse was terrified of flowers. So I never used these kinds of jumps with the kids, unless it was a whiney kid. Joking.
2. Flakey was kind of neurotic about change. Stick him in a lesson where everything just rolled along as usual, and he was awesome. Add a random raccoon or thunderstorm, and you might have a problem. So if I noticed some kind of weird happening, I made sure to have the kid dismount so as not to get flattened by a spooky horse. But I usually knew when he was going to spook. He'd do this little dance and give a warning, so it was all good. Flakey liked a lot of reassurance. It was this little game he played with me.
3. Flakey was incredibly protective of other horses.
I found out #3 by chance one day when I was teaching a lesson to three kids in the outdoor ring. It was a sunny, peaceful Saturday afternoon, and it was one of my last lessons for the day. The horses were all tired, and I was worn out too. Well, suddenly Flakey started to jump around a little. He was doing that "something's not normal" dance, and the kid on top of him was starting to get scared.
I looked around. Didn't see anything. There was no storm coming, no rabid dog in the ring, no crazy possum, nothing like that. I was baffled, but just to be safe, I told the kid to jump down from Flakey, because I knew something was a little off.
So she jumped down, but unfortunately, she also let go of the reins. The other horses, Buddy and Cliff, just stood there basking in the sun while Flakey suddenly turned into some kind of wild stallion, running across the ring, standing at the edge of the fence, raising his nose into the air, whinnying fiercely.
At that moment, a crazed filly came tearing across one of our fields, whinnying back. Now, this was strange as hell, because we didn't have any young horses at the farm, so it wasn't ours. Anyway, the little lady was running at full speed and Flakey jumped right on out of the ring, stopping her. Then he trotted circles around her, nuzzling her here and there, letting her know he was in charge.
The kid that had been riding Flakey shouted, "It's Flakey's baby!"
I started laughing, saying, "Yes, he found his baby." I didn't have the heart to tell her that Flakey was a boy, and he was a gelding, so there was no possible way it could be his baby, but I just let all the kids think that he had found his long lost baby.
I watched Flakey dance around, protecting that filly, and it was clear to me that his "Paint" side was coming out that day. He thought he was a wild west Paint stallion, protecting his young, and it reminded me that no amount of lessons for humans could take away his fierce wild soul.
It was beautiful to watch.
Anyway, eventually we figured out that the filly had gotten loose from a farm down the road, and we returned her to her owners. And of course, Flakey went back to work and finished the kid's lesson. But I could see a new spark in his eye as he cantered around the ring. It was as if he was saying, Hey, I am doing these lessons for you, but it's just because I like you all right, and the truth is, I could be free anytime I want to be. I am a Paint, and I am still free. Free.
Indeed. Free. I suppose we all are free if we want to be. I miss you, pal.
C.A. MacConnell
All the kids thought he was just a rather cute white horse, not spectacular, but endearing. He got his fair share of apples and carrots. But when I washed him, I could see that underneath his white fur, his skin was multi-colored, which meant that technically, he was a Paint horse, and he had a free-spirited side to match his Paint lines.
Flakey worked his heart out for the kids; he was a superb lesson horse, but he also had his quirks, as all the horses did. So as the teacher, there were a few things about Flakey I had to remember (or else):
1. When presented with a new, strange jump, like a green rolltop or especially a jump with flowers, Flakey would freak out and jump straight up about four feet in the air to make sure he cleared it. The horse was terrified of flowers. So I never used these kinds of jumps with the kids, unless it was a whiney kid. Joking.
2. Flakey was kind of neurotic about change. Stick him in a lesson where everything just rolled along as usual, and he was awesome. Add a random raccoon or thunderstorm, and you might have a problem. So if I noticed some kind of weird happening, I made sure to have the kid dismount so as not to get flattened by a spooky horse. But I usually knew when he was going to spook. He'd do this little dance and give a warning, so it was all good. Flakey liked a lot of reassurance. It was this little game he played with me.
3. Flakey was incredibly protective of other horses.
I found out #3 by chance one day when I was teaching a lesson to three kids in the outdoor ring. It was a sunny, peaceful Saturday afternoon, and it was one of my last lessons for the day. The horses were all tired, and I was worn out too. Well, suddenly Flakey started to jump around a little. He was doing that "something's not normal" dance, and the kid on top of him was starting to get scared.
I looked around. Didn't see anything. There was no storm coming, no rabid dog in the ring, no crazy possum, nothing like that. I was baffled, but just to be safe, I told the kid to jump down from Flakey, because I knew something was a little off.
So she jumped down, but unfortunately, she also let go of the reins. The other horses, Buddy and Cliff, just stood there basking in the sun while Flakey suddenly turned into some kind of wild stallion, running across the ring, standing at the edge of the fence, raising his nose into the air, whinnying fiercely.
At that moment, a crazed filly came tearing across one of our fields, whinnying back. Now, this was strange as hell, because we didn't have any young horses at the farm, so it wasn't ours. Anyway, the little lady was running at full speed and Flakey jumped right on out of the ring, stopping her. Then he trotted circles around her, nuzzling her here and there, letting her know he was in charge.
The kid that had been riding Flakey shouted, "It's Flakey's baby!"
I started laughing, saying, "Yes, he found his baby." I didn't have the heart to tell her that Flakey was a boy, and he was a gelding, so there was no possible way it could be his baby, but I just let all the kids think that he had found his long lost baby.
I watched Flakey dance around, protecting that filly, and it was clear to me that his "Paint" side was coming out that day. He thought he was a wild west Paint stallion, protecting his young, and it reminded me that no amount of lessons for humans could take away his fierce wild soul.
It was beautiful to watch.
Anyway, eventually we figured out that the filly had gotten loose from a farm down the road, and we returned her to her owners. And of course, Flakey went back to work and finished the kid's lesson. But I could see a new spark in his eye as he cantered around the ring. It was as if he was saying, Hey, I am doing these lessons for you, but it's just because I like you all right, and the truth is, I could be free anytime I want to be. I am a Paint, and I am still free. Free.
Indeed. Free. I suppose we all are free if we want to be. I miss you, pal.
C.A. MacConnell