One Way? No Way! this way..

How not to take pictures. Give me the camera. Yeah, I took these. Bad, berry, berry bad, but interestingly bad. I had my free camera at the time, it had been swimming. This is a arab/clyde cross. What do you think? His croup slants so steeply, and is so short. Pretty posty behind too, he did indeed have stifle issues as he grew. He's 16.2, and two years old in these pictures. The rest is quite spectacular. Opinions? That one was mine, hof course. A friend's horse. Wonderful temperament.. 519 AreaCode. Bummer.

I was chortling to myself about the rigidity or fluidity of opinions we all have. What IS it about horse people? I have to start asking these questions in the right place, which, whoops, is HerE. Not TherE. Honestly. I'm amazed by this attitude of only this way, and then only that way. The BesT way.

I remember when a great German Instructor Guy, Ed Rothcranz gave me the first of several lessons through the years. I was riding a very kind woman's horses, a beautiful black and an even georgeouser darkly roaning gray, both TB's. 16.2, dainty, but tough, somehow. Nice harses, I am so disgusted with my memory for not remembering her name. What a nice woman she was, glad to let me ride her horses, and kindly driving me home from the barn.

She was a very capable rider, herself. Age I think, had surprised her. These two horses were both still very green, a little tough to keep together. I rode many people's horses at that barn, but hers were my favourite. Their names have disappeared, which also disappoints me. I never thought I'd forget a horse's name.

ANYway, I had been riding about 3 years at this point. Maybe four, and had gotten my first horse, the liver chestnut mare that kicked out at my Dad. So I thought I was pretty overly good. I rode in classical dressage heck-equitation style. (snickers) Pretty floppy, hacktually. But that's how it's done. Correctly. Fluidly, long and deep into the horses movement.

Ed Rothcranz took his first look at me, after we'd flatted and warmed the gray up, as it was a jumping school, and hiked my stirrups up SIX holes. Six. Yeah, it sure felt different. I wish I'd been smarter about what old Ed was trying to teach me. English wasn't his best language at this point. He tended to just scream incomprehensibly. GoLightly helped me figure old Ed out, too.

I came close to losing a teaching job, before I went and visited my cousin in Colorado, where her training stable was at the time. I had been riding about 12 years, at this point. I couldn't teach people how to jump. I just couldn't do it. I was so frustrated by this anomaly, I was eager to soak up what Cousin K had to say.
Two words. Two point. I learned a thousand hours from her.
My legs darn near fellOFF. Felt GreaT.

Two point. Oooohhh. Duh. I came back from one week with Cousin, my School-Barn Boss watched my next lesson, and said, "I don't know what you did for one week, but you just got your job back." I didn't even know I was in trouble. Cousin saved me, there, and her lovely horses. She had an assistant trainer who's chief purpose in life was to make me cry. It worked, a LoT. But Cousin gave me the grounding Ed R. had tried to show me, without words. You can indeed, sit a spooking/teleporting/bucking horse in two-point, if it's deep enough. Secure enough. Honest enough.

To being open to what needs done with your horse. In every situation. Each is unique.
To Unique Horses and People. To riding as many different ways as you can.
To Princes.
Karen Cranham, too. Best cousin, ever!