An Anniversary Promotion From a Dead Horse

Today is a big anniversary for me. Here is the thing about anniversaries; they only matter to the ones having them. We might congratulate married couples if anyone outside remembers the date. We mark the anniversary of years at work, looking toward retirement. Birthdays are anniversaries. Some of us celebrate sobriety milestones. Or remember the day someone we loved walked on from this life. We mark the days our lives change. At their heart, anniversaries are all survival stories.

I’m marking the anniversary of sitting down to write a short essay 15 years ago. I did not know every Thursday night since then, I would push everything aside and tuck in to write. Or that writing would change every part of my life. After a few hours of writing, I do the night barn check and stumble to bed. Then I get up ridiculously early to finish. Each blog takes about eight hours to write. I didn’t skip if I was sick and when I broke my wrist. I persisted.

My blog started because of a horse. No surprise, right? He was far from perfect. I was the one who had to change, but he carried me over years of rough ground. No trite fruit, I needed to thank him in ways beyond apples and carrots. Even now, I want that dead horse to be proud of me.

I started blogging to a small circle of local friends and clients. I finally gained the courage to post on Facebook, and soon invitations to give clinics around the world came. It was so unexpected and incredible to get to meet so many horses in so many climates. To make friends in faraway places. Horses I still think about and people I still miss. All because I kept a Thursday night date with my words.

Much of my inspiration comes from horses, since horses and life are practically the same thing. My thoughts routinely ran wild until tamed into an essay. I credit the practice of rounding up my random words into sentences for giving me a deeper understanding​ of working with horses. Do anything this long, the more you understand the threads that tie things together. Writing and training blended so well it felt like perpetual energy. As I’ve traveled, I’ve left a trail of seven books and hundreds of essays on my website. My readers have been encouraging. I also watched my words shared without author credit. Sometimes innocently, and other times by those who plagiarized my work, taking praise while barely changing a word.

People think writing is a talent, but it’s a practice for me. I must work at it. My words are stubbornly my own, belligerently free of any AI influence. I have turned away every sponsor and advertiser who wanted their name on this page like I had an allergy to money. Not only that, I pay extra on my site, so the internet doesn’t remind you that you searched for leak-proof underwear last week. You’re welcome.

When Covid hit and clinic travel stopped, the blog gave me a way to stay in touch. I had to find a different way to work and started online lessons, sitting at my computer, coaching riders between blogs. It was enough to make you think anything was possible. I would have missed meeting horses and the camaraderie at clinics, but once The Barn School was up and running, we were fine. Our own affirmative social media site was a hangout for like minds and a place to escape the simmering swill of social media. When the pandemic ended, no one wanted to leave.

There have been hard changes in the horse industry over these same 15 years. The economy has gotten personal for many horse people. We strive to do the best for our horses but get stirred up by our own culture wars. Abuse is big news and we pick sides on any controversy and bicker it out. Our barns become battlefields if we let them. I don’t know if there is more cruelty, or if it’s just sensationalized more by social media. From our sofas, we click and cluck and click again, while most of the good change goes unacknowledged.

Social media, especially Facebook, helped grow my early business, but also caused its dramatic fall. In the beginning, there were good intentions, and I was happy to add mine to the mix. But now Facebook seems all about meanness and money. Can writing keep a small business alive without social media? After Facebook disappeared my business page for the second time, I lost 85% of my readers. It’s beyond disheartening, being booted into cyberspace. Facebook is the Dollar Store of cheap greed. I’ll see myself out.

I don’t miss the muck-raking. I’m not ready to retire, but I’m sick of promoting myself, and too tired to fight. Other than the income drop, I’ve never felt cleaner. I squint less and sometimes even sing Patsy Cline songs again. I moved to a kinder neighborhood. Intelligent platforms like Substack and BlueSky, where there are no ads, no hacking, no fake anything. Places that feel safe and sane. #freeatlast

Social media has made us less trusting, more cynical. Gossip gets passed on as fact. We judge each other even as we dislike feeling judged. Sometimes, I get hate-mail with insults meant to hurt my feelings. They do. Usually, the emails come from someone who refers to themselves as a long-time reader. After almost 1500 free horse training blogs, how have I suddenly crossed a line? My dead horse flashes his tail.

Wait! I can’t go a word further without giving credit to the dogs who sat with me all those Thursday nights. The ones sitting with me now, who rolled out of bed long before dawn and dragged themselves under my desk. I mark the time by the precious lives of those good dogs over the years. A new recruit started this week. Maybe they would have preferred living with a hiker or a gourmet cook, but I can’t write a word without a dog there to spellcheck. They deserve more credit than I give them.

What will the next 15 years hold? I am a woman of a certain age. I expect unavoidable heartbreaking loss and gut-wrenching change, for sure. But I’ll still walk the farm at night under the prairie moon. The Earth is no less amazing. Animals will always have calming signals worth listening to, and I’ll always think too much and need to write it out.

The big anniversary news is that dead horse has finally put me out to pasture. I’ve paid my debt. The 1500 horse training blogs on my website will stay. I’ll keep writing, keep working with horses and humans, keep doing what I love. But fair warning. My words have slipped their halter and wandered off, grazing pastures with no fences. I’ve always written about more than horses, but I’m writing for myself now. Unwinding mysteries and celebrating tomfoolery while I pursue The Fine Art of Aging Cantankerously. I hope you’ll come along.

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An audio version of this essay is available to subscribers on Substack.

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