Riding: If We Can’t Feel It, We Can’t Fix It.
After the last blog, a friend/trainer thought legs should have been mentioned. Or as she put it, "'The...
Photo & Poem: Roots
There was a single elm on the short path from the house to barn, its trunk no larger than...
Riding: Feeling Every Stride, From Our Inside
This is the recurring nightmare. You're on a twisted version of Dancing with the Stars. There are glaring lights and...
Travel Blog: Shall I Be Mother?
Say hello to Bruce. He is the spokesmodel for The 2018 Long Ears Tour, an unexpected title bestowed on my...
Photo & Poem: At a Writing Workshop
At a Writing Workshop A dog stalks the sofa, gazing with one eye and then crossing his nose to...
The Middle Path: Negotiating Care With Busy Professionals
My advice: Find someone who gets along with donkeys. A question from two readers: "We...
Photo & Poem: Surviving Vulnerability
Dark eyes, older than her years, the horse’s shoulder shows damage, thick scars and a stilted gait, the opposite...
Self-Awareness Without Apology
We aren't kids anymore. That's the complaint. Riding seems easier in memory. When we were younger, riding was rose-colored and...
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