I was determined to work with horses from the time I was seven years old. I did not have wealthy parents, or family members who owned horses. I did not know anyone in the horse world. I had no money, no connections, and absolutely no clue. All I had was a crazy dream, with no idea how to make it reality. I knew I would have to work really hard. I did work really, really hard. But hard work alone would not have been enough. Along the way, I met a number of good people - people who encouraged me, people who took a chance on me, people who believed in me. Without them showing up when they did, without their their support, my life would look different now: dull, stagnant, and lacking the joy and purpose horses bring.
The first of these people was Jo Eiblmeier, who, in 1983, opened a Western riding stable in Bavaria, close to where I grew up. I did not know it then, but this was an incredibly lucky turn of events that changed the trajectory of my life.
I was barely 13 years old. I had been riding since I was seven, at a traditional German riding school in a neighboring village. I loved horses more than anything, but craved a different experience from trotting around the edge of a dusty indoor arena in group lessons, with the instructor barking commands like “Heels down!”, “More leg!” or “Shorten your reins!”
So, when I heard rumors about a new kind of riding stable just a couple of miles away from my parents’ house, I felt curious. Sure enough, the place was different. There was no indoor arena. The horses were smaller and more colorful. Saddles had horns. Some of the bridles had no bits. I found this fascinating, so I rode my bicycle to the new barn every day after school. I offered to help with barn chores. Jo handed me a manure fork. I mucked stalls, swept the barn aisle, helped feed. I did whatever needed doing. Soon, I got to ride, too, in exchange for my work. By the time I was 15, riding horses other people had trouble with was part of my work. So was leading trail rides and giving beginner-level lessons. Until I graduated from high school, I spent more time at that barn than at home.
In the 1980s, Western Horsemanship was a brand-new concept in Germany. No one knew that much about it. We were all just bumbling along, trying to do what we thought was right. I now cringe when I look at old photos of us riding in mechanical hackamores or cheap curb bits, on crooked horses with upside-down necks. But our intentions were good. We wanted to ride on a loose rein, without the constant nagging, pulling, and squeezing we knew from traditional German-style riding. I learned a lot from Jo, who never yelled, who never barked commands, who encouraged us to ask questions. Some of what he taught me about Western horsemanship remains etched into my mind, impossible to ever erase or forget:
Reins are not for pulling.
Signals we give our horses should be light and brief.
Use your leg, then take it off again - don’t squeeze all the time.
Important stuff, yes - but I learned some even more crucial skills during the years I spent working at Jo’s barn.
I learned to ride lots of different, fairly green horses, often with minimal supervision. I fell off a lot. I got stepped on a lot. But I had time to experiment, to figure out what did and did not work. I learned to listen to the horses, instead of to an instructor’s voice.
I learned about responsibility. I learned that horses are a serious, seven days a week commitment, not a sport you can take up one month and drop again the next. I made my decision to commit to horses and the pursuit of good horsemanship, for the rest of my life.
I learned to feel confident. I was teaching people - grown-up people - how to ride. They listened to what I had to say, though I was just an insecure teenager with braces on my teeth and acne on my face.
Most importantly, I learned to truly enjoy being with horses. I worked hard, but it wasn’t stressful - mainly because I did not worry about anyone yelling at me, or anyone judging me.
Thank you, Jo, for taking that insecure kid as a working student all those years ago. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for giving me responsibilities. Thank you for giving me a solid foundation. I can honestly say that, without you and your barn, I would not be the horsewoman I am today.
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