April 1, 2022 The beginning, part one
Since I was a little girl, I had always dreamt of having my own horse. But a horse is more than a pet, it is a lifestyle, one my family could not afford. My daughter then grew up to love horses. A rocking horse led to riding lessons, then to a pony sized Arabian when she was ten named Tangeers. For our family to afford the expenses, I worked at the barn to pay for the board and lessons. The passion for horses only grew stronger for both my daughter and I. My father had acquired a two year old paint horse named Macy, and gifted her to me when he had to move out of Michigan for another job. She was the best gift. It was with Macy when I really studied and learned to understand a horse’s behaviors and build a connection with this animal. They are a beautiful species, extremely intuitive, and can pick up on your every move and emotion. We were stabled at a couple of different barns over the years, all of which were a good distance from our home. Eventually, I was approached to manage a historical barn near our home and I took the opportunity. As my daughter grew and became a more skilled rider, we sold Tangeer back to his home barn where he was adored by many little girls and had beautiful pastures to roam in. My daughter was interested in a Western Arabian show horse. She was very particular, and after weeks of searching and riding, she found her horse.
His name was Kommander, an Arabian show horse about eight years old. He was gorgeous. Extremely intuitive, the perfect conformation of an Arabian horse. She fell in love right away. We did not know much about his early life other than he started as a halter horse, a discipline in the Arabian show circuit that is used for showing off the horse’s physical appearance. The trainers would scream at the horses in show, using bags and bottles full of rocks they’d rattle and bang behind them to get them to prance. It’s cruel, something I still do not understand to this day. He was also stalled 24/7, unable to roam in pastures up until we bought him. After taking Kommander home we learned he had developed nervous behaviors that made it difficult for people to approach him. If he felt threatened in any way while in his stall he would either cower or attack. Even when a “horse person” (the type that thought they knew everything about horses) would approach him, he could strike. But if a child or an unassuming person would approach, he’d melt and give them his heart. While alone in the pasture, he would pace in fright and lather with sweat. Sometimes he would just take off running, unprovoked. He needed to build trust, and my daughter did an amazing job. He did not like the show ring. Competitions would often flare his anxieties. My daughter did better than any rider to show him, but he was never into competing. He was a great teacher for her, and he helped make her a great rider.
After she went off to college, I spent more time with Kommander and we began building trust with each other. Over time, he felt safe and comfortable at the barn, and I fell in love with his personality more and more every day. We started riding the acres around the farm, then graduated to trail rides, and then eventually were able to trailer to larger sections of a trail called the “Michigan Shore to Shore”. He would spook at the sight of his shadow in the show ring, but on the trail he was bold. He took to the woods with no hesitation; galloping through the trees and fearlessly jumping into the lake. He was finally able to be a horse. I enjoyed watching him interact with others the more comfortable he became. He was a sweet, patient horse, and worked well with people with special needs and young children. We developed a great bond and relationship, one that many didn’t understand with the reputation he had.
For twelve years I had watched horses and riders trot by my subdivision as they completed their final steps of a 10 day, 250 mile ride, called the “Michigan Shore to Shore”. It was a goal I had hoped to achieve for myself someday. Over the years Kommander and I were lucky enough to ride sections here and there, but had never attempted the ride start to finish. In 2010, I was asked by a friend to join her on the full 250 mile trek. It was perfect timing. Beautiful Michigan summer weather, both of my kids were independent, and I had the perfect horse for the ride.
August came, and it was time to drive to the other side of the state to start our journey. I would be camping in the tack room of my two horse trailer and Kommander would be picket lined between the trees. It was a new experience for both of us. The first night was exciting. We got all settled in and set up, and had a community campfire meet and greet with all the other riders. As everyone peeled away to their camps towards the end of the night, I sat with my friend in her cozy trailer, talking about life and her many trail adventures she’d been on. We had an early start the next morning, so I headed to my makeshift camp where Kommander was tied close enough he would touch me as I slept, as if he was checking on me.
We made it through the first night and woke the next morning excited and ready for our adventure. It was a perfect day. Clear skies, a gentle breeze, it wasn’t too hot or too cold. I fed Kommander breakfast and I had my coffee, then I packed up the trailer for the crew to drive and set up at the next campsite. Next, we tacked up. I had decided to leave off the breast collar that day because it tended to cause him irritation. My friend was a very experienced trail rider, and I followed her lead to how the morning would go. This was considered an endurance race, but my friend and I were just wanting to leisurely ride the trail. We took our time and watched as the other groups took off, and were the last group to leave. The groups ahead set the pace and we followed along, getting up to a fast trot. I remember the energy under me from Kommander, and the excitement I felt as we picked up to speed. We were floating on air. The wind in my face and Kommander’s mane waving to the rhythm of his gait. It was what I imagined as a little girl, free on horseback galloping in the woods. Getting into a full fledged gallop, I remember the feeling as Kommander and I were on the trail together. We were one, both free, riding a wave, totally in the moment dashing through the trees.
After a couple hours into the ride, I realized we were alone. This stretch of the trail was heavily lined with trees, they called it the “Knee Knocker” because of how difficult it was to navigate. I couldn’t hear my friend near, so instead of breaking our rhythm, I turned to see if she was behind us, just like you see a race jockey do. Well, I am not a race jockey. When I turned back, my weight shifted too far, sliding the saddle off center. The decision to go without the breast collar, the sweat of Kommander, the girth loosened from the ride, and my saddle slid down his right side. I tried to stand and shift it back in place, but it was too late. Still riding at full speed, I was slowed instantly by the right side of my body crashing straight into a tree, immediately throwing me from my horse onto the ground.
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