I stopped counting Ayla’s age at twenty-two. Maybe we should keep her forever at that age. I know that she was near twenty when I purchased her six years ago, but we’ll just leave it at that.
I worked at several barns as a freelance instructor before I became tired of driving all over the place and condensed my lessons into one location. I named this new place Bramblewood. The problem with opening a full-service lesson program was, I only had one school horse, Max (we’ll get to him next!) – and school horses are the heart of a lesson program. Without them we’d all be running around the arena, jumping obstacles on foot. Ever tried to switch your own lead? It’s hard.
Luckily, everything came together just as it should –the way it always does. School horses are constantly teaching us how to trust, a lesson they repeat me every day I enter the barn. Before Bramblewood, Wednesday mornings were my sacred time when I traveled up the mountain to ride with Gerald Pack. I never knew who I’d see from week to week, there were always stories and characters, but one staple was Cam King – and amazing person and consummate, traditional horsewoman who ran the summer riding program at Camp Rockmont in Black Mountain, NC. Cam would haul her temperamental gelding in for a lesson with Gerald most Wednesdays. I’ll always remember her patience and generosity – they don’t make many riders like her anymore.
I started Bramblewood Stables just as fall was leading into wicked winter rains, what was I thinking? The newly plowed riding ring was a foot deep in mud and I had no school horses. My problem became Cam’s solution: a place to winter the majority of her camp horses. I was thrilled at her offer and pulled together two horse trailers and a reluctant group of haulers. We made our way to Black Mountain where I learned to back a gooseneck up a vertical, one-lane, mountain driveway that consisted entirely of curves.
We arrived home to Bramblewood with a string of seasoned school mounts: Mr. Wallace, Cathy’s Clown (we’ll get to her soon), a mustang, a plump Trakehner mare, and a small roan pony that was well and truly pink.
Roany pony lasted a month before Cam had to trade her out for a large paint pony named Ayla. I remember fussing about the trade because everyone loved the pink pony, not for her riding ability (she once sneezed so violently that Allyson Field flipped over her head in a lesson), but for her unusual color. Cam made the delivery herself one grey December day, saving us another trip up the mountain – and there was Ayla, stepping off the trailer with her trademark, blasé expression. Unaffected. Nothing daunts Ayla.
I remember thinking that her rear markings made her look like a lemur. And she was/is so base narrow that she hardly has a chest. Perfect feet, a mane that defies pulling and a winter coat like a yak. Ayla is hardy and lovely. She’s everything a young rider needs to learn how to finally use their leg – if not, she’ll just pull them to the center of the ring.
I tortured Ayla that first winter. Failing to realize she had braved mountain winters just fine, I bundled her up foothills-style in a blanket that fit her length but did not take into account her height. The blanket draped past her knees like a dress. She’d glare at me balefully from the turn-out paddock and pretend she couldn’t walk. She’s not been blanketed since.
Ayla had already done it all before arriving at Bramblewood. Cam still took her out hunting when time allowed. In my lesson program she showed all the characteristics that she still presents today: standing like a statue in the cross ties (she used to kick while groomed, Cam said, until a cowboy tied a rope to her legs – she fell once and never kicked again), refusing to steer if her rider doesn’t use leg to move her forward, napping flat-out in her stall every day at eleven AM.
Very little of Ayla’s routine has changed in the past six years. She jumps less; I’m protective of her. Ayla has become the core of our program, the first horse, more often than not, that many young riders have ever sat on. She’s trustworthy and brave and consistent. Armed with infinite patience, Ayla is the best of all horses, bearing our mistakes without letting us forget that she is a horse. Covered in ribbons for a birthday party, she faces the world with a stoic forbearance we should all emulate.
Beneath it all, the thing that makes Ayla the consummate lesson pony, is her sense of humor. The way she nickers, lowly, in glee when a rider dismounts; the way she’ll rest her chin on a person’s shoulder, just content to be; the sudden change in direction that parks her rider by a jump standard or the mounting block; her internal clock that knows the moment a half-hour lesson is over.
Ayla has taught so many people how to walk, trot, canter and jump. She’s the one that prepares us for all the adventures that come after – and she’s very good at her job. Just last week, Ayla taught her first therapeutic lesson.
The pensive pony standing in her little copse of trees when she’s turned out in the evening is the reason we all come to horses in the first place. Good luck to anyone who has the duty of waking her up from her morning nap.
Now, you all share your stories of Ayla.
