Every morning I wake up and look out my kitchen window, and marvel at the sight of my horses on my own property. It feels like magic. After spending my entire childhood and most of my teenage years living out my horse dreams via a collection of Breyer horses, I will never get tired of the sight.
Wait a second. Now that I’m thinking about it…. I’m 38 years old. Why do I still remember all of my Breyer horses’ names and their various personalities I assigned them?
Night Shadow, Khan, Cheyenne, Rampart, Dark Magic, Dusta, Tripod, Affinity… I could go on and on. Why in the world are those brain cells still taking up space in my head? More importantly, why can’t I replace them with more useful memories like remembering to turn off the horse’s water so I don’t flood the stall, or placing my Fred Meyer Clicklist order before the 3 pm cutoff?
Still, the sight of my horses on my own acreage is something I’ve dreamed of forever, and I will never take it for granted. I post that view a lot on my Facebook page, because it brings me joy. Here’s the thing, though:
When I take a picture of my beautiful cherry-red barn, what I’m really taking a picture of is a 3-sided cherry-red converted carport.
When I take a picture of my lush, green grass, what you don’t see is horses grazing on that grass, because we’re still saving up for fencing. Oh, they get to graze now and again, but only when I have enough time to stand there and shoo them away from the unfenced portion.
When I take a picture of my horses, you don’t see that I fell flat on my face last night because my toe got caught in a divot that my filly made as she was tearing around the other day.
You don’t see me squelching through spring mud, or cleaning stalls by cell phone light at 9pm because the battery for my headlamp went out, or any of that.
Where am I going with this?
Where I’m going with this is that sometimes I see these amazing photos of beautiful horses on the cover of The Morgan Horse Magazine, or people in their gleaming show clothes, and I feel like there’s this giant unattainable divide between “those” Morgan owners and where I’m at. To put it bluntly, I feel like a bit of an imposter. I don’t have Morgans, plural. I have fat pony named Carrots who is 50% hair and 50% empty stomach. I do own one beautiful, well-bred filly, but let’s face it: she’s classier than I’ll ever be. She’s got a pedigree a mile long, whereas my version of fanciness means I fold the paper towel in half before I put a fork on top of it when setting the dinner table. Not only do I not have a covered arena to work her in, but every time I do try to work with her, I do it with my kids milling about in a loud circle, usually riding bikes, or flying kites, or basically turning every ground lesson into a perpetual despooking clinic.
When I see those pictures of beautiful barns with gleaming brass name plates, and their expensive riding lessons, and those super cool people in tails and top hats, it’s easy to feel like I don’t belong. The thing is, I’m beginning to realize that imposter feeling is just in my head. Oh, sure, I don’t have any showing experience. And no, I don’t own fancy tack. And yes, my riding clothes consist of endurance leggings with a hole in the pocket or whatever pair of jeans are high enough in the back that I’m not going to impersonate a plumber as soon as I’m sitting in the saddle.
But who cares?
The more “fancy Morgan breeders” I meet, the more I realize that none of that matters. Last month I was lucky enough to spend an afternoon recently talking with Ellie Mason of Marvelous Morgans, and while there’s a world of difference between her horse background of champions and stud farms and where I am, we immediately bonded over a common love of the breed.
And honestly, when it comes to horses, that’s all that matters, right? I think that deep down inside, Morgan owners are all the same. There’s a little bit of that Breyer-loving horse girl (or boy) inside all of us, and the best part about Morgans is how many different types there are. They may be a small breed when compared to Quarter Horses or some of the more numerous horse breeds, but they’re varied enough to have something for everyone. If you love beautiful, high stepping horses with fancy action and gorgeous long necks, there’s a bloodline for you. If you like crests and thick curves, there’s a Morgan for you. If you like shaggy horses that go all winter day on a cattle ranch and just won’t quit, there’s one for you
That’s the beautiful thing about Morgans – they’re versatile enough to be owned by all of us, and excel in whatever we set them at. And how cool is that?
Now, if you’ll excuse me – my $11 rope halter just arrived in an Amazon package, and I need to see how it fits my filly.
