Locally Grown

By Father Mack
(a.k.a.: Father Larry David McCormick)
Photos by Ruth McCormick

Two films from my younger Days (1969 and 1971), “Support Your Local Gunfighter” and “Support Your Local Sheriff” have popped into my otherwise pretty much empty head thanks to two wonderful women, Astrid Appels of Eurodressage fame and my own lovely wife and helpmeet, Ruth Shaw McCormick. (I have to be VERY careful about the order in which I place them since it was Astrid’s most recent “What’s Happening in the Dressage World? – July 2007” column that provoked the thoughts but Ruth who molded said thoughts into substance.)

The thoughts of which I ramble are these: Why is this big ugly guy in black clothes (moi) known as someone who turns up at what most folks would call “the big shows” (the WEG, Dressage at Devon, and so forth) – a fact noted by my buddy Astrid? Why am I not regularly pelted with stones by New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut horse show fans for the obdurate positions I sometimes take on all matters dressage?

The best answer I can come up with is that I am overly privileged. I do not mean by that foregoing sentence that I am overpaid or flush with worldly goods (I have no compunction about showing you my shriveled up pay stub if you would like some proof of my claim). Rather, I am blessed with opportunities to attend some of the US’ and world’s highest level dressage competitions. Thank you, Ms. Appels, for helping me to see what a lucky boy I am.

And now to deal with the title I have given to this installment of my ravings, “Locally Grown,” and to give thanks to the second of these two lovely ladies, Ms. McCormick. For it is Ruth who threw me into the car (no mean feat, that!) and drove the two of us and the convivial Fiona (you may view her cherubic countenance here: http://www.horsesdaily.com/whoswho/mccormick_larry/mccormick_larry1.html to a wonderful local show, the CDI held at Saugerties, New York.

Lest you think that I have lost my mind (always a definite possibility), yes, I do know that the Saugerties competition is hardly a Mom and Pop, “Hey! There’s an empty pasture. Let’s have a horse show next weekend!” sort of affair. What I am driving toward is a set of suggestions for both myself and for you, dear readers, which will bolster our own spirits and make a significant contribution to the larger world of horse sport.

But I digress.

Ruth, having loaded my bulk and Fiona’s svelteness into the auto, navigated our iron steed from the driveway of home to the placid parking lot of the HITS – Saugerties show grounds. No imposing stadium looming on the horizon (although the grandstands are certainly ample for the crowds who assemble for events hosted here). No row after row of vendors’ tents trying to lure denarii from our wallets and purses (although the energetic merchants who do attend provide plenty of diversion between rounds of competition). Instead we walked from the car park to the fields of battle surrounded by the bucolic beauty that greet folks at so many of the sites which host horse shows.

Even better than the pastoral splendor that meets the eye at most of the local shows are the people who come to test their skills and those of us who appreciate seeing their skills being tested. Lots of Dads trying to herd their flocks of little ones while Mom is off braiding and tacking up. Lots of munchkins trying to wheedle change from Mom or Dad so they can feast upon a candy bar or buy a plush animal from one of the trade stalls. An abundance of Moms and other ladies having a day out without the albatross-like husband, simply luxuriating in the majesty of horse and rider moving like a well-oiled machine. Heaven on Earth? Nearly. It will do until we obtain the real thing.

And I will go you one better. Not only do our less stressful, home grown exhibitions provide us with opportunities for relaxing hours with the young’uns while we ourselves are immersed in the pleasures of dressage, but these shows are opportunities to give something back to the sport we love so much. Yes, there is the fiscal something that we give to the show organizers (if and where an admission fee is collected). And, yes, there are those dollars that may fly from our pocket into the coffers of the merchants who show their wares. In both cases we are contributing to the future of the sport in our neck of the woods.

If the show organizers abandon the indigenous shows, even more pastures and fields will be covered with blacktop and shopping centers. And those businesses who ply their trade could well close up shop and leave us with only hard-to-decipher photos on computer monitors from which to shop. Did you ever try to determine the comfort of a shirt while trying it on over the World Wide Web? Fortunately, neither have I. Yet.

Here again I will go you one better. Our attendance upon the proximate expositions gives us an opportunity to infect others. No, I am not proposing a wave of indiscriminate kissing upon the mouth (although given the dour looks on some of the judges’ faces at Saugerties that isn’t so bad an idea as it may seem). Instead I suggest that those of us who already adore dressage and who may know even the tiniest bit about the activity (“What is the difference between the trot and the canter?”) are able to lure novices and the uninitiated into our love affair (here we are, back at indiscriminate kissing on the mouth, it appears).

A humble example: While watching the afternoon rides in ring one at Saugerties a terrific family of five (Mom, Pop, and three daughters with eyes spread as big as saucers) sat down nearby. After a few minutes of overhearing their chitchat (NO! I was not eavesdropping. Thank you, very much) I could tell that they had seen a note in the neighborhood paper telling of a horse show this weekend and had revved up the jalopy for a day out of the house. However, their primary contact with organized horse activity was obviously hunter-jumper.

The girls tried with more and less success to explain to their father (why are we the dense sex?) that the riders were giving aids/directions to their mounts telling them what gait to assume, at what rate they should proceed, and in which direction to go. Father was as lost as if someone had invited him to assist in the assembly of a flux capacitor.

Here is where you and I might enter the picture and, thus, win another devotee. I inched my butt across the grassy slope, introduced myself as another guy who at one time knew even less about horses than he did, and asked this fellow if he used to watch John Wayne movies when he was a kid. We were soon bonding through a discussion of whether “Stagecoach” was a better movie than “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence”?

Our credentials as “guys” now displayed I was free to nudge my new acquaintance down the road toward that manly man, Xenophon, and to explain to him how this Greek general and his cavalry were able to wreak havoc upon their enemies thanks to the gentle art of dressage. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the Duke charging through a hail of bullets in “The Sands of Iwo Jima,” but it got the job done. By the close of the afternoon’s schedule I could hear Dad agreeing that Saturday morning or afternoon was free for a return trip. Chalk up one for Xenophon, the local horse show, and why we should give them our support.

Here, again, I take leave of your company by saying the ball is in your court. Yes, I have no doubt, Virginia, that your or my adrenaline will course more quickly through our veins watching Anky van Grunsven guide Krack C through a canter pirouette with only one hand on the reins. But seeing Dad drive the family car into the grounds at Saugerties the next day and the girls spill out toward the show rings? Beyond price!

Post: Permit me a big shout out to Katja Eilers (Bereiter FN out of Redding, CT) and to the anonymous blonde lady on horseback who confessed (I didn’t have a violet stole nearby) that they enjoy reading Dressage Daily each and every day. Oh! They also gave yours truly a pat on the back for his occasional contributions. Totally unexpected and much appreciated!

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