More about Connie
Right at the moment the existence of Connie, ie in relation to me, is so astonishing I can’t shut up. Also I met Jenny out hacking again today–having not seen her in five years I’ve now seen her twice in a month. Hellhounds and I crammed ourselves into a (nettly) hedgerow to let the parade pass by: Jenny was on her horse-for-sale whom I notice with muted hilarity has suddenly turned into the typical TB, ie acutely conscious of tigers in the shrubbery, or in this case, hellhounds. Chaos in particular was on his hind legs saying, Oooooh! A big something to play with! I don’t think either of them has a clue about prey, at least not about Big Somethings, although I imagine they’d figure it out pretty fast if they ever caught a rabbit or a pheasant, but they present to Big Somethings the way they present to other dogs. I don’t mess around with anything the size–and the iron-shod footage–of a horse, however, and I had both of them by their harnesses. Horse-for-sale was merely amusing himself. Obviously he wants to stay at Jenny’s yard–sensible horse–and is working on strategy. Following him was Jenny’s son on his hellhound-proof pony, and another woman on another horse who was believing the pony’s version of the situation.. I now narrowly watch young Miles for any sign of an incipient growth spurt, since he is Connie’s destiny. He’s only nine now, and smallish, and his medium-sized pony is plenty big enough. But Jenny said, as I was tacking up for my first lesson last Tuesday, that when she discovered Connie wasn’t quite going to make the top class in show jumping she should have sold her on, but she’s such a nice horse. And she thought she might hang onto her, as she’d make a very nice horse indeed for Miles in a few years. Hence the peculiar behaviour of picking up strange* middle-aged women and offering them horses to ride.
Our first ride and lesson last Tuesday was both revelatory and rather euphorically familiar, like finding an old favourite unexpectedly on an old-bookstore shelf that you’d forgotten the title of and thought never to see again, only with more blisters. Well, not blisters exactly, although I hope my hands harden up because I can’t face gloves in summer, but the muscles along the insides of my thighs have been replaced with bars of burning steel. Drat. Also ow. Make that OW OW OW OW OW OW. All this week it takes me the first half hour or so of walking hellhounds to stop tittupping along like a thoroughbred looking for tigers, and start walking. The rest of me is fine: it’s true that when Connie takes hold you know you’ve been taken hold of, but–I think I blogged this? I’ve been busy firing emails off in all directions to friends who might conceivably do other things with their time than keep up with my blog, to make sure nobody misses the news about Connie, and I’m losing track of what I’ve said to whom–it’s not a problem. Reminds me to sit up straight and keep my butt in the saddle.
The thing that’s really irritating though is that the burning bars of steel aren’t the old bow-legged cowboy thing: that’s a myth. If you can stand with your legs apart, you can sit on a horse. If you’re not used to it, it may feel a bit odd, but unless you’re riding a tank–and they do exist, and I’ve ridden a few, and since they are often of a phlegmatic nature, it’s true that you may meet them more often at beginner level than after you graduate to the spirited steed category–or you have hip trouble, it is not an issue.** The issue is that you’re gripping inappropriately. Your legs should just lie against the horse’s sides; most of the clever stuff only happens from your calves down***. The notable exception to this rule is when your spirited thoroughbred has just identified a tiger in that shrubbery and has done a hellhound leap twenty foot to the side. Then clamping on with all available limbs to their furthest length and depth is quite a good idea.
Connie was attentively doing exactly what I told her, last Tuesday, which includes things like turning into a rubber snake when I was trying to shoulder-in. Hey, I’m out of practise. But she’s very responsive to both leg and voice–and your weight in the saddle. As I said in a comment to some rider on this list, Connie does that disconcerting show-jumper thing of flying changes [ie changing the leading leg at the canter between one canter stride and the next] the moment you even look in the other direction–which is of course what you want in a show jumper, when every split second counts. But in dressage, flying changes is this holy hushed upper-level skill. I was thrilled when I finally got to ride flying changes when I was riding dressage. And here I am riding at my usual, but wildly out of practise, middling level, and I have this good natured horse matter of factly doing flying changes as if it’s no big deal.† And, just by the way, when Jenny said that Connie wasn’t going to make the top class of show jumping, she still jumps four and a half foot easy peasy and will go over five with effort, because she’s a trier. I’ve jumped 5’3″ a few times and frankly 3’6″ is plenty. In fact 2’9″ is plenty. In fact flying changes on a level field is plenty.
So we applied hair of the dog to the problem yesterday, which is to say had our second ride. But I was just hacking yesterday, so when I took her out to the schooling ring first to warm up ††, asked her to trot, and the insides of my thighs promptly said YOWZAH in chorus, we could just leave it at a gentle, semi-collected trot, and not get too exacting. Cantering is actually easier, because you can just sit there (and concentrate on letting your legs dangle instead of drawing up like an alarmed hedgehog’s). Then we went out and tackled some countryside. Jenny had left a stick [short riding whip] for me and said that Connie will go past anything, and to give her a little smack with the stick if she tries to pretend otherwise.††† It’s also entertaining watching Jenny trying to put herself in a proper mindset for timid riders. I’m a timid rider but at least I know it, and I’m reasonably competent as well. You do get some astonishing combinations of riders who are afraid of their own shadows buying 18-hand fire-breathers and then not wanting to admit they’re spectacularly overhorsed.‡ Jenny the fearless professional horsewoman and yard owner clearly thinks that Connie isn’t going to get up to anything worth noticing . . . but the point is that she’s a live horse and horses are prey animals and have the appropriate instincts. No horse is truly bombproof any more than any off lead dog can absolutely be guaranteed not to run into the road or eat your pet rabbit. Horses are also herd animals and don’t like being out by themselves . . . and here we are taking our poor horse for a nice ramble through the countryside and expecting him/her to enjoy it.
I was expecting a little mild nonsense from a horse out solo for the first time with a new rider, but the silliness factor remained blessedly low. We did have one graphic manifestation of the fact that horses do not like pigs ‡‡ when the TB side of Connie’s nature came out strongly.‡‡‡ But she allowed herself to be sorted out without recourse to the stick and we came home gently.
Now all I have to do is live through another lesson on Tuesday. The burning bars of steel are indeed a trifle less red-hot today, it’s true, after the application of hair of the . . . horse, but I’m not at all sure they’re up to another lesson in two days. Maybe I should ask Jenny about teaching me the finer points of how to lunge.§ From the ground, I mean.
* * *
* All the definitions
** This is not to say I recommend pony trekking unreservedly to the unfit and out of practise. You’re still talking pressure and friction, and after a day in the saddle, however relaxed both your and your mount are, if you’re not used to it, you could well be so sore you’re not going to get any sleep that night, in your sleeping bag on the cold hard ground. I’ve never been pony trekking; I’m not sure it’s my idea of fun, despite the presence of the ponies. I kind of like to go home to a hot bath and my own bed every night.
*** Clever being relative, as are most things. I’m not dyslexic, so I don’t have the excuse, but the one time I reliably confuse my left with my right is when I have a riding teacher yelling, your left leg behind the girth! –Which is to say your left calf, ankle and foot, with which you are giving the horse a tactful signal. Your thigh can stay where it was. Relaxed against the upper part of the saddle.
† Although this is a good working example of the fact that all horse stuff is based on good flatwork. Imagine doing those breakneck turns on a jumping course on a horse that didn’t do flying changes matter of factly.
†† Which is a bit of a euphemism for ‘seeing what kind of a mood she’s in’. Jenny keeps telling me how honest and sensible she is, but ‘honest and sensible’ to someone who doesn’t have a nervous bone in her body, like Jenny, is not the same as honest and sensible to someone all of whose bones are nervous, like me. Also, I’m a New Thing to Connie. Why shouldn’t she want to check me out a little warily at first? It was funny, the day I met her the first time. Jenny was showing me around, so she’d've responded to Jenny and Jenny’s voice, and she came to the front of her stall to say hello . . . and there I was. And she stopped dead and stared at me for a good ten seconds and then obviously thought ‘well okay’ and came the rest of the way and poked her head out and waited to be petted. I’ve said this to several people: I’m now in hellhound mode. Horses are so large. When you’re being stared at searchingly by a horse, you feel stared at. When you’re piffling around one with a brush or a saddle you feel very little more than ant sized. I remember this. It’s not just that I’ve fallen out of the horse habit: you get used to it, but it never really goes away, that astonishment at how big they are, and how good-natured, that they let us little pifflers call the shots. It’s part of the whole teenage girl romance thing about horses, and that never really goes away either. At least it hasn’t in my case.
††† She also warned me that the first turn off the road–where I’d met her that life-altering moment a few weeks ago–was mysteriously full of tigers that day. She’d been out on Horse-to-be-sold^ and he’d been cavorting in the treetops. Yesterday was also the day she told me she’d put the ad in the paper about selling him. See: strategy.
^ Who I am also not giving a name to because he’s to be sold, and I’m in danger of getting fond of him. Okay, I’m already fond of him. He’s a very nice just-my-type TB, what can I say?
‡ I know there are readers on this list who disagree with me, but I don’t think 18 hands is ever desirable, let alone necessary. For one thing, 18 hands is impossible to keep sound. The bigger the horse the easier it is to lame. A lesson in applied physics.
‡‡ I have no idea why. Does anyone have an idea why? But it’s a well-known thing.
‡‡‡ Remember what I said about clamping being a good thing when there are tigers–or pigs–around? OW OW OW OW OW OW.
§ Or longe, if you prefer.
comments
Please join the discussion at Robin McKinley's Web Forum.
>>We did have one graphic manifestation of the fact that horses do not like pigs ‡‡
Or kangaroos….. alpacas …… wombats …….. ;)
My trick is to not look at the “object” and to say in a withering tone “oh don’t be bloody stupid.” My body doesn’t react to the “thing” and so the horse kind of goes “humph” in a discontented sort of way (I mean… here I am passing up the opportunity to *be silly*. How much of a party pooper am I?? lol) and then just goes past…..
Here’s some extra reading for you… http://www.equinestudies.org/index.html She’s very good :)
******** Right at the moment the existence of Connie, ie in relation to me, is so astonishing I can’t shut up.
A good horse is like chocolate – an essential luxury. Been cuddling my pony today, and still smell of horse :)
When I Lived with Other People I used to race home and take a shower instantly. Now . . . not so much. :)
(Comments won't nest below this level)
DIY livery demands showers especially in winter – up at 5am, do pony, walk dogs, 7am shower, go to work.
Occasionally a very faint eau de chevaux would pursue me to work, but I felt I did a pretty good job, as most work colleagues had no idea that I had livestock lol
Yes. When I lived and worked on the horse farm I just about used Brillo pads when I had to dress up and go into town. Also right at the moment we’re having beautiful sunny COOL weather here. :)
Ivan didn’t like bikes or go-carts. He was terrified of both, but not cars or anything. I have no idea about pigs. Apparently there was a Pig Incident a while after I left Texas — five apparently tame pigs just wandered onto the property and decided to stay until my parents gave them to the high school 4H — but that was after Ivan had died. I’m not sure what the other horse and the new horse thought of them, but I should ask when I talk to my mom next. Then again, the other horse was half blind and the new horse was half crazy, so they might not have noticed the pigs. ;D
And yes, Connie sounds quite big enough. Ivan was 14.5 hands, and definitely enough horse for me. I had the chance to ride one of my friend’s larger horses before, but he was much too big. Much too tall.
Excited for more Connie stories. She sounds like a great horse!
She’s lovely. And, wait a minute, you can’t *have* 14.5, a hand is four inches. Do you mean 14 and a half? Anyway, under 15 in some horses is plenty big enough. My main thing is just that it has to have enough barrel to fill out my leg–I don’t LIKE having the hoofs hitting my feet at the canter. I’m funny that way. (I knew a bloke got around this by having one of those running-walk Scandinavian horses. Finnish something. His legs hung down to its knees, but it had this lovely smooth gait . . . )
(Comments won't nest below this level)
Yes, fourteen and a half. I’m not really a proper Horse Person. I never had lessons or anything, just kind of got on and agreed the horse probably knew better what to do than I did. So I’ve been writing 14.5 this whole time, thinking that was an okay way to write it. I guess not! :D
I don’t think I’d want hooves hitting my feet, either. You’re a bit taller than I am, right? I’m 5’5″ and my legs aren’t tooooo long, so it wasn’t really an issue for me, but on the other horse who was twelve and a half hands (see, got it now!), there was always some concern. ;)
Yes, I’m 5’8″ and it’s all leg. It’s not strictly height though–there are 12 hand ponies I can ride because they’re wide and enormously deep chested (although they probably have no neck. That’s my least favourite thing about ponies, there’s nothing in FRONT of you) and 15 hand TBs I can’t because they’re little flat-sided weedy things.
“…the muscles along the insides of my thighs have been replaced with bars of burning steel…”
Very good imagery, there. I’m wincing for you.
It is very nice to see you discovering new loves (piano) and rediscovering old loves (horses) at one and the same time.
I have just been biking to work — to be precise, biking to the train, riding the train, then thence to work, a total of ~10 miles round trip a day — and am also rediscovering muscles. Alas, am also discovering knee joints. Damn it.
Thought of you twice last week. Made blackberry and aprium jams. Aprium is a lovely mix, 3/4 apricot 1/4 plum, like apricots only better. Pluots, which are just starting, are 3/4 plum 1/4 apricot, like plums only better. *g* The other time was when I was reading Dorothy Hartley’s *Food In England*, which dismisses peaches with a “they used to grow here” but has pages and pages on sheep, which varieties taste best when, and how to cook a joint with the tail still on for basting.
Mmm. HOmemade jam. Mmm. I’ve been *told* that AFTER menopause your metabolism may come out of hiding and work again. Meanwhile . . . no jam for me. I can’t give up chocolate, and something has to go. Well, almost everything has to go. Broccoli and chocolate, the McKinley diet. Sigh.
We *do* have a lot of sheep here. . . .
(Comments won't nest below this level)
Found a lardy cake recipe without milk :)
http://www.recipezaar.com/99022
And it answered my nagging doubt about which sort of flour to use. And maybe less lard?? Hmmmmm
Yes, hurrah, thank you! :)
(Comments won't nest below this level)
mmmm … tastes good too. :)
I don’t think 18 hands is ever desirable, let alone necessary.
I have a friend who has an uncanny ability to make any horse she owns grow to about 18hh. No one knows why or how it happens, but her last three horses have been HUGE, and it’s not as if she particularly likes or needs giant horses. The first was 18.2 when he stopped growing. That one she bred; both parents were 16 handers. The next one was a 2 year old she bought; he was even on the small side at the time, but ended up to be just shy of 18 hands. Her current horse just had a growth spurt – he’s five this year – and we’re all hoping it’ll be his last, or he’ll likely end up at least 17 hh. We thought he might have stopped growing at the 16.1-16.2 mark. Evidently not. I have his half brother, but mine has topped out at a respectful 15.2.
It’s amazing how much bigger 18hh feels from 17hh. 17 hands is on the very large side as it is anyway, but they’re still okay to ride; I don’t mind them, especially if they’re narrow too. But 18 hands? Just way too big, even if they’re well behaved and balanced.
Imagine doing those breakneck turns on a jumping course on a horse that didn’t do flying changes matter of factly.
They better be really well balanced to make up for a lack of changes. ;)
Re Burning Bars of Steel — me after my first lesson when the instructor made us ride without stirrups, after about 4 years of not having to do any of that stuff. Ouch, ouch, ouch. And the frustrating part is knowing what it’s supposed to feel like, from being able to jump 3’6 courses without stirrups, and not quite being able to achieve it or maintain it for very long (maybe posting trot once around the ring).
Or longe, if you prefer.
My horse prefers lounge. :D
YOu don’t mind the ache of well done so much. The ache of being a jerk is MUCH harder to put up with gracefully. Let your legs LIE there, you moron! [talking to myself] Jenny never made me do without stirrups last time around because it was all about the horse. Connie is already ‘made’ so Jenny may be harder on *me.*
(Comments won't nest below this level)
Augh! This entry (or rather the cumulative affects of this one and the last one combined) just made me spend a rather fruitless hour trying to look up places where I could take horseriding lessons (I’m pretty much a beginner, although I’ve had enough of horse camps and such to know at least some of the basics, but my inner horse-crazed young girl is getting grumpier every year). There really AREN’T good places to ride that are decently close, at least not that I’m finding (one of the few times where living in the city LIMITS my options for activities). Even if I’d found something, I can’t AFFORD riding lessons right now. All of my available financial resources (and some that aren’t available) are going to support my recent expensive dance habit*. I know this. But still.
* My dance habit has been around for a number of years. I spent the last half of my college career in a folkdancing group that practiced 4-6 hours a week. I approached it with a level of intensity just a few degrees below, say, your intensity for roses. Then I graduated and moved to a country where I couldn’t dance anywhere outside my apartment^. Having just moved back to the States^^, I managed to fall into these dance lessons (I was hooked up by a couple of friends from the aforementioned folkdancing group). The new development here is the paying money for the lessons (in our folkdancing group we actually got paid to dance, rather than having to pay for it). It’s far more expensive than I can really afford, but.. I haven’t danced for 5 years. I haven’t had this particular joy for 5 years, either.
^For various reasons it would have been culturally inappropriate. I understood why (sort of), and tried to be sensitive to this. I also felt brokenhearted every time I heard dance music. I don’t EVER want to live in a place where I can’t dance ever again.
^^ I guess at some point in time I’ll have to stop saying that I “just moved back”. It was really a year and a half ago. I still feel like it’s a recent development.
I would certainly agree with your comment about bigger not necessarily being better from the health standpoint. I have known really-truly 39 inch, 200+ pound Great Danes, and they are lots more likely to have joint problems than more reasonably-sized dogs. And, everything else being equal, that’s a lot more dog than I would choose to have.
I can say with some accuracy that I feel your pain, since I spent the afternoon on the daylily bed reclamation project and my leg muscles are not happy about it. OW indeed.
In response to your comment yesterday, yes *please* pass on the Booth tee shirt reference. The only ones I’ve seen are on The New Yorker site. Yay George Booth.
I’m on it. :)
(Comments won't nest below this level)
Horses … Oh this brings back memories of the horse-mad years. I drove my mother almost insane begging for a horse. She put a stop to it by promising: ‘you can have a horse but we’ll have to sell the piano and your oboe and you’ll have to stop taking dance lessons.’ Now there is a barn close by but it as a ‘screamer trainer’ who you can hear before you can see. Maybe when we move to the dream house with the 16 dream huskies and acres of fences there will also be dream horses.
It’s nice to hear that some dreams _do_ come true. Congrats on finding Connie, enjoy!
‘you can have a horse but we’ll have to sell the piano and your oboe and you’ll have to stop taking dance lessons
******** I’d've taken the horse. Your mother knew you well: a horse would cost a lot more than ALL these things. :)
(Comments won't nest below this level)
My mom did the same, but it started with dogs-
When we get a horse, and a barn for the horse[, and a fence for the horse, and feed for the horse, and and and, then we can get a dog. Maybe.
Well.
Then, why don't we get the horse, and the barn... and the dog?! was always my oh-so-logical-[to me]- reply. Solve all the problems, then!
But for some reason… [ I can't IMAGINE why...] we never ended up getting a horse.
Or a dog.
A cat showed up and stayed for a few weeks.
A horse DID appear in the front yard one time.
So did an utterly adorable dog.
But we couldn’t keep him. He had tags, so we called the owner who came and got him.
The horse, though… how often does a HORSE turn up in one’s front garden?! I was convinced that it was fate, meant to be, the horse was intended for me. And proceeded to tell my mom.
That didn’t work out, though. Again, I can’t imagine whyever not! :)
Sigh.
Horses.
Love.
Bigger sigh.
I miss riding. But I had to stop, years ago, because of my knees.
Tragic, eh? :)
I keep wanting to pick it up again, and ignore my knee issues and so on, but haven’t had a chance. ANd although there IS an equestrian team at my college, the barn isn’t on campus, but an hour away. Which is not good. If it had been on campus, I would probably offer to muck out the stalls or somehting, just to be around horses again.
Sigh.
Well, anyway.
Lots of chocolate
Lots of HUGS
Hope you aren’t TOO stressed about those galley copies.
I told ANOTHER person about your books at work today.
[If only I worked at a bookstore, rather than a library-- you might be making money, rather than just becoming increasingly popular with patrons of the Mark Twain Library.....]
But I do what little I can.
more hugs.
–Julia
It’s true I need to earn a living but writers want to be READ and we get a little hazy about the practical details. Libraries are GOOD.
Take those knee issues to an osteopath or chiropractor or Bowen person or something. If they stopped you riding they need sorting out.
I agree wholeheartedly… libraries are very definitely wonderful. Wondrous places.
I love the library.
And as for my knees… I have.
I had surgery in second grade, for goodness sake.
And years and years of physical therapy. Years and years and years.
I wear orthodics in my sneakers, and it helps. Sort of. I think.
But I am not sure if I am just so used to a constant low pain in my knees that I don’t always notice it anymore, or that they have gotten better over the years…
Sigh.
Hugs!
–Julia
***It’s part of the whole teenage girl romance thing about horses, and that never really goes away either.
My friend Sue Ann has a Theory, which came up at book club last Friday. She calls it the Vampire/Pony theory, and it’s a very simple one: At that certain age, girls go mad either for vampires or for ponies. (Unicorns count as ponies.) Polar opposites, but it’s all really about the same thing. I thought it was very expressive, quite a brilliant summary, really. (Although the lovely Ukrainian honey-pepper vodka may *possibly* have had something to do with my delight in this theory).
*****Who I am also not giving a name to because he’s to be sold, and I’m in danger of getting fond of him. Okay, I’m already fond of him. He’s a very nice just-my-type TB, what can I say?
Hmmm, is this the point at which we, as supportiver blog-followers, point out that Third House’s garden is likely not large enough for a thoroughbred (or at least not a thoroughbred AND hellhounds), and to suggest gently that perhaps it would be wise to get Third House finished before adding a fourth house? Despite the multiple temptations of extra space in the garden & the freezer, of course. ;-)
Dawn in TN
Some of us like BOTH vampires and ponies. It’s the unicorns I bailed on.
No, no, not at Third House! I’d board him at Jenny’s, of course! (With what money! In what time!)
(Comments won't nest below this level)
I’m so happy you’re riding again and enjoying it. My sister, who is also a horse person, is just recovering from having her old horse put down – an old puissance champion who lived to a great old age, but broke her heart when he died – is just getting back into it, and I know she has always had a connection with horses that has greatly enhanced her life.
Urban creature that I am (by environment, up-dragging and choice) I have no horse related comments to make, but did spend some time this weekend going through my old cookery magazines (for the dual purpose of getting rid of a number of them by passing them on to another fanatic, after going through them with a fine tooth comb and finding some ice cream recipes for you) and came up with a recipe for passionfruit parfait, which is creamier than a sorbet, but still dairy free. You get the creamy sensation by adding beaten eggs.
I admit that I am not a great friend of passionfruit, but find it occasionally nice squished over vanilla ice cream. I think this recipe would work just as well with any fruit that pulps up well, i.e. strawberries, raspberries, ripe peaches and poached apricots.
It was a single part of one of those fancy desserts that magazines love to decorate their pages with, but which if you took the time to make would take you a day. This (from the Australian Vogue Entertaining and Travel November / December 2003 issue) is the short and cogent portion:
Passionfruit parfait
serves 4
200g butter
250 strained passionfruit pulp
150g sugar
4 eggs separated
Melt the butter in a saucepan over a medium heat. Add the passionfruit pulp and sugar, and stir until dissolved. Add the egg yolks, one at a time, incorporating each one thoroughly before adding the next. When all the yolks have been added, and the mixture has thickened to a loose custard consistency remove the pan from the heat and set aside to cool.
Whisk the egg whites until firm peaks form, then gradually fold into the cooled passionfruit mixture. Spoon into four moulds and transfer to the freezer for about 2 hours until set.
Food by Guillaume Brahimi, written by Greg Duncan Powell (original recipe for Passiongruit parfait with mini soufflés and a spun sugar crown)
Well the more the merrier but . . . have you tried it yourself yet? BUTTER? I don’t like passionfruit either, and I also don’t like what eggs do to the texture of ice cream, and FOUR of them? and BUTTER? I want someone else to make this and tell us all what happens. . . .
(Comments won't nest below this level)
Well, no I haven’t tried it yet, but I would assume why not butter, if you can have cream? There is a whole array of parfaits, which is add an Italian-style meringue (Meringue beaten in a bain-marie to cook as you are making it) to the ice cream to make it richer and smoother. Adding butter, you get the fat content (for smooth rich mouth taste) without as many dairy proteins and sugars.
I promise to make it, but probably not with passionfruit.
Butter is a solid at room temp. Cream is a liquid. I think I would find the texture repellent.
Pony treking with pubs in?
I’d read about The Ideal “Hiking” experience, which involves comfortable pubs/inns beginning, middle and end, with Scenic English (or Scottish, or Irish. I’m not particular) countryside in between.
Do they have the equivalent with ponies? Now that would be my cup of tea.
I can and will give up hot baths (or showers) for A Good Cause, but I don’t call is a vacation…
Yes, the B&Bs with beds and hot showers would make a difference. I have seen those B&B with horse accommodation ads in BRITISH HORSE.
(Comments won't nest below this level)