Healing

         I have heard it three times now.  Medical professionals have assured me, "The horses will help you heal.

    I am facing surgery.

    I definitely will be in need of healing.

    Friendly Horse Acres exists to help heal, especially learning disabled folks.  The mission statement is: Horses and humans healing each other physically, emotionally and spiritually.  I have run the organization for over 30 years.  I have seen the healing work.

    The business started by accident.  My husband and I didn't know we were helping young people in the community until the local school representative notified us with a personal visit.  A counselor reported that we were making a difference in the lives of some troubled teens, especially those with high functioning autism and ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder).  Originally, the school even paid us to work with a student.  The encouragement was incentive enough to take steps to become a non-profit.

    Over the years we have found equines can make a difference in lives.

    Children who have trouble focusing become quiet and less anxious as they learn how to please the horses.  Grooming the animals, especially, seems to make a difference.  This is apparent with children and young people who don't usually like to be touched.  They relish the opportunity to be with the horses, and to have physical contact.  Some of them enjoy riding, but not all.  When they do ride, these individuals often prefer to ride bareback.  The contact with an equine partner is important.  These riders don't want the interference of a saddle.

    For some young folks with physical disabilities, the opportunity to work with large animals is a confidence booster.  Although we are not equipped to work with wheelchair bound folks, we do work with some physical challenges, and these youngsters have become devoted fans of the horses.

    In today's challenging, contentious world, people who suffer from depression come to the horses to feel better.  Young people, especially, benefit.  The horses are a source of comfort.  I have regularly heard that our horse farm is a "happy place."  Touching a horse has been a way to lower blood pressure and remove depression.

    Children are not the only people who benefit from the horses.  I had a woman,who was coming to our town to attend AA meetings, become a regular visitor.  She asked to stop by on her way home to be with the horses.  Her favorite was our Exmoor stallion, Devon.  I would isolate him from his mares, and leave him with his human.  She stayed with him for at least an hour.  I don't know what they talked about, but both the pony and human were happy to be with each other.  When she left, she pointed out, "He does more for me than the meeting."  She spoke truth.  She remained drugs free until she passed away years later.  We always stayed in touch even when she left the state.

                                                                  Devon

I know there has been a great deal of literature about how horses can heal.  I certainly can't dispute it, but I do need to point out that horses do not always create a cure.

    I have had several children, and even adults, who do no react positively to the horses.  Some are indifferent, and some are frightened, even by the Miniature Horses, let alone a full-sized or a draft horse.

    I had at least one student who, as a very young child, seemed to react positively to the horses.  However, as she matured, she became increasingly agitated.  The horses did not calm her.  Eventually, she  became violent.  She kicked and punched the horses and pulled their tails when we lost control of her.  I had to put an end to her visits.  The animals' safety is my responsibility.  Horses do not heal everyone.

    I the past, when the insurance companies permitted us to make visits, we took animals to various venues where they could offer their presence to the public.  Did they pass along healing vibes?  I'm sure they did.  I do not think they consciously try to comfort humans.  They just do.

    I know they have been good for my health over the years.  People have pointed out that my numerical age by no means matches my activity age.  With as many as 21 equines to care for at any one time, I have to be very active.  Right now there are "only" seven horses and ponies in my care.  They require that I am out with them a minimum of three times a day, and usually more often than that.  Sure, I have help on occasion.  But, I don't have to worry about being inactive.  There are days, when the weather is blustery, I would sooner stay in the warm house.  I can't.  I have chosen to make my horses my responsibility.

    I get to pat them and reassure them that I care every day.  They know me.  They trust me.

    They keep me young.

    Except the years have rolled along, and my numerical numbers have finally caught up with me.  I may move like I am still in my 40s or 50s, but my body is wearing down.

    So, my health is not what it used to be.  My immune system is not as strong as in years past.

    I need an operation.  I will need help.  I am counting on the equines in my backyard to help me heal.  The medical professionals indicate that can happen.

    Horses are healers. 

Granny

    Some stories are worth repeating.  When I started writing my newspaper column 30 years ago, I wrote one story that was picked up by a number of periodicals.  It struck a chord with editors, and I hope with readers.  I feel that it is worth repeating in this blog.  To those of you who have read it in another format, I hope you enjoy it here.

                                                             Granny

     Granny Lavery always insisted I got my love of horses from her.  When I was younger, I didn't understand how that could be possible.  I never saw my grandmother ride a horse.  I seldom saw her even pet one.  She just said they were pretty whenever she happened to see one.  Anyone could do that.

    I didn't understand that sometimes life is something to be survived, and that the choices offered can be extremely narrow.  I had to reach my forties before I could appreciate what my grandmother had to endure. 

    She was a Canadian prairie farm girl born to a family with too many daughters.  When she was 15, she was placed with a West Coast family in the city of New Westminster, British Columbia, as a maid.  She was a child, on her own.

    My mother has a black-and-white photograph of a beautiful young woman.  I believe it hardly does my grandmother justice.  She had mounds of the richest, darkest auburn hair.  I know, because I saw a lock in one of her jewelry drawers, and I envied the color.

    She married the handsomest young man in town.  Papa was an adoring husband and an indulgent father, but the income of a longshoreman was uncertain.

    Granny was tough.  With intelligence and determination, she pushed her husband and their two children to get ahead.  She had time only for what she had to do to better the circumstances of her family.  There was no place in her life for horses.  When a lot of families were losing ground during the Depression, Granny was managing to gradually put some money in the bank.  She was shrewd.

    My love for horses became evident.  I heard Granny tell my mother, "She gets that from me, Silvia."  I scoffed.

    Years passed.  Granny, long a widow, had to give up her apartment.  She moved into a nursing home.  My husband and I were starting to accumulate our herd of horses.

    She was in her nineties, and she insisted, "I'm going to Laverne's farm in Washington.  I want to see her horses."

    We talked about going to get her.  One day a cousin offered to bring her.  My folks would come as support.

    So she came.  The three-hour drive had increased her constant pain, and she arrived crotchety and slightly disoriented.  I wasn't sure the trip had been the best idea.

    She sat in her wheelchair on our patio, and we brought each of our animals up to her to touch.  She was obviously tired, and yet the rabbits, the cats, and the dog were all patted.  Then we led up the seven ponies and horses.  I was concerned that they would balk at coming to the shriveled woman with the unsteady hands, seated in a moving chair.

    I didn't give them credit for their understanding.  None of them hesitated.  It was as if they knew they were receiving a blessing.  They were the horses she never had.

    If I had any doubts as to whether Granny enjoyed the journey she was determined to make before she died, I lost them when my mother called.  She had been talking to her minister who told her, "I went to see your mother, Silvia.  She's slipping very rapidly.  She was very confused.  She seemed to think she had been to Laverne's.  She was talking about the horses."

    Mum assured him that my grandmother's mind was as sharp as ever, even if her physical health was deteriorating daily.

    We knew it would.  Granny's last wish was to see the horses, and that was done.  She died within the year.

    I know my grandmother loved horses.  My horses are her legacy.