My father-in-law, who is the best father-in-law in the history of tattooed, beer-drinking, home-improving, shit-talking, texting, dog-loving father-in-laws, gave me a miter saw for Christmas.  This man knows my heart and approves of women learning trades.  The family joke is that I am the son-in-law he always wanted, because fuck your gender norms.

To date, he's given me a jigsaw, a circular saw and now the miter saw.  I purchased my own drill, two sets of drill bits, and a hand saw.  I am stoked that my little power tool collection is growing.

But what does this have to do with ponies?

Once upon a time, I saw an image on Instagram that combusted my heart with instantaneous longing:

Got a little crafty on this chilly afternoon! Now it needs paint and my fabulous decals from @relativelystable and it's all ready for 2016💙 #css #crafty #woodworking #mastercarpenter

A photo posted by Julia Jesu (@juliajcss) on Nov 23, 2015 at 3:14pm PST

 And I immediately bought wood, because her image made everything so simple, that sat in my garage for about a month and a half.  Because I am a master procrastinator.

Then Hillary posted her gorgeous grooming box and I was again reminded of my intense and burning love for these things.  As well as the thought that a divider might help with my hoards of crap.

Hillary's.

Finally, though, I plugged in my brand-new miter saw, read all the instructions (or at least how to get the blade to raise and how not to lose a finger), took my previously mathed sketches and told the hubs to listen for my screams.

Vintage Stubben, because who doesn't have spare saddles in their garage?

• I cut six pieces of wood, five from a 1x6x10 (I think it was a 10 footer - I have some left over), and the sixth from a 1" round:
• 2 pieces at 22"
• 2 pieces at 20"
• 1 piece at 18" 
• 1 piece at 5.5"
• the round at 22"

• Wider.  Still use the 1x6 for the sides, but go to a 1x12 (probably) for the tall sides and the base.  This is for more stability and more shit.
• Alternatively: a small shelf at the top, since it's so tall.  Thinking about trialing this, since I have wood left over.  Only problem would be accessing that shelf when the saddle's on it, but wouldn't matter so much if I used it for those last-minute things, like boots and gloves.
• Sand it better, stain it better.
• Maybe slightly taller, and add a bridle hook?  Runs the risk of being ginormous, but could be good for shows (that I don't attend.....).

Long-time readers may remember that I used to have a chiropractor come out for the Archer.  She came out about monthly for several months and then we graduated into the "wellness program" and I was told that I could use her as I needed her.

I've kept up with the things she recommended: alternating the side I mount and dismount from, carrot stretches and "sit-ups".  But after moving barns, I just wasn't as interested in having him adjusted.  He was great until he wasn't.

My BM mentioned to me some issues she was seeing in a sales horse and I asked if she considered having him adjusted, since the vet found nothing wrong.  And I recommended the chiro I'd used, but with heavy warnings that she wasn't my favorite person, but that all horse people are crazy to an extent.

Last week, the chiro came out and adjusted four horses.  She immediately remembered me, remembered Archie, started asking questions about my life since last she saw me, and was 800% more personable than I had led everyone to believe.  Hrm.  She was pleased that I had kept up with so much, but still had the same personality problem that I didn't like about her last time.  For example:

Me:  ...X, Y, & Z problems, recently retired from jumping...
Her:  Oh, well at 19, he prob-
Me: 18.
Her:  Oh, well at that age, he probably doesn't need to be jumping anyways.  You could still do some crossrails.
Me:  ..but the crossrails are what we're retired from.  :|

Or...

Her: His topline doesn't look that bad, he's not sway-backed, but I would like it built up better.  But, you know, at his age...

She found a few things out in his front legs/shoulders, a small spot where the saddle goes (she said every riding horse is out here), but not as much along the spine (testament to the alternate-mounting thing), and in his sacroiliac, which will plague the long-backed horse for the rest of his life.  I think.  She said we could recheck in 4-6 weeks, but since he isn't having any major problems, he didn't really need it.  A couple of the other horses seen have already scheduled for the end of February, but I'm holding off.  I'm sorta thinking that pastern already wants more juice.

When you look comparatively at his first visit:

I'm just gonna take a nap, mk?

Archie's feet having been progressing brilliantly since I switched farriers.  The new farrier is still pleasant to talk to and answers all my annoying questions.  He's also almost got the dip on Archie's right front grown out.  There's barely a sliver of the enormous stress crack left and I'm pretty sure it'll be a normal hoof in the next cycle or two.

I wonder if the sentimental value I place on this is going to matter to me in the future.  But for five years or so (I'm thinking longer), Archie was the only horse I jumped.  There were a couple of mares at the barn in Augusta that I would hop on, but once I made the purchase of him I only really rode other horses when he was injured or I was asked.  And we left that barn in August of 2010.  Prior to that purchase, though, I rode and jumped anything and everything, from the 17.3h Selle Francais who broke my heart, to the barely 15h Quarterhorse mare who broke the fence.

Poor Crayola.

Tralee.

Jumping is important to me.  I'm not necessarily good at it and some fences are frightening, but I have been jumping for as long as I have been riding.  It's part of who I am as an equestrian.  So with Archie's retirement from jumping, I sought out other options.  First, another boarder said that I could take her baby horse over a couple crossrails, but the day I pulled him from the pasture, he had a reasonably-sized and fresh wound.  Then, Big G's owner said I could jump him.  She does it regularly and he seems to really enjoy it.  But I'm not confident enough at the prospect of jumping a new horse (even though I ride him all the time) over a fence at a gait.  We could canter, but he's a freight train (we're working on it).

Maybe my first show on Teddy Bear?  Consistency is the name of my game.

Later on, with Teddy.  One of my all-time favorite photos.

Towards the end with Teddy.

So I got in touch with The Eventer (TE), who now runs a barn about an hour away, and scheduled a lesson.  Then I texted the Other TB Rider (OR), to see if she wanted to come.  She did and she wanted to lesson, too.  A little impromptu reunion, minus the three bay Thoroughbreds.

No lie, OR and I wore the same socks, completely unplanned.

Lulling me into a false sense of security with his ombre bands and cute muzzle.

We started the lesson in a lower field and just figured out the ponies' buttons.  TE also had the most illuminating explanation for a half-halt that I've ever gotten (something to the effect of cuing with your legs and then scooping that energy with your abs, but better phrased and more effective).  Also, I'm a hunchback.  There's no reason for me to not work on that with my arthritic pony, since it doesn't ask much from him.

We finished the lesson in one of the top fields, where the jumps were.  We just went over and over a single crossrail turned into a vertical, until OR's hony pulled a shoe and we all got the munchies.  TE was quick to point out the things we both needed to work on (and that shit was almost identical, which means we suck together).  We both love to stand way too up in the saddle and I'm particularly fond of dropping all contact while simultaneously anticipating the fence.  T3 used to harp on me to squat the fences, but goddamn is that a hard thing to remember.  Says the woman who squats almost daily.

After the lesson was Mexican, of course.  Then I went back to my barn and rode both Archie and Big G.  Busy, horse-filled day!  And, brace yourselves, my internet friends:  I have more shit to talk about this week, too.

I was waiting until after the holidays to share my very last European post, simply because the holidays make people depressed enough as it is.


So one of the days that we were in Munich, we took a train and then a bus to Dachau.  My husband has an avid fascination with WWII, but I am not as well versed with the nitty-gritties, because it makes me hate humanity more.  Assuming you are as unaware as I am was, here's a break down on Dachau:

• It was the first Nazi concentration camp and became the prototype for the rest.
• It opened in 1933 by Heinrich Himmler, who was one of the upper-echelon Nazis and, to quote Wiki, "one of the people most directly responsible for the Holocaust."  This bastard had something to prove and later was over all the concentration and extermination camps.  Towards the end of the war, he tried to have secret peace talks with the Allies.  He committed suicide while in British custody.
• The camp was initially started to hold political prisoners (those who opposed the Nazi party), became a labor camp and swelled to include Jews, criminals and "foreign nationals".
• Over 25,000 people died at this camp.
• At liberation, 1/3 of the camp's population was ill.
• After liberation, it was used to hold SS officers, then unsettled Germans from Czechoslovakia, then as a military base for the US.  It was closed in 1960 and later turned into a memorial.

"Work sets one free."

Smoking forbidden.

Where they would stand for hours.

Bunkbeds.

The buildings were razed.

Religious buildings down this path.

Bridge to the crematorium.

If you crossed a certain point, you'd get shot.  Some people used it to commit suicide.

Path to the crematorium.  Was it always this pretty?

"Showers".  In my research, I found two things:  this may have been added in the 1950s and this word is no longer popular in German due to its association (at least according to my resource).