My Other Family

Farm friends are like a second family for me. Since I spend so much time at the farm I feel like I’m always in touch with what is going on in everyone’s lives, and they are with mine. We’re a pretty chatty group, and we share a lot of personal stuff. I think I feel so comfortable and open around them because they aren’t a critical bunch. We constantly watch each other’s back, both inside and out of the ring.

I can’t remember a time when I felt like I was in competition with my barn mates, even on a show day. It’s more of an all for one, one for all, kind of situation, the way I think a family operates. I think Veronica deserves the credit for this attitude. She doesn’t tolerate cliques, and keeps things very simple. We are all expected to pull our weight evenly, from the youngest to the oldest. There are no exceptions. Even the physically and mentally challenged riders are given tasks they are expected to complete.

Similar to an extended family, my farm family includes so many people that if one of us needs help with a problem, like fixing a car for instance, there will be someone among us that will probably have the tools and knowledge to fix it. When someone’s horse is sick, it goes without saying that if you are at the farm, you’ll check in on their horse and send the owner a text to let them know how it’s doing.

I don’t want to imagine my life without all these people in it. I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that though, because even friends who have graduated and gone away to college, or others who have moved away, keep in touch by phone or by visiting us. We find a way to stay connected just like a real family.

The Magic of Trail Rides

Our farm is lucky enough to back up to hundreds of untouched, wooded acres. When I was too young to be considered to go on a trail ride, I always felt envious of those who did get to go. When riders would return after an hour on the trails, the horses would be wet to their bellies from crossing through streams, and the riders would seem so relaxed and content. I imagined the forest to be a magical place.

Just after my tenth birthday, our farm hosted a Fall Poker Ride. The Poker Ride was a charity event where riders from all over brought their horses and paid an entrance fee to buy a poker hand. Then they would ride off into the trail where they would find buckets nailed saddle height to trees throughout the trail. They could pick a card from each of the buckets in order to try to better their poker hand. This was my first experience on the trail, and it was one of the most fun days on the farm I can ever remember. The farm was decorated with pumpkins and hay bales. Pastures were filled with visiting horses, and the it was a perfect, sunny, crisp Fall day.

When I headed out with my group I was filled with anticipation of what was hidden in the woods. I wondered silently if I would be able to handle guiding my horse through the water and over the rocky terrain. I didn’t care about my poker hand. This was all about the experience of the trail. I secretly hoped it would live up to my expectations. As we left the openness of the field behind the farm, and rode into the darkness of the woods, the temperature dropped dramatically. I felt like I left one world and entered another. Narrow beams of sunlight shot from the sky, through the tree tops, like laser beams onto the forest floor. Everything was quiet except for the rustling of the leaves on the ground as our horses walked through. I felt my horse relax under me. It seemed like we were all in a trance.

That day I learned why everyone who returned from the trail always looked so happy and satisfied. Since then I have returned more times than I can count, because it is an experience I haven’t been able to duplicate any other place.

Under the Big Top

The impressive indoor ring stretches over a huge piece of ground that lies back behind the big barn. It’s bold, shining white enormity seems out of place among the other smaller, red, wooden buildings on our farm. It was constructed in less than a week, about nine years ago, and no one remembers how we functioned without it. It has become like the kitchen in a home. Even though there are plenty of other spaces to be in at the farm, everyone seems to wind up in the indoor ring. It’s the place where Veronica gives riding lessons, where we hang out, where the vet works on sick horses, and where we hold special events.

The shelter of the giant hollow marshmallow allows us to ride comfortably year round. In the winter, the sides are rolled down and tightly secured to the ground. It may still be cold inside, but we are protected from the whipping winds. Six or seven horses can be ridden at once without feeling overcrowded. When huge snowstorms are expected, we remove everything from the ring, and convert it into a sandy, indoor pasture for the many horses that don’t have a stall on the farm. I think the horses are grateful for a short vacation away from the harsh weather. In the summer, the sides are rolled up revealing bright green pastures in all directions. The canopy protects you from the heat of the sun, and you still feel like you are riding outside. Summer campers love to spend their day in the indoor ring because whether it’s raining, or a sunny, ninety-five degree day, they can be active while being shaded all day long.

Over the years a lot of memories have been made in the indoor ring. Preparing for horse shows, celebrations, like graduations, baptisms and birthdays, football games, sleep overs and cookouts are a few that come to mind. The thing that sticks out most about the indoor ring for me though, is that I know whenever I walk through the giant doors I’ll be greeted with a big, “Hey Ty, what’s up?” by someone who genuinely cares about me.

"Farm Preservation"

This is an article that talks about how the governor of NJ signed for additional money to protect preserved farmland. Our farm has been a part of the preserved farmland initiative for several years. There is a giant sign out on the front of the driveway that clearly states it is preserved farmland, however, this doesn't deter hungry contractors and builders from making an attempt to buy it for development. The farm not only has sentimental value to me, but there's a whole eco-system that it supports. At lot of creatures depend on the farm,from the smallest farm animal to the hungry human at the end of the food chain, losing the farm would literally mean losing lives. It may not look very attractive to most people, but to me and almost everyone who has been at the farm, understands it for it's complicated nature and true beauty . After a snowfall, its beautiful to see the fresh snow blanketing the pastures,and covering the crops. The animals seem to come out of hibernation and play like children in it. Without the acts of preservation steadily in place, not only could the simple fun things be taken away, but the inner beauty of what the farm does would be gone forever, replaced by rows of boring cookie cutter homes. CLICK HERE

The Smell of... Memories

When I open my car door at the farm, one of the most important factors that makes me feel like I’ve arrived “home” is the smell. I’ve thought long and hard about how to describe the fragrance of the farm in words, and all I can come up with is: clean dirt. I know it may sound silly, and I’m certain that most people wouldn’t find the aroma of pasture grass, hay and horse manure appealing, but for me, I think it has become an unconscious signal to my brain that makes me happy. I have asked other people, “what smell makes you happy?” Some of the answers included, “Gasoline, because it reminds me of driving with my dad to fill up his pickup truck on Sunday mornings.” “Lily of the Valley, because it was my mother’s favorite flower.” “The smell of burning brakes, from driving fast on the track.” “A freshly washed baby.” I guess most people tend to link certain smells with events or feelings that are associated with a fond memory.

In addition to the overall smell of the farm, each of the structures has its own unique smell. The big barn, where many of the horses are stalled, also smells like hay and manure, but in addition, it has the rich, heavy smell of the horses that live there. The tractor barn’s odor is a mixture of thick oil, bitterness from the rusting metals, with a touch of gasoline. The large bird pen in the front of the grain barn, where the turkey, chickens and peacock live, smells like sweet milled corn mixed with musky dust.

If someone would blindfold me and bring me to each of the different spots on the farm, I am certain I would know them as well as I know my own home. I hope the clean dirt smell lasts in my mind forever.

Saddles

“No minute of life is wasted that is spent in the saddle.” - Anonymous

A saddle symbolizes one thing to me, the connection between me and my horse. There are a variety of saddles a rider can use depending on what they want to do with their horse.

The English style saddle is used for the hunter/jumper type of riding, and is the simplest design. These saddles are made of a relatively small, unembellished piece of leather, with a plain looking pair of stirrups attached on the sides, for the hunter-jumper rider. There isn’t much variety in style, size or shape.

For Western style riders there is more variety. There are simple western saddles that someone might use if they just want a quick lightweight saddle to just “horse around” with. Then there are work saddles and show saddles. These come in a million sizes, shapes and colors, that need to fit the rider’s body, and the horse’s body as well. When I started riding at the farm I was pretty little, and so was the horse I was riding. Over the years, as I grew, I changed horses and saddles several times. Sitting on a new saddle for the first time is like trying on a new pair of shoes. If the fit is good, you know you’ll be able to walk for hours, or run, twist and turn, without the fear of blisters on your heels. When you get the right saddle, it feels kind of magical. You are able to feel the horse move better, and communicate your movements to the horse very easily. If you sit in a bad fitting saddle, you’ll know right away. Your horse will be confused because you will need to overcorrect your commands because of the bad fit.

Work saddles and show saddles are two of my favorites because both you and your horse know that work has to be done. These saddles are usually made of several layers of leather, and can be extremely heavy. For the last couple of seasons I have had the honor of using my trainer’s saddle that she used back when she was around my age, and competed in state and national competitions. I use it for both working my horse and in shows. I especially like it when show season comes around, because I will spend half a day at the farm before the show, polishing every piece of silver, leather, and ivory to achieve the ultimate shine. Veronica likes to see it when it’s finished because it reminds her of when she used to go through the same process. It makes me feel proud that she trusts me to use her prized possession.

Game Days

The rooster hasn’t crowed, because the sun won’t rise for a couple of hours. In fact it’s so early that Dunkin Donuts isn’t open when we pass it on the way to the farm. Gymkhana competition days begin with a very early wake up call. In general, I’m a morning person anyway, but knowing I’m headed to race my horse in competition really gets me energized.

Getting ready for a Gymkhana day starts on Saturday afternoon. Everyone who’s going, washes and grooms their horse, polishes their show saddle, bridle and boots, and loads their show clothes onto the trailer. These are all things that will be part of the judging process in addition to the rider’s time in each game. We meet at the farm around five a.m., and start to load water, hay and the horses onto the trailers for the ride up to DVHA. After we arrive at the grounds, we scurry around, putting up tents and tables, filling out entry forms, and then we start to help our youngest riders saddle up and get dressed. They will be the first called to the ring.


By noon, the sun is blazing hot and I’m feeling anxious to get into the ring. I have worked with my new partner, Lottie, for about nine months now. She’s tall with muscles that have become as strong as rocks. Through all our hard work, she’s become an amazing competitor, and isn’t shy about taking risky turns at top speed. My old racing partner, Taz, died a couple of years ago. I felt extremely attached to him because I felt like he could read my mind, and I could read his. Even though he was small compared to our competition, we were unbeatable from our first race together. When I first get into the ring with Lottie, it’s easy for me to remember Taz very clearly. I feel like he is watching over me and my new partner, and rooting for us. When I hear the announcer on the loud speaker say, “…and here comes Ty on his new ride, Lottttttieeee,” I snap quickly back to reality and steady Lottie, facing the gate. When I feel she’s ready, I take a breath, and together we spin around and head for the first barrel. I like winning, but I love the feeling of knowing how much we’ve worked together and bonded to get this far even more.

E-I-E-I-O

I think everyone would agree that all the animals on the Hart farm have a pretty good life. John, the owner of the farm is known for his soft heart and his willingness to take in any kind of animal that people drop off, or abandoned on the farm. Over the years, I’ve seen a variety of creatures come up the driveway needing a new home. A buffalo, llama, an ostrich, peacocks, pigs, sheep, a turkey with one leg, countless goats, kittens and dogs, are some of the orphans that have found a permanent residence thanks to John’s kindness.

The day that sticks out in my mind the most, however, is the day a lady drove up towing a cow on a trailer that was definitely not meant for hauling cows. It resembled a float you might see in a parade. I stood there wondering a couple of things. Just how did she get that cow on her version of a trailer, and how many accidents did she cause driving to the farm. I was certain most every driver she passed had their head swivel around backwards to make sure they really saw what they thought they saw.

With tears running down her face she explained to John that a few months earlier, she decided to turn her land into a cattle farm. After purchasing her first cow, though, and keeping him on her farm for a while, she realized she would never be able to sell him for butchering. Without much hesitation, John caved in and took the cow off her hands. This is how John became known as a cow rescuer. It’s astonishing to think that there was more than one person in New Jersey that year who thought they were going to be cattle farmers, but never thought of the eventual selling for butchering part. Within a few months John had to plow down two acres of soybean crops to make room for his growing herd of cows. Obviously John doesn’t like the selling for butchering part either.

Cow Hide and Seek

Money always seems tight on the farm, so sometimes you learn to make do by rigging things that wouldn’t ordinarily be used for a project. This is what happened when a group of us built an enclosure for the rescued cows. We used things lying around the farm, including old gates, rails, posts, nylon rope and our imaginations. Within a few hours the cows had a new home, even if it was the most whimsical looking enclosure in the history of cow farms. With no cow keeping experience among us, we still felt confident we had made do for the time being. We had taken into consideration that cows weren’t like horses. Cows are usually pretty passive, and happy to stay in an area as long as they’re being fed. We turned out to be wrong.

A few hours later, I was back on my horse and riding back from the trail. I l looked over to admire our new cow corral, and suddenly I felt my eyes bug out, and my stomach drop. There were no cows inside the enclosure. I couldn’t see how they escaped, or any clues as to where they went. Five huge cows, poof, gone. I rode as fast as I could down to the horse pasture where Wilbur was feeding the horses, and in very bad Spanish yelled, “the cows are gone.” He must have understood because he jumped onto the Toro and flew back towards the cow corral. I started riding around on my horse, and made it to the tractor barn where I heard a very loud moooooo. Deep in the barn was a massive cow standing in the dark. I maneuvered my horse back carefully, and got behind the cow to drive him forward past the tractors. I couldn’t believe I was playing hide and seek with a bunch of cows!

Within fifteen minutes we found all but one. They are herding animals, so they continued to call for their missing friend. I climbed up on a giant pile of hay, looked around the corner, and there she was walking down the front driveway, heading for the road. Maybe she was deaf, or maybe she just needed time away from the rest, but she wasn’t interested in coming back on her own. Wilbur laughed and grabbed a rope to bring her back. I still look at her today and wonder where she would have gone that day if we would have let her keep going.

Veronica

On Saturdays, Veronica is in perpetual motion. She’s petite, but she’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known. She has big red cheeks that surround her constant smile. Her voice may be raspy, but her words are never harsh. In fact, she calls everyone “babe.”

She presides over the indoor ring like the conductor of an orchestra. She shouts instructions to all of us rapid fire from behind the rail. “Babe, thump that leg!” “Wrong lead, Babe!” “Keep her head down, Babe!” Someday I’m going to ask her why she calls everyone Babe when she knows our names. It seems like it shouldn’t work, but it does. Perhaps she does it on purpose. Maybe it makes us pay attention a little more. It didn’t take long to figure out which “Babe” I was after my first lesson.

I remember my first lesson so many years ago. It was a cold February day and Veronica greeted me her baseball hat on. For some reason I felt like I had known her all my life. She brought over Rosie, the oldest grandmother of all ponies on the farm. She started by showing me how to use the grooming brushes, and how to saddle Rosie up. All the knots and buckles made me feel like I would never be able to remember how to do this by myself. After Veronica pulled Rosie gently into the ring, I stepped off the mounting block and into the saddle. I was riding! Veronica’s approval mattered so much to me, and still does today. I’ve come to understand though, that it’s hard for Veronica not to be pleased. She always gets excited by even the smallest accomplishment. When something goes wrong, she just smiles, looks away and says her signature line, “You won’t do that again, will you Babe?”

Veronica is like a second mom to me. She has taught me to be resourceful and figure things out for myself, pushed me passed what I thought were my limits, and she has always seemed to trust me and give me responsibilities that I know even my own mom may not have. I can’t imagine being who I am today without Veronica’s influence.

Bandit Interview

Ty: Hi Bandit, nice to see you again. I was hoping you would let me ask you a few questions about what you do here on the farm.

Bandit: Sure, if you share some of your lunch, I’d be happy to answer whatever you ask.

Ty: Ok, thanks Bandit. Can you please describe your job here on the farm for me?

Bandit: I am the head guard dog. I lay across the main driveway to make incoming cars and trucks slow down. Then I follow the car and greet the driver at their door after they park.

Ty: Come on Bandit, I know you do more than that.

Bandit: Yeah, first I make sure I recognize them. If I don’t know them, I bark as loud as I can, and follow them wherever they go on the farm.

Ty: I’ve heard your bark. It can be pretty intimidating.

Bandit: That’s the point. I’m trying to let Veronica know there’s someone on the farm we don’t know. I want that person to know they can’t sneak up on anyone. If they ignore me and walk towards the house, I also growl and show them my pointy teeth.

Ty: Yes Bandit, I’ve seen your teeth and heard you growl when I have something delicious in my lunch bag.

Bandit: You can’t blame a guy for trying.

Ty: Fair enough. How long have you worked here at Whispering Winds?

Bandit: A little more than ten years. Duke was top dog until he got himself run over on Rt. 31 about two years ago now. Poor guy, I miss him. He was a great guard, someone I looked up to.

Ty: How do you feel about the new additions to your family, Zoey and Sunny?

Bandit: Sunny’s alright. She has a great bark that would wake the dead, but she’s still learning how to follow strangers. She’ll get there.

Ty: How about Zoey?

Bandit: No comment.

Ty: Come on Bandit, I have a ham sandwich with your name on it in my bag. I know you smell it.

Bandit: Alright, alright. I can’t stand her! She thinks she’s an irresistible baby beauty queen. She lives to be rubbed and adored by ANYONE! If she was in charge she’d give the farm away for a belly rub. The jumping into strangers cars is just embarrassing! There’s no hope with that one.

Ty: Ok, Bandit I think that’s enough for now. Thanks for your time. Here’s the sandwich, enjoy!

Four Legged Friends

Horses are like people. No two are exactly the same. They may look similar, but they each have personalities all their own. Like people, some are lazy, some are shy, and others can be cheerful, rude, or downright rough. For me learning the personality of a horse is sometimes just as fun as riding it. I wouldn’t advise jumping on a horse before you take a little time to walk around it, and feel how it reacts to you.

Depending on the day, the weather, their health, etc. each of their moods will vary. When I walk into a pasture, I can feel the mood. The feeling is similar to when you walk into a room in your own house after not being there for a while. If everyone suddenly gets quiet and looks at the floor, you know something is probably wrong. The same thing happens in the pasture. If horses start walking toward me, it’s usually a sign that they’re happy, alert and interested in what I might have to offer them. On the other hand, if I walk through the gate, and they all stay where they are, or trot away from me, I know they’ve had a rough night, they’re feeling lazy, or just content to stay where they are. I’ve had a few times when trying to get a horse from the pasture was like moving a building from its foundation, which, of course, is next to impossible. Like children, horses respond well to bribery. A handful of grain or a couple of carrots will usually help make them cooperate.

Sensing moods seems to work both ways. Looking back on all the horses I’ve ridden, they seemed to respond to my frame of mind at a particular time. If I came to the farm with a lot of energy, after a short time the horse I was riding would match my enthusiasm. If I wasn’t feeling well, or I was rushed, and had other things on my mind, the horse recognized this too. Those are the days that I have learned to put my horse away early and maybe muck stalls instead. It’s not worth fighting a mental battle with a horse when you’re not in the right frame of mind. Just because he is bigger and stronger he will automatically win. You will go home frustrated, feeling like you haven’t accomplished anything. The horse may feel like he got away with murder, and you’ll wind up spending three days to undo the behavior you triggered with your bad mood.

My four legged friends have taught me a lot of things. Trusting my instinct, learning to listen and observe, respect for boundaries, to expect the unexpected, and patience are only a few of the lessons I’ve learned so far. I know there will always be something new that a horse can teach me.

Boots

When most people think about a pair of boots, they probably think of shoes that you wear for extreme weather or for working. When I hear the word boots, my mind lights up, because I only think of one thing, my riding boots.

My riding boots look like typical western style cowboy boots. They’re black with steel toes to protect my feet from being stepped on by a horse. They have a high heel that makes a very distinctive sound when I walk, and they fit perfectly secure in my stirrups when I ride. My favorite thing about them is that every time I put them on they seem to get more comfortable. The night before a gaming day I spend a lot of time cleaning them up and polishing them, so the judges don’t subtract points for appearance. The smell of shoe polish doesn’t really bother me, but I’d rather they be left untouched and carry the smell of leather mixed with dirt from the farm instead.

Over the years, I’ve seen some cowboys wear some pretty outrageous looking boots. Some have been multi-colored, others have had crazy patterns stitched in. I think I’ll always prefer the modest and understated black boots that I’ve always had because the classic look says, I have the western swagger, so I don’t need to be a bragger.

The Toro

After twelve years of working from sun up to sun down on blazing summer days, drenching rain and countless snowstorms, Toro was allowed to retire.

When I as eight, Wilbur, a farm hand, sat me behind the wheel of Toro for the first time. The seat had disintegrated over the years of people climbing on and off. A piece of thin wood had been duct taped in place to cover the hole, but even it looked like it would need replacing soon. My Spanish wasn’t what it is today, but Wilbur understood instinctively how much I loved Toro. It felt like an honor to sit in the driver’s seat. As I rode my horse, I would watch his four wheels spin tirelessly, as if he knew how much everyone depended on his power. Even if he was out of sight, I would still be able to hear the rumble of his engine in the far distance. On Saturday evenings, after I put my horse back in the pasture, I would listen for a moment, and then run towards the familiar sound. Wilbur would allow me climb on Toro’s back and let me throw hay bales into the pasture as he navigated over the bumpy terrain. When all the hay was gone, Wilbur would look back at me and smile, which meant I needed to hold on tight while he took Toro to top speed all the way back to the barn. We would both laugh. I don’t know why, but I think Toro liked it as much as we did.

When I was eleven, I drove Toro for the first time. As I turned the key and Toro growled to life, I felt like there was no job we couldn’t handle. At first I drove him slowly, getting used to how he turned and stopped. Within a few minutes, I felt like we understood each other well enough to ride into the pastures and feed the horses without Wilbur.

When I turned twelve, my horse died and we buried him on the far side of the farm. Toro would take me on the long ride to visit the grave. The comforting sound of his engine made the trip a little easier.

Last year Toro started to cough and spew smoke. He was getting tired and old. Farm hands and mechanics worked on him each morning coaxing him back to life, but on a cold rainy day, Toro wouldn’t even sputter. It was time for him to retire to the big barn. We pushed him to the top of the hill, and parked him where the sun would shine the brightest. He will stay there, probably forever, resting with his other old friends, watching over the farm.

Home Away From Home

If you know me at all, you know my favorite place to spend my free time is at the farm. I spend so much time there that I think of it as my home away from home. If I don’t make it there during the week, I know when I open my eyes on Saturday morning, that within sixty short minutes, the tires on my dad’s car will be making that crackling sound as they roll over the long, unpaved stone driveway that leads to the barn. My mom remembers the first time she drove me up that driveway eight years ago. She looked in her rearview mirror and saw me smiling. Even as a seven year old I guess I felt something great was waiting for me there.

To the average person, Whispering Winds farm probably doesn’t look like much. It may even be a little disappointing, or seem unsettled and disorganized. To me though, it is a slice of heaven. The pasture lays green and sloping on the left, filled with horses. The tiny, red summer camp building leans toward the massive evergreen tree on the right. One of the three farm dogs will be lying in the way of the car, to slow you down enough so they can announce your arrival. Coming around the corner is the “big” barn. It’s open on both ends, and depending on how the sun is hitting it, there will be twelve horse heads in shadow, or twenty four eyes fixed on your every move. In the distance is the work barn most identifiable by the tangled chaos of colorful farm equipment, some parked there from three generations ago. A flock of guinea hens runs recklessly about all day long as if they’re being chased by hungry wolves. I wish I knew what they were thinking. A right turn down a small hill leads to the indoor ring, easily recognizable on a dry day by the dust blowing out the double wide doors. When I walk in I’m always greeted by at least one of the two kinds of friends I have at the farm, two legged or four legged. There isn’t much difference, they’re all happy to see me and I’m thrilled to see them.

I can’t imagine being the person I am today without the experiences I’ve had of growing up on the farm.