I’ve thanked her multiple times before, but upon learning of my former riding instructor’s retirement from teaching, I knew I had to do something big.

This is that something big. And it’s not really that big. But hopefully it means something.

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I was ten when I first came to your barn. I had taken lessons at three other places for two years prior, and somehow had ended up very, very scared. At one of the barns I had almost fallen off (because my horse hit a ground pole and stumbled, and I was in two-point position—very much a beginner), but that was only part of the cause of my fear. For some reason I was constantly nervous while working around horses and especially when in the saddle. I remember going to a summer camp and gripping the horse’s mane with all my might as he cantered. It wasn’t fun. I don’t know why, but it was only scary.

All of my instructors had been rather—distracted. They were kind, but for whatever reason busy with other students, or other thoughts or calls. I always felt a bit left out and forgotten.

I had wanted to try Western riding at my old barn, on my instructor’s recommendation that I might feel more comfortable with a horn to hold on to, but the instructor had never shown up for that lesson.

So I came to you, nervous and probably literally trembling. I don’t remember meeting you, but I’m sure it was friendly. I certainly liked you right away. And I liked the horse: Gussie, that stocky golden palomino.

I was still scared though. I remember sitting on her shaking—knowing she was going to take off, I was going to fall, she was going to spook and not listen to me and I would lose control.

But you were leading her with a lead line, so of course that didn’t happen. And even that first day I began to lose some of my fear. I began to enjoy myself. And a large part of that was because you were attentive and reassuring, and I knew your first priority, as a riding instructor, was to teach and watch me. No one else had given me that feeling of security, of importance, of value.

I really appreciated that, and I still do. Thank you.

(And thank you to Gussie, you sweet, patient, unflappable girl. I miss you.)

I can’t remember if it was that first lesson or the second one, but fairly quickly I was off to trotting on my own again, and then, really cantering—I mean loping—and enjoying myself. I practiced going over ground poles, making circles, going around barrels. Practicing patterns in the arena was so much fun.

I even got comfortable jumping (as much as one can jump using a Western saddle). Bonnie was a great little jumper, but so was Casper—with whom I soon fell in love. And you were kind enough to let me ride him, lesson after lesson, over and over and over. I should have ridden different horses more often. But thank you. Casper was so delightful, supple and willing and hardworking and humorously grumpy.

You taught me how to do a one-rein stop, how to practice turns on the forehand and haunches, how to approach a barrel and slow in the pocket, how to leg yield. You even introduced me to leg yielding without using visible aids—by only thinking about it, so my body would naturally incline towards that move. And the more I worked on it, the more I realized it worked. A telepathic connection with the horse! And people say it’s not possible.

I was able to re-experience riding in an English saddle after a few years—an unfamiliar yet familiar bliss—and also learned rollbacks and how to conquer (and help the horse conquer) big trail obstacles like hills, tarps and giant tires.

I learned different ways to secure the cinch, and to always, always check it, even after I was mounted. I learned that horse and rider could be more connected than I had ever thought—that hands were not always necessary. I learned how to be softer with my hands, how to always use legs and seat and voice before using the hands to communicate. I learned that horses are social and very sensitive, and prey animals prone not to fight but flight. I learned about hooves and horse anatomy and health.

Even more importantly though, you taught me how to be confident on the ground. How to groom comfortably, how to pass behind a horse safely and easily, how to lead and catch a horse. Most significantly was the natural horsemanship to which you introduced me. Maybe it was very basic, but it was still mind-blowing and so cool: getting behind the drive line to push the horse forward, getting in front of it to stop him; asking for an action and increasing the pressure until I got it, then releasing (and releasing for even the slightest try); getting a horse to “hook up” with me. Those things are some of the most concrete memories I have from my time as your student. I know I wasn’t the best at longeing—round-penning was much easier, no rope to contend with!—but I was learning, every Friday, Saturday or other day I came out. Not only was I learning how to interact with the horse in a way that made sense, I was learning to interact with him in a way that reflected his mind. That was the best part to me, being able to interact with a horse as if I was another horse, using that pressure-and-release, that body language. Thank you for teaching me that.

When I owned Drew—thank you for keeping him at your place, taking care of him, helping with his special diet and helping me connect with him. Remember that time when the rain was hammering the arena roof and he was going ballistic? Thank you for telling me to keep him going, either moving a certain way or going a certain speed, to let him know his freaking out was not the right thing to do. Thank you for pushing me when I was all too ready to give up.

Thank you for your Christmas gifts over the years.

Most of all, thank you for teaching me confidence. Yes, I remained a bit of a skittish rider (and person!); but I grew so much in my confidence as a rider and as a person while learning from you. When I first came to you, I was very passive and shy; over the years I learned to assert myself, albeit quietly, and take charge if need be, in large part because of you. I learned not to back off when a horse came toward me unasked, but to use body language and pressure to assert my dominance, to protect myself and reaffirm the relationship: you follow me. I learned that I was able to do that if I just had confidence in myself and practiced; I really could calmly and quietly lead a horse and be his “boss.” I learned to go about my business without asking for permission to do every little thing. I learned to encourage and even help other students as you encouraged and helped me. I learned to step out and take chances, like going to gymkhanas or to Lake Comanche. And those were so much more fun than I ever anticipated. Thank you for encouraging me to go on those outings.

Thank you for your thoughtfulness, your advice, your easygoing personality which complimented mine and calmed me down so well. Thank you for letting me really be myself; a rare occurrence in my life. Thank you for being willing to be not just my instructor but my mentor and my friend. At least, I hope that is the case—I view you as a friend.

Here’s to many more great years for you, and many more between two fellow horse lovers.