An Ode to Organization

Growing up, I had a pretty rough n’ tumble horse background. I rode out of an old barn where the lesson helmets were all piled up in a wheelbarrow, and you looked for the one that had the least amount of dirt in it with the tightest elastic band under your chin. The tack room was full of ancient Crosby’s and Crumps, and the hayloft stored ancient buggies and carriages. The rafters were full of cobwebs, the indoor ring was falling down in one corner and full of the deepest sand which clogged your lungs in the winter, and the outdoor alternated between rock hard or red mud in the summer. 

Callie’s school bridle. Swoon. Photo by Finding My Waylon Photography.

So when I got a job managing Hunterdon out of college, I experienced some profound culture shock. Olympic and World Cup medals set in wooden frames lined the hallways. It smelled of Pine-Sol and pine shavings, of leather cleaner and hoof oil, all mixed with the delicious scent of clean horses. The barn’s wood, painted a shiny black, was polished several times a week, and spiders didn’t dare even step foot in the place. Gorgeous bridles and saddles lined the tack room walls, and each horse had appropriately labeled “Flat” and a “School” sets of tack. It wasn’t enough that each bridle was figure eighted - each bit had to be exactly level and straight. 

After arriving in Florida, part of my job was to make sure that the set up in our tent - the first one directly at the entrance to the showrings - stayed just as immaculate. My days went from riding 6-7 horses to endlessly dusting each tack trunk which inevitably once again became filthy from the sand and footing carried on the wind. The entrance always had to be raked and the supply shelves fully stocked, with neatly aligned rows of shampoo and rubbing alcohol. I always kept my ears open for the chorus of, “Sophie! Sophie!” so I could run to wherever George (Morris) was and tackle whatever inadequacy he found in that moment for me to address (One time, the inside of the refrigerator where we stored some of the meds was too dirty for his taste). This was of course on top of all of my other duties as manager.

When we finally made it back to New Jersey at the end of the circuit and received the news that George was selling Hunterdon, I was told by Chris (Kappler) that he would give me a good reference to anyplace I wanted to go. I not only made it through the circuit alive and whole, but I became a true barn manager of a world class operation and learned more than I ever thought possible. 

My next role landed me at Elizabeth Solter’s operation, and the first thing I did was go to work tackling the management of the place. It was dirty work, but I remember the immense satisfaction I got once the feedroom had been cleaned top to bottom, the supple shelves arranged just as neatly as Hunterdon’s had been. I bought Pine-Sol and repeated the routine of mixing it into a watering can, making criss-cross patterns in the aisles at the end of each chore cycle after we swept, signaling the end of the day. The tack room had every bridle clean and ready for the next day’s routine, each bit shining. As much as the riding or other pieces never quite fell into place for me as a professional, the one part I always loved was the supreme pride I felt from a clean, organized barn. 

I only took 15 photos of my time with Elizabeth. Most of them are of organized things.

This sense of organization and attention to detail is something I’ve tried to take with me into my amateur life. While there has definitely been a realistic shift between what I deem essential and what I let slide in the interest of time and sanity, at my core, I am a traditionalist nitpicker. I am the person who will always clean my bridle after a ride and wipe down my boots before heading back into the car. I’ll figure eight my bridle, even if it’s just going back into my trunk, and I’ll make sure my polos are tightly wrapped and ready to go the next day. I’ll start my groom session with a spray of detangler in Azul’s tail and end making sure its free of shavings - even if I’m the only person at the barn. 

My blog post is not to say that my way is better than anyone else’s. It’s more just a wax poetic about how much I love my way. Especially during down times, it’s good to reflect upon why we ride, what we get out of it, and how we connect with it. When we look at the whole picture, most of the time we spend with horses happens outside of the saddle. For me, the management piece brings me just as much joy as the riding piece - sometimes even more. That’s why I will always be at the dirty tack hook at the end of a long horse show day - hand me a sponge and some soap, I’ll be just as happy cleaning bridles as I will be in the ring.