Thoroughbred Logic, Presented by Kentucky Performance Products: Winter & The Oregon Trail
“How can you be ready for something you are not familiar with? … I have explained my answer by likening it to the Oregon Trail game. Each option … carried consequences. Your family might get dysentery, or you might run out of money and have to figure out how not to die that day.”
Welcome to the next installment of Thoroughbred Logic. In this weekly series, Anthropologist and trainer Aubrey Graham, of Kivu Sport Horses, offers insight and training experience when it comes to working with Thoroughbreds (although much will apply to all breeds). This week ride along as Aubrey shares her logic on preparing for winter in a northern state.
When I moved north, my sense of time had to shift. I never knew that December came so quickly on the heels of July. I hadn’t wanted to start up my own place heading into the winter and thought that giving myself a six-month lead time would be fine.
No, let me try that again. I don’t actually think I thought that in July. Because in July in Atlanta, you’re not thinking about the winter. Hell, in October in Georgia you’re not thinking about the winter. But in upstate New York, every time I drove to look at the potential farm in the early fall, billboards with snow on top of boats would taunt me: “Winter is coming. Are you ready?”
Nope. Definitely not.
Yeah… this was a cold, blustery day. Photo by author.
And when serendipity did its thing and I somehow was granted the ability to take over this amazing farm on the slopes of Lake Cayuga, I did so right on the cusp of winter. We matted stalls in 40 degree rain (that’s a standard Georgia winter day for ya). And soon after moving the horses in, I was digging to find all of their medium blankets. I knew it would only get harder and colder. I just didn’t know about the mud…Or the challenge of getting electricity to the fields…or well… so many things you learn on the uphill slope as you go.
I knew that winter in the north brings with it the lean months. People stop hauling for lessons, the show season dries up early and clinics suffer for attendance heading into the new year. Horse sales slow. Family takes priority (as it should) and the proverbial ribs start to show. Hell, so many businesses here are seasonal – they are raucous and busier than possible in the summer months and they pull up the mats and turn off the open signs as the cold wind starts to howl.
At least one of us loves the winter. Photo by author.
Moving into a new barn with 15 Thoroughbreds from day one (and expanding from there) means that nothing gets to get rolled up and closed down. You just get to figure it out on the fly… all with the specter of winter looming. When folks asked if I was ready for winter (which apparently is a thing that folks do up here), my answer has remained the same: “Nope. It’ll be a new adventure.”
How can you be ready for something you are not familiar with? I grew up in Connecticut with my horse living full time outside. I rode through the freezing months during undergrad at Colgate further upstate. I can do all the research I want, talk to all the folks who ride out these winters regularly, but I still won’t be ready. The learning curve moving from riding in winters to managing a farm in real winters is steep, but I guess I accept that and the myriad challenges that come with it.
Mojito Margarita showing off her cold tolerance during a conformation shoot last week. Photo by Lily Drew
I have explained my answer by likening it to the Oregon Trail game. I played very few video games as a kid, but I always enjoyed the basic blinking cursor, simply asking you what your next move was as you moved from east to west in a wagon. Each option: (for instance, a) ford the river b) travel further south to a crossing c) remain encamped, hunt, and wait for help) carried consequences. Your oxen might float away, your family might get dysentery, or you might run out of money and have to figure out how not to die that day.
Typical day on the trail. Screen grab courtesy of the Oregon Trail Game.
If you opted to play as the banker, the trail was easy. There was always money to solve the daily emergencies. Lost your oxen? OK – buy more. Got typhoid? Purchase medicine. No big deal. The banker and his family usually survived.
But if you were the carpenter or the farmer, resources were limited and each crisis carried bigger risk on a more constrained budget. Buying medicine might mean going without food. Losing your oxen could be life-ending. Most horse people without a trust fund probably recognize this type of consequential math.
Hoods rarely last with this crew. Photo by author.
In the game and the reality, trail folks uprooted themselves and their families on stories of a life they could have if they moved West. They packed everything into boxes and wagons and left not knowing what fresh hell tomorrow might bring. There was of course talk of the challenges – attacks on the wagon trains, illness along the way, and winters in the mountains. Sure, they could do a little to prepare for the risks, but until they were met head on, it was all just idle musings of what might be coming.
But the hope and the idea of the life they could have — that fresh start and the pursuit of happiness — was worth the risk and the adventure.
Littles made it clear that I can work, but she’s staying inside if it’s under 30. Photo by author.
Running a farm in general feels like this – running one going into the winter makes it obvious. I had heard about the mud. In Georgia we claim we have mud and that it’s a problem, but once it rained hard here in November, I have never seen mud like the mud of New York. The top layer slips above the lower layer. Water somehow suspends in the soil and the mud is wetter than imaginable – horses sinking over their ankles in places. Mud seemed to enjoy clearly proving that my usual farm boots were woefully not cut out to survive this season in this place.
So the list of things I needed grew: New heavy duty mud boots. And the list for fixing things for next year got longer and more expensive in the rock and rock dust to create dry lots and dry gate areas categories.
How is this even possible, Koops? Photo by author.
And then, as I was adjusting to currying mud off legs and slopping around the farm with slightly wet feet, it froze. Small spiky mountains of mud caused the horses to totter, ripping shoes off on the under-layer of the frozen ground. I was grateful for the freeze, but suddenly had to adjust to long hours of putting shoes back on and making sure barefoot horses had boots and were not going sore.
Leni (Chooslove) and Mo (Mojito Margarita) get acquainted over a roundbale. Photo by author.
The freeze brought new challenges, too — notably frozen water. Yes, of course water freezes just south of Atlanta, too. We actually had some pretty serious cold snaps in the decade I was down there. Hammers and pitchforks to remove the ice from the water are all good. But with consistency of temperatures not rising above the 20s and six-plus fields to manage, tank heaters rushed to the top of the “need” list. With tank heaters came higher amp extension cords, and when those melted and when one field of my personal horses would not drink due to a charge in the water, I made different emergency plans, shifted turnout, provided options and cursed how woefully unprepared I was for this.
Finally someone will drink out of the heated trough. Good kid, Major Spin. Photo by author.
I was not the banker who could prepare for all emergencies ahead of time – more like the carpenter had to make sales and then face them one by one. And I remain amused that the challenges I have to meet and the solutions needed were not always the ones I would have come up with ahead of time anyway. But as with any farm manager/horse owner who slogs through the seasons alongside your critter(s), your strongest skill often turns out to be that stubborn nature and the acceptance that you can and absolutely will curse a lot, but that you have no option but to learn, lean into the potentially icy wind, kick on and go forward.
By the time I do my next winter, this will feel familiar – “easy” enough. And of course there will be new challenges with an expanded knowledge on how to manage each. And I’m sure there will be a stronger network (I’m lucky to have a great one to start with) to rely on in the case I have no clue or find myself wondering what to do if the proverbial oxen indeed wash away downstream.
Maybe next winter will feel more like this post-card worthy winter shot of Bowing Snowman. Photo by Lily Drew.
So with heavy blankets for the horses, a heavier coat, heated vest, proper mud boots and a slew of tank heaters and outdoor-appropriate extension cords, I’m still not at all ready for the winter. But like every other farm manager and horse owner out there, the best you can do is meet each emergency in the order it arrives and treat the most urgent first.
Oh… that, and be grateful for the indoor.
Needles Highway clicking around the indoor at the new location for Kivu Sporthorses – the former Finale Farm. Photo by Lily Drew.
So go ride folks, enjoy the slow down and the warmth, and here’s wishing everyone has the right gear and skills to meet the next set of emergencies.
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