The Unexpected Anguish Of Not Attending Camp
Today is the first day of advanced camp at Falcon Hill Farm. I am not among the campers.
Pause for dramatic sniffle.
Last year, Milton and I rode in Stepping Stone Farm’s advanced camp [1, 2, 3, 4]. This year, Milton and I are taking lessons at a hunter/jumper barn. Surely, we will ride in the hunter/jumper advanced camp?
You will not and don’t call me Shirley.
FHF Advanced Camp is open to ‘Students age 12-18 who jump 2’6 and above.’ I am less worried about the age requirement than the height requirement. It is easier to fake being under 18 than it is to fake jumping 2’6″.
It is a hunter/jumper barn. Advanced students jump bigger jumps. Duh.
My horse is green. We are not ready to jump bigger jumps. Double duh.
My ability as a rider, or lack thereof, is not relevant. I could be a grand prix rider and the result would be the same. Triple duh.
Yet, a small, ego-driven part of me is still saying, ‘ … but … but … I … me … but … but … ‘
Thank you for reading,