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 … ‘

Sigh.

A long time ago at a horse show far, far away.
Photo by Deborah Rubin

Thank you for reading,
Katherine Walcott

Categories: Horses, Jumping

4 replies »

    • My dad always said film is the cheapest part of the process, take a lot and odds are you’ll get that good one. If I could get the back of my old camera open, I think I’d go back to film for a lot of stuff.

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