Riding Against The Grain

There’s something humbling about learning new things—especially when your teacher has four legs, a swishing tail, and the kindest (yet sometimes skeptical) eyes.

This week’s lesson wasn’t just about riding. It was about building trust and learning a whole new language—because I’m working with a new horse, Oberon, and everything feels different. The groundwork, the flatting, even just leading him from the barn feels like starting over.

And on top of that, we’ve recently moved barns. New surroundings, new routines, new faces—it’s a big adjustment for both of us. It’s easy to underestimate how much a change like that can affect a horse’s comfort and confidence. I’ve had to be extra patient, paying attention to the little signs that Oberon’s still settling in—whether it’s hesitating in the crossties or being more alert during rides. It’s reminded me how much environment plays into partnership, and how trust doesn’t just build in the saddle—it starts on the ground, in the quiet in-between moments.

Groundwork

Groundwork has been especially challenging. What felt intuitive with horses I knew well now requires a pause, a second guess, and a deeper level of awareness. With Oberon, I can’t rely on old patterns—I have to earn his attention, his respect, and most importantly, his trust. He doesn’t just “give” it; I have to show up consistently and patiently, even when it’s hard.

Flatting has its own set of hurdles. Every aid I give gets interpreted a little differently than I expect. His response isn’t wrong—it’s just his way of communicating. I’m learning to adjust, to refine how I ask, and to listen more closely to what he’s telling me in return. Some moments feel frustrating, like we’re speaking completely different dialects. But then, there’s a flicker of understanding—a softening in his frame, a better transition, a brief sync of movement—and suddenly, it feels like we’re starting to get it.

Where I used to feel more automatic and confident, I now find myself questioning and re-learning things I thought I had figured out. Oberon carries himself differently—he asks me to be more intentional with my aids, more balanced in my position, and more patient with the timing of my requests. With my old horse, we had a rhythm I could rely on. With Oberon, I’m still figuring out what our rhythm even is—and that’s both humbling and exciting. Every ride feels like a conversation in progress, where I have to listen just as much as I ask.

Oberon moves differently, reacts to things in his own way, and makes me think more deeply about how I ride. It’s not always easy—sometimes it feels like we’re not quite on the same page. But when it clicks, even for a moment, it feels so earned. The little wins are more meaningful because we’re building something from scratch, together.

Jumping

But where we really shined this week? Jumping. Oberon and I found a new layer of confidence together over fences. We tackled some tricky, trappy turns that would’ve thrown us off just a few weeks ago—but this time, we stayed in sync. He stayed with me, and I stayed present for him. It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours—and it felt like real progress.

At first, even the small fences felt a bit uncertain—he wasn’t sure what I was asking, and I wasn’t sure how he would respond. But each time we rode through a line or made it clean over a tricky turn, I could feel both of us settling in a little more. There’s something about jumping that really brings out the partnership—it’s fast, it’s focused, and it demands that we both commit. The more we ride through it together, the more confident we both become. I’m learning to trust his instincts, and he’s starting to trust that I’ll guide him clearly. That shared confidence has been a turning point for us.

Realizations

What I’m realizing is that working with a new horse—and doing it all in a brand-new barn—isn’t just about riding. It’s about rebuilding my foundation as a horseperson. It’s about humility, patience, and the willingness to meet a horse where they are, not where I expect them to be.

Each ride, each session on the ground, is its own kind of conversation. And though the words are still unfamiliar, Oberon and I are slowly learning to trust each other. One step, one cue, one jump at a time.

“The essential joy of being with horses is that it brings us in contact with the rare elements of grace, beauty, spirit, and freedom.”

— Sharon Ralls Lemon

If you’re on your own journey with a horse—whether you’re starting with someone new, moving barns, or deepening a bond you’ve had for years—I’d love to hear about it. What lessons have you learned lately in or out of the saddle? Share in the comments, or connect with me on social media. Let’s grow together, one ride at a time.