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Blogger Paige Cade

May 21, 2015

Proud Of Where I Came From

After spending four months in equine fantasyland I returned home to my quaint, rustic, little farmette in Purcellville, Va. We use words like “quaint” and “rustic” to invoke a sense of charm, some far off nostalgia for tin roofs and chickens pecking around. But words like “small” and “old” are more accurate.

April 1, 2015

I Want To Like My Every Day

So try as I might, my inner show jumper took over and a few weeks into my time at the Winter Equestrian Festival (Fla.), I crossed back over to the dark side. A big thanks goes out to the Barkers for understanding that my ambitions were in another ring and encouraging me to pursue them. Through a miracle of networking, (a friend of a friend of a friend and so on…) I found myself standing in Margie Engle’s ring one balmy January morning.

January 7, 2015

Ponies, Palm Trees and Patience

This is not real life. Nowhere else in the universe can you rock a giant brim on your helmet that evokes everything from Donald Duck to Little House on the Prairie, wear multiple items of bedazzled clothing, and openly discuss the purchase price of your house in the Hamptons—all while riding your immaculately groomed horse that may or may not be a unicorn.

You might also be texting.

This is fantasyland.

November 26, 2014

Reviving The Hunter Princess

Somewhere, in the dusty recesses of my brain, exists the equitation-obsessed, stirrup-less wonder of my youth. In my first week on the new job the rusty gears of my former hunter-self began creak and groan to life.

October 8, 2014

Sometimes When A Door Closes, A Window Opens

The other night, my husband and I sat on our kitchen floor and shouted obscenities. Not at each other, thankfully, but at life, at the latest wrench thrown in our feeble plans. Patricia had told me earlier that day that Tebogo would be ending the Thoroughbred training and sales part of the business by January 2015. So in other words, time to start looking for a new job.

June 17, 2014

Drawing Horses

When I was kid in elementary school, I used to draw horses. And trust me—I was not a gifted artist. But on the inside of every notebook, on the margins of math tests and the errant post-it note; horses were popping up everywhere. They weren’t the horses I knew, but the horses I hoped to know.

I was a scrappy short-stirrup rider who refused to count strides and had never been to a jumper show, but I would draw my fantasy grand prix horses, soaring over wide square oxers.

April 8, 2014

The One In The Irons

Sometimes the hardest voice to hear is your own.

Before I came to Tebogo, I was a big fish in a little pond. I had a false confidence in my riding because I didn’t grasp just how much I didn’t know. Within a few weeks, I was unceremoniously humbled. My dream horse got hurt. I was riding some very green beans that did not hesitate to highlight my shortcomings as a rider. And for once, I hardly knew anyone.

February 3, 2014

Walkin' In An Equine Wonderland

There’s nothing like the joy of wrestling a frozen halter in the pre-dawn hours of a frigid January morning or the simple pleasure of icy mud splashing over the top of your aging rubber boots. These are only small insights into the magical, elite world of winter horse care. Don’t take this the wrong way—I love what I do. I would not trade early morning, cave-man-style ice breaking for a cozy desk job any day.

November 25, 2013

Looking For Healing In The Hoofbeats

The words fell like cream into coffee, slowly ballooning beneath the surface, expanding in that void somewhere between hearing and understanding. As calmly as she might tell me that she had bacon and eggs for breakfast, my mother told me she had endometrial cancer.

And no, not the garden variety endometrial cancer, that operable, slow-growing, only mildly inconvenient, drive-thru edition of uterine cancers. No, she had the big one, the unpronounceable, incurable papillary serous carcinoma, that pit bull of cancers that sinks its fangs in and despite “de-bulking,” doesn’t relent.

September 4, 2013

Doing Right By "The" Pony

You never know how easy life is when you don’t have a horse with a broken leg, until you do. It’s been almost two years since my pony broke her humerus in a freak pasture accident.

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