On Saturday, I braided my horse for a show. No big deal, right? Wrong. As a working mom, committing to that one task meant enlisting help from multiple family members. 

Early in the week, I searched the house for the black yarn I knew I had on hand for just this situation and found it in a pile in my kid’s room. 

On Friday, my mom picked my kid up from school so I had extra time to work and do house chores—and spend a little time with that poor neglected husband. 

I explained to my husband that I needed him to handle the kid Saturday afternoon and not the morning because I had to bathe and braid as close to the show as possible. Obligingly, albeit a little confused, he rearranged his exercise schedule.

All of this preparation, and I was unsure if my horse would even let me braid. She just turned 5, and she’s never been braided before. Some days, depending on hormones and the wind, she prefers to not be touched at all. It might be a complete and total disaster to try to braid her—or show her. In the crossrails division. 

So, if it’s so hard, why did I spend this much effort to braid? This much time to show? 

Because I love it. 

I spent most summer weekends of my childhood horse showing with my barn family. Our trainer required braiding even for our local shows, where almost no one else braided. 

One pony I braided would spin around in the aisle until he managed to run into a stall and pee on the soft shavings. I learned to unhook him and let him pee, but he still wasn’t a fan of standing while I made a complete and utter mess of his mane. I’d show with braids sticking straight up or coming apart in my hands. 

No one at the show cared, though. I actually got compliments for the effort. I was welcomed to show up fully in the process of learning how to turn my pony out myself. 

After years of disaster braids, I figured out how to get them to lay neatly just in time to move on to my off-the-track Thoroughbred, LJ. He didn’t like to stand still either. 

That was OK, though. We had quite a crew for horse shows back in those days, and the barn aisles would be swarmed with kids and parents. We’d turn on the radio and sing as we braided. We’d order pizza and guzzle soda. Then we’d sleepover at someone’s house (usually mine—thanks, Mom!) so only one parent had to wake up early on show morning. If we had any energy left, we’d turn on a movie and clean our tack before bed. 

At the barn, the older girls would come give us tips about our braiding. My trainer would stop by and critique our tails. (She was reasonable—tails were only required for special occasions.) Braiding every weekend was a party! 

As the older girls left for college, our crew shrank. I would still braid. I enjoyed those quiet nights in the barn, just me and my horse.  

This weekend, again, I was the only one out at the barn braiding. The show was the MidAtlantic Horse Rescue’s All Thoroughbred Benefit Show, hosted annually at Tranquillity Manor Farm, where I board. Some people do braid for this show—it’s a fun chance to show off all things Thoroughbred—but most don’t. 

I went back and forth about whether to braid: I’m a working mom who has to sneak in riding and showing whenever I can. It seemed a little silly for the crossrails division. Even if we were turned out beautifully, we’d probably still pick up the wrong lead (or swap to it, like the last show).

And after her Saturday spa treatment, my mare would be going back in the field with her friends instead of being cooped up in a stall. My braids (and her bath!) might very well be ruined by show Sunday morning. I had a plan for that: If she ruined her braids, I’d snip them and hose the curls out of her mane before our classes. 

But I wanted to braid. Immaculate turnout is a work of art, elevated by braiding. I enjoy the process of creating the art even more than the results. I rarely get the luxury of time to braid, so my braids aren’t perfect. I could pay a pro to place every strand of her mane and tail. But for me, that’s not the point. I want to do it myself.

Just like I want to train my horse myself. Making a seasoned show horse is a work of art. I might have to miss a few leads, sit a few spooks, and chip a few crossrails to get there. (Well, OK, more than a few.) I’ll have invaluable advice from experienced coaches and rides from friends along the way, but I’ll be the main one in the saddle. 

Not everyone can spend the time to learn how to braid, or to train a young horse. Not everyone loves that part of the process, and that’s ok. We all love horses in our own ways.

But me? I had a blast this weekend. It took multiple bribery tactics to convince my mare to stop shaking her head and let me handle her mane. I’ve never braided while grazing a horse before, but it worked (the results were only slightly crooked). The braids mostly survived overnight, but I did redo the tail in the morning. 

We won the “Green as Grass” crossrails division with braids in and also trotted around the 2’3” course. She behaved well enough that my daughter even got to ride her in the leadline class. We did, however, pick up the wrong lead. Multiple times. 

A pro could braid my horse better and faster. A pro could train my horse better and faster. 

But if I’m lucky, years from now, when we are cruising around, nailing our lead changes and having a blast, I will know every stride that it took to get to that point. I will know every strand of her mane, every inch of her well-muscled body. I will know my horse. I will know myself as her rider. 

And that, to me, is worth the time. 

Tracy C. Gold is a writer, freelance editor and mom living in Baltimore. An alum of U.S. Pony Clubs and the Intercollegiate Horse Shows Association, she competes in local hunter shows and rides for pleasure now. She is the author of the picture books “Trick or Treat, Bugs to Eat” from Sourcebooks and “Everyone’s Sleepy but the Baby” from Familius. You can learn more about Tracy at tracycgold.com.