Three years ago, I moved to the United Kingdom with my horse, “Sig,” due to my U.S. Air Force assignment. It was supposed to be the adventure of a lifetime, and I wanted to document it through my Chronicle blogs for everyone to experience it with me. I intended the “Air Horse One” series to be a regular feature, detailing the challenges of moving a horse abroad, the differences in horse keeping in a foreign country, riding, competing and more. However, life had other plans. So here I am now, coming to you two and a half years after my last entry, and well after the conclusion of the adventure.

Sig and I moved home and back to Virginia in July. The truth of it is, looking back on the past couple of years, it didn’t feel like I had much to write about. I was mostly overwhelmed with work. When I did get to ride, it was just routine with nothing noteworthy to discuss—no attending shows, no clinics to report on, nothing outside of riding my horse a couple days each week and wishing I could do more. And when I finally did feel like writing about my experience living abroad with my horse, that was usually when life decided to drop its shoulder, spin and toss me in the dirt.

But we can talk about it now, if you’re still interested.

When The Dream Is Not Reality

I had big dreams when Sig and I moved over to England. This little horse girl who dreamed of riding and competing in Europe was going to get her chance. I didn’t have any goals to qualify for anything like Hickstead or the Horse of the Year Show, but I was hoping to attend local competitions, maybe do some of the county shows, and really embrace opportunities through British Showjumping and British Dressage. I wanted to take Sig hunting, maybe do a one-day horse trials, and ride on the beach in Norfolk. 

In short, I was going to live every amazing British riding fantasy imaginable. And then after that, I hoped Sig and I could move to Germany for a couple of years, and live the dream competing in continental Europe too.

… Absolutely none of that happened.

My primary duty in the United Kingdom was a big milestone position for my military career. I was the director of operations for one of the support squadrons on base. I had nearly 600 assigned military members and civilian employees across 11 divisions (“flights”) with over 50 activities ranging from human resources, to dining facilities, fitness facilities, to deployment operations, to family and childcare activities, and so much more. We were an extremely busy and diverse squadron on one of the busiest bases in Europe. We supported the Afghanistan evacuation, and when the conflict in Ukraine began, the base operations tempo sped up exponentially. It felt like running a marathon at a dead sprint. And that was just the day-to-day.

Then there were the deaths. My secondary duty was as the installation’s mortuary officer. When one of our American members—whether active duty, a family member, or a U.S. civilian employee or one of their family members—passed away, I directed the Mortuary Affairs case for that death.

My team and I worked tirelessly to care for the deceased and for their grieving families. We supported their grieving colleagues, arranged to send the deceased home to family in the U.S. (or in some cases, elsewhere in the world), assisted with funeral arrangements and entitlements, secured/inventoried/shipped the deceased’s belongings and personal property home to their next of kin, and more. Each case involved an enormous amount of coordination with funeral homes and Air Force installations stateside, local British authorities and funeral homes, the USAF mortuary in Germany, and the various Air Force agencies involved with organizing military flights out of the U.K. for the deceased.

In three years, I directed or assisted with nearly 20 cases, seven of them being active-duty members. The others were military family members, ranging from stillborn to teenagers, and one recently retired member. The active-duty cases had the most entitlements to manage, and typically lasted six to eight weeks, with some follow up and administrative actions lasting months. The first seven-14 days were often without any time off, some of these days lasting as long as 18 hours. Typically, the first three to four weeks were completely dedicated to the case, with no time left for my “day job” running the squadron operations. The cases of family members’ deaths usually didn’t last as long. However, they were equally challenging, as supporting grieving parents through these moments took its own unique toll. 

I saw a lot of death in the past three years, and I was around a lot of grieving. There was a lot of suicide, with family members, colleagues and friends asking questions that can never be answered. Many sons, daughters, sisters, brothers and fathers were lost while I was there. There were hopeful young families who had their dreams ripped from them with the loss of their unborn or infant child. And the case of the teenager? I still can’t talk about that one. 

It was my singular honor to serve each one of these families. I love my work as a mortuary officer; it’s the most important and fulfilling job I have ever done in my life. My heart breaks for the families, but I consider it a privilege to serve them in their time of need. As devastating as it was to serve in this role, I would do it all again in an instant if asked, because I know just how much it means to everyone in the moment. 

But it is truly devastating. No one who serves in these roles is truly the same person on the other side of it. It very nearly destroyed me. The major depression and dark times were very real.

I wrote about my previous Mortuary Affairs service before, and how my horse helped me get through it. But this was different. Before, I wasn’t working face-to-face with grieving families and colleagues, I was doing that from a distance. I wasn’t viewing, identifying and handling human remains in that previous experience, I was focused solely on their personal effects. I wasn’t investing every ounce of energy for weeks into supporting a family and advising the unit, as previously I was hundreds or thousands of miles from those who were feeling the loss the hardest. I was “in it” in England. People were experiencing this kind of loss for the first time, and they—from the family to the installation commander to the supporting agencies, etc.—were looking to me to take their hand and guide them through it.

It’s difficult for me to pinpoint any one reason I didn’t get to accomplish what I wanted to with Sig, or even spend time with him on a regular basis. I suppose it’s impossible to be excited about riding, training or competing when you’re so deep in that flight/fight/freeze response for months at a time and struggling to just survive. 

“I suppose it’s impossible to be excited about riding, training or competing when you’re so deep in that flight/fight/freeze response for months at a time and struggling to just survive.”

I had a lot of guilt about dragging Sig across an ocean and not even being around for him consistently because of my job. For that, I cannot thank my yard managers, Bridget and Molly, enough for their understanding and their exceptional care of Sig while I was dealing with everything else. They were both lifesavers, caring for him when I was barely able to care for myself. Knowing Sig was safe and happy meant the world to me. 

As recently as this past week, I was bombarded with reminders and triggers of my time doing mortuary duty. It was a painful few days. When I made it out the barn, the best I could do was rush out to the quiet of the field, and just sit out there with Sig’s herd. I am grateful that learning these lessons helped me let go of the guilt of not “doing something” with my horse. My value as a horseman, and Sig’s value as a horse, is not tied to how often we ride, how high we jump, or what we accomplish under saddle. Some days, these moments sitting out in the field are not just what I can manage on these tough days, but they’re what I need.

Despite all that guilt, I look back now, and I am forever grateful that Sig was there with me. He helped me settle and take a breath in the middle of a mortuary case. He gave me purpose when the job was overwhelming, and I needed to take time for myself. Most importantly, he gave me a reason to stick around when I thought I didn’t want to anymore. I think I owe my life to this horse.   

The New (Old) Dream: Middleburg, Virginia

Fast forward to this past summer, when Sig and I moved back to the greater Washington, D.C., area on another active-duty assignment. This is my third time living in that area. While I didn’t want to stay in the military anymore after such a grueling experience in the U.K., I was grateful to at least negotiate an assignment back to D.C., so that I could be in a familiar place with an existing support system. More importantly, I was grateful to be able to get back to the Virginia horse country that I have missed so dearly since I left it 15 years ago. 

The best part: I’ve returned to the Middleburg, Virginia, area and am thoroughly enjoying being back around the community on a regular basis! I managed farms and rode professionally here for a couple years starting in 2006. I love the hunting community, the culture, the beautiful landscape, and how seamlessly all the disciplines coexist here. The passion for horse sport here in Virginia is wholly unique, and I didn’t realize how much I appreciated it back then. Since I left in 2009, Middleburg, Upperville, and the surrounding area have always been the standard to which I compare all the other places I’ve lived. 

Sig is boarded near Middleburg proper. My current assignment is less demanding, so I’m able to make it to the barn some afternoons during the week. On weekends, I spend hours and hours at the farm, hacking Sig around the spectacularly beautiful 300 acres or simply sitting out in the field with him. After the barn, I pop into town for my weekly milkshake at Scruffy’s and run over to Upperville to watch the various shows hosted at the show grounds. Now as I soak up the incredible views on the farm, or drive down Route 50 through town and enjoy the views down Zulla Road and Rokeby Road, I feel so totally at home and happy for the first time in a long, long time. I hope it lasts.

I used to tell myself decades ago, as I drove around these places, that someday I wanted to come back with an established career and live here with my own horse. I wanted to feel like I belonged here. As I’ve moved around the world (quite literally, having lived all over the U.S., Japan and the U.K. over the years), Virginia hunt country has always stayed quietly in the back of my mind, patiently waiting for me. When the universe denied me the chance to leave the military and return to Kentucky as I had tentatively planned last year, and kept me on active duty for another assignment, I was initially frustrated and angry. I didn’t realize then that it was just the universe showing me the way back home. 

Still The Adventure Of A Lifetime

I still look back on our time in the U.K. with great love and appreciation. It may be years before I fully process and let go of the work and its impact on me. But outside of the job, living in the U.K. was a dream come true for me. I am a lifelong Anglophile and grew up wanting to experience everything British. I felt like I belonged there, even though I knew I couldn’t stay.

Despite being busy, I still managed to make the most of my time in England. I visited Newmarket and enjoyed watching the horses on the famous gallops. I attended Trooping the Colour, the king’s birthday parade, at Horse Guards Parade in London. I traveled to 14 countries across Europe. I galloped a Connemara on the beach in Ireland, and I rode the famous Icelandic horse in Iceland in the middle of January.

While I didn’t accomplish any riding goals with Sig, I can say our time abroad transformed our relationship and strengthened our bond like I never could have imagined. 

We learned to ride bridleless. I learned to put the relationship first. I learned to let him tell me “yes” or “no” to the riding, and how allowing the horse to say “no” builds and maintains trust. I learned that sometimes just sitting in the field and sharing/holding space for one another is the most important thing in that moment. I learned that tuning in to Sig’s needs, feelings and opinions opened a whole new level of communication. 

I learned that completely throwing away plans to show and focus only on the relationship for months or years at a time can have immeasurable benefits when the time comes to get back to work. I learned that the time spent on the ground with the horse is far more valuable than the time spent in the tack.

I hope to share all this and more with you. Because now I feel ready to show you all the great (and not great) parts of moving abroad with a horse. So, what are you curious about? Do you want to learn how horse-keeping practices vary? Are you interested to know how grassroots competitions are still alive and well in the U.K., and how they provide affordable showing? Want to play a fun game of “What Is This Called In England?” What is a numnah, anyway? Feel free to list topics of interest or ask questions in the comments, and I will be sure to answer them in future installments.

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Lindsey Colburn is an active-duty service member and former professional horseman, with experience in hunters, jumpers, equitation, eventing, dressage and fox hunting. She moved to the United Kingdom with her young jumper, Sibelius MB (“Sig”) in June 2021, and returned to the United States in 2024. Read all of Lindsey’s COTH blogs or keep up with her adventures on Instagram.