Roaming

I have one word for Jess Jackson: Ruffian.
Horse racing aficionados and oenophiles will recognize Jackson’s name. He is the co-owner of Rachel Alexandra and the founder of the Kendall-Jackson winery.
Jackson purchased the wunderkind filly just days after she won the Kentucky Oaks by an extraordinary margin of 20¼ lengths; then, he paid the $100,000 supplemental fee to enter her in the Preakness Stakes. Although previous owner Dolph Morrison told NBC sportscaster Bob Costas that he didn’t believe fillies and mares should run against the colts, Jackson had no such reservations.
“Bring ’em on” was the attitude he conveyed to the NBC team members who covered the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness this year.
And win she did, impressively – especially since jockey Calvin Borel said she didn’t like the footing of the Pimlico track. Mine That Bird was coming on hard, though, when the filly crossed the wire first, barely a length in front of him.
Mine That Bird’s jockey, Mike Smith, said what I truly believed at the time: If the son of Belmont Stakes winner Birdstone had had even another sixteenth of a mile in the race, he could have passed her. At the very least, the stretch run would have been far more reminiscent of the Affirmed/Alydar duels of 1978.
The most recent stories I could find on the Web before I sat down to write this have not declared Rachel Alexandra a certainty for the Belmont. However, Jackson seemed very sure of his filly after the Preakness. He was practically salivating over another victory against the colts. After all, he owns the 2007 and 2008 Horse of the Year, Curlin, and he’d surely like to make that three years in a row.
For that matter, Jackson in his hubris before the Preakness talked with NBC of his plans to breed Rachel Alexandra to Curlin after her racing career ends. His goal is to create a superhorse. More power to him, as the saying goes. If 43 years of following horse racing has taught me anything, it’s that breeders can study pedigrees all they want, but you rarely can pick the sire and dam that are going to give you a champion on the track.
Just ask Penny Chenery, the classy lady who owned Secretariat. Because Bold Ruler was in such huge demand as a stallion in his late years, his owners had right of first refusal for every foal he sired. Apparently they weren’t all that impressed with the colt produced by Chenery’s mare Somethingroyal, because that’s how she ended up with Secretariat.
Every horse owner hopes for the extraordinary champion Secretariat was.
I would not argue with Calvin Borel’s assertion that Rachel Alexandra is the best horse he has ever ridden. The argument I have is with Jess Jackson’s yearning to prove she cannot be matched on the track by any of her 3-year-old peers. And that’s where Ruffian comes into the picture.
Just like Rachel Alexandra, Ruffian was undefeated. She also was big and powerful; both fillies are listed at about 16 hands. As Sports Illustrated writer Jack Mann put it, Ruffian had been “unchallenged, really – in 10 races.” Rachel Alexandra has beaten all the fillies who have gone to the gate with her by a total of 43½ lengths.
Even though he didn’t win the Preakness or the Belmont Stakes in 1975, arguably the best colt that year was Foolish Pleasure. Since thoroughbred racing loves nothing better than a good match race, such an event was set between Ruffian and Foolish Pleasure on July 6, 1975.
I was away at a summer riding camp, so I did not see it. And as that was the era before even VHS came upon the scene, my mother wasn’t able to record it for me. She was relieved, actually, she said at the time, that I wasn’t there with her to watch the race. It was only days ago that I saw it for the first time on the Internet, but I already knew the story well from magazine accounts.
The New Yorker’s “Race Track” columnist, writing in the issue of July 14, 1975, noted that “Foolish Pleasure was first out of the gate, but Ruffian passed him in a couple of jumps and they went down the chute together, doing the quarter in 0:22 1/5 [a very fast pace]. Shortly after they reached the main track, Foolish Pleasure stuck his head in front, but Ruffian accelerated and passed him. Then it happened.”
She shattered her right front ankle.
The crowd watched in horror as jockey Jacinto Vasquez struggled to pull her up.
She survived emergency surgery, but these were the early days for the kind of major medical treatment for thoroughbreds. When she awoke, she thrashed around so mightily in her confusion that she not only shattered the repair work the equine surgical team had performed, she damaged the leg beyond all hope of healing. The only choice at that point was to put her down.
The 2009 Belmont Stakes is not until June 6. Over the next two weeks, I hope Jess Jackson has countless people counsel him on the risks involved in sending his invaluable filly into competition again with the colts.
And if he still is not persuaded, I have two more words for him: Eight Belles.
No horse racing fan will forget that that very talented filly shattered both front ankles after she was beaten by Big Brown in the 2008 Kentucky Derby. Unlike Ruffian, she didn’t even make it into surgery. The damage was so catastrophic that she was euthanized on the track.
Thoroughbreds are born to compete, and the very best have such heart that they will struggle with all their might to win. They are intelligent creatures, but they are not wise enough to understand that rampant inbreeding has them carrying more than a thousand pounds on fragile legs that all too easily snap like match sticks.
Rachel Alexandra has earned her place in the record books. Why take a chance on engraving in our brains one final image of her with her weeping jockey holding onto her bridle as the equine ambulance rolls toward her on that long Belmont Park track.

I count myself extraordinarily fortunate to live in Sarasota. Events over the weekend of April 24-26 collaborated to create an excellent example to support my view.
On that Friday night, I watched the world premiere of a ballet choreographed by Dominic Walsh and performed by members of his dance company and Sarasota Ballet. Titled, “The Trilogy: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart,” it was a feast of modern dance featuring dancers so lithe and agile that they put the magic of CGI animation to shame.
Walsh’s choreography to beloved Mozart melodies was precise and fluid. Since I never had the opportunity to study ballet, I am awed that dancers can perform such intricate movements. It is as if the men and women on stage that Friday night were part of a human jigsaw puzzle whose interlocking pieces shifted and flowed with the music.
The form-fitting costumes used throughout much of the trilogy allowed me to admire the musculature that years of training have carved in these dancers’ figures. I caught myself on occasion thinking of an anatomy class, with muscle and sinew clearly defined, but with an elegance far removed from scientific assessments.
I may not have understood the symbolism a lot of the time – I freely admit that – but in no way did that compromise my fascination with and appreciation for the level of expertise and the hours of rehearsal time that enabled the three ballets to come to stunning life.
The set design itself was masterful in its simplicity: billows of white, parachute-like fabric puffed and flattened, variously lit, and enveloping dancers at times. It was easy to see that the design had been inspired by photographs of Antarctica.
If any of the dancers took an unscripted step during the Mozart trilogy, I would have been loath to detect it. This world premiere underscored the breathtaking talent with which the Sarasota Ballet is imbued. Director Iain Webb surely must be carving out national recognition for himself from his own work with the company and for his collaborations. I am full of great expectations for the next season.
Saturday was my day of normal weekend activity before Sunday evening arrived – an interlude between the sublimity of the ballet and the cacophony of controlled chaos that is a modern rock concert.
My husband and I had yet to travel to Ford Amphitheatre in Tampa when we decided to buy tickets to see the Nickelback/Seether/Saving Abel show. (And it came as a great surprise to a number of my co-workers that I am a Nickelback fan. I have been a progressive rock fan for years, but that’s a topic for another blog.)
A rock concert is a visceral experience. Hearing music that you like live almost always is preferable to hearing it any other way. But the more you like a particular band and its sound, the more you relish indulging in a live performance. In my college days, I went to quite a few rock concerts. This was the first time, however, I had gone to see three groups in one night who all played music that enthralled me.
Saving Abel was the only “if,” since the group has had just two singles getting regular play time on the radio. These guys did not disappoint. Seether was even better, because they have had more hits over a longer career, and Nickelback was superb. The members of Nickelback are solid musicians and excellent, affable showmen. The fireworks, flame effects and video accompaniments simply added a glossy coat to a shimmering show.
The next few days I found lyrics and bass lines wafting through my brain, taking me back to Ford Amphitheatre and a particular part of the concert. I could warm again to the endorphin rush from being in the audience.
But my husband managed to enable me to enhance that by creating for me an iPod playlist of all the songs the groups played that night – even down to a live version of Filter’s “Hey Man Nice Shot,” which Shaun Morgan of Seether sang with the guys from Nickelback.
When I listen to the playlist, I’m in my 20s again, feeling the endless energy and effervescent joy of youth.
Dance. Music. Bliss. One weekend with so many delicious moments to store away on the shelves of my brain so they can be delicately drawn out later. In those quiet times – weeks, months from now – they will glitter and pirouette and dazzle me all over again.

Since early December, I have had 11 lessons at the Herrmanns’ Royal Lipizzan Stallions ranch in Myakka City. If anyone had told me when I was a child – when I was utterly and absolutely fascinated with Lipizzans – that I would have this opportunity one day, I would have scoffed.
This is my own fairy tale with real people and real places.
Even someone who is ambivalent about horses has to appreciate the fact that the Herrmann family maintains this herd of rare horses right on the outskirts of Sarasota. Drive out on a spring morning, when the sky is what I call “Carolina Blue,” and watch the trappings of municipality give way to an idyll. Rustic barns blend with multimillion-dollar homes, and cattle and horses of all shapes and hues adorn the pastures like ornaments hung on a Christmas tree.
To drive through the gates at the Herrmanns’ ranch is to enter a world of calm and beauty. The stallions in their varying stages of gray and white peer out at me each time I walk into the barn and greet them. By now I have become a reasonably familiar face, though only Storm and his next-door-neighbor, Duke, seem to register clearly who I am.
(Duke, by the way, is “the jumper,” the Lipizzan in the barn who performs the most demanding of the Airs Above the Ground which were prized so highly by European royalty in ancient days.)
Heather Meyer always greets me warmly. I’ve never known anyone with a more optimistic outlook. She acknowledges higher points of some weeks over others, but she never seems to have a bad day.
By now I have learned rudimentaries of haute école. During my second lesson with the shoulder-in technique, I finally figured out what Storm and I were supposed to be doing. Then there have been the circles – some admittedly rounder than others – and the straight lines. Laugh if you will, but it’s not as easy as you might think for a novice to get a 17-year-old stallion to walk a straight line from one side of the ring to the other.
We also have worked on halts. Heather has been teaching me the past few weeks how to ask Storm to stop without being hard on his mouth or making really obvious movements – another big improvement in my world of dressage. (Actually, Storm is a fast learner. It only takes him a couple of halts before he understands what Heather wants me to have him do.)
During my most recent lesson, I also began to get a feel for shifting my weight to direct Storm over to the rail after I had him walking (finally!) in a straight line away from the rail. Ah, these creatures are so well trained.
And sitting the trot has become easier. Storm and I both have our “bad” side, the direction in which the trot is not as comfortable for either of us. Even on that side, though, I was able last week to take both hands off the saddle for brief periods to hold the reins in a reasonably proper manner.
My last two trips to the ranch, I have remembered to take an apple for Storm. And both times he has given me an inquiring look as he has chomped down on the fruit after we’ve removed his tack. I wonder whether he wonders if one day I finally will master the challenges of dressage.
No one could ask for a better “school horse” than Storm, this keenly intelligent fellow who is so gentle, so unperturbed by the things I do wrong.
During all these months of lessons, I realize I have yet to see how riders do things the right way in the training shows. Because the tour schedule doesn’t begin until June this year, I still have time. The stallions will put on their free shows every Saturday in May – except the 16th – at 10 a.m.
With one more lesson and a show to savor over the summer, I can dream of making more progress – and earning more of Storm’s respect – come fall.

Interested in seeing the Lipizzans perform or taking lessons? For more information and directions, call 941-322-1501 or visit www.hlipizzans.com

April 1 marked my eighth lesson at the Herrmann ranch in Myakka City. I’m so much more comfortable on Storm, but I realize all the more how complex dressage is. This knowledge creates even greater admiration for riders who do it well.
Ever since my second lesson, I have been using a mounting block to climb aboard Storm, as the Viennese saddle I use has no stirrups. Heather is always patient with me, but we have joked a bit about my lack of upper body strength.
My friends who see me work out at the YMCA might wonder at that, but my husband – who has suffered through many a furniture-moving episode with me – can attest to it. He loves the scene in “An Officer and a Gentleman” when Sgt. Foley chides one of the female officer candidates as she struggles mightily to get to the top of wall on the fitness trail, “No upper body strength, See-gar!”)
My only defense for my difficulty in getting on Storm from the mounting block is that Lipizzan stallions may not be excessively tall, but they are broad. I can pull myself up without a problem; getting my right leg across his back is the main issue. Need to pump more iron at the Y!
By this eighth lesson, Heather has taught me how to coax Storm into a more enthusiastic walking stride by alternating the use of my legs in bumping his sides. She readily reminds me – as my earlier riding teachers did – that a rider can “dull” a horse’s side by kicking too much. The more subtle the movement that works, the better. You start out with small inducements and proceed to the bigger ones.
This morning, in fact, Heather told me to pull my legs away from his side before giving him any kick if he was sluggish. He’s a smart fellow: He quickly catches on that a kick is next when my legs move out, if he doesn’t perk up.
And in Storm’s defense today, Heather told me that he went through two very busy lessons the previous day. Given the high humidity on top of that, I can’t blame him for wanting a more leisurely pace this morning.)
By now, Heather allows me to walk Storm on my own around the ring, though she remains ever alert and is quick to correct my mistakes – but in her ever-gentle, very positive manner. It’s practically impossible for me to feel bad about doing something incorrectly – unless I’m inflicting unnecessary discomfort on the horse.
This eighth lesson marked the first time I had been able to guide Storm through a circle in such fine fashion that Heather gave me an enthusiastic commendation on it. We’ve been doing circles around her ever since the early lessons. Some days they leave a LOT to be desired, but practice is making them much better.
Today also was the first time we’d worked on the shoulder-in movement. According to ClassicalDressage.net, “The principle of the shoulder-in is that the horse’s footfalls are on three tracks. 1st track – the outside hind. 2nd track – the inside hind and outside fore and the 3rd track the inside fore. The horse is encouraged to bend his body round in front of the inside hind leg so that this hind leg does more than its usual amount of work and is the prime driving limb for propelling the horse along. You are loading the inside hind leg.
“Think of the shoulder-in as the basis of all lateral work and the cornerstone of all equine gymnastic exercises. If you can ride a good and correct shoulder-in, your horse should find all the other lateral movements fairly easy.”
That website says almost exactly what Heather told me as we practiced the maneuver. And I actually managed to get Storm to do it for a stride or two, once in a while. At least I know what we’re trying to achieve, so perhaps it will come more easily the next time we attempt it. Still, it’s something new, and that thrills me.
Because of all the shoulder-in work, I didn’t get to trot much today. However, every time I work on sitting the trot, I feel more relaxed. With this eighth lesson, I have become accustomed to the exercises Heather has me do to help master this art, and sometimes – when I am concentrating so hard on the exercises and not thinking about sitting the trot – I do it very well. That result, of course, is the purpose of the exercises.
I have four more lessons to go before the Lipizzans head out on their summer show circuit in cooler climates. Just thinking about this morning has enabled me to stay in a mellow mood at work all day. When my riding ends for the summer, I’ll have to practice my own calming exercises – imagining myself on Storm’s back with Heather’s smiling encouragement. Few more tranquil spells have I ever been blessed to know.

About five months after my husband had surprised me with riding lessons on a Lipizzaner, I headed out on a Saturday morning to the Myakka City ranch I had visited the previous spring – home of Herrmann’s Original Royal Lipizzan Stallions of Austria.
I have to confess I was a little nervous. After all, I hadn’t been on a horse in 26 years, and as much as I absolutely loved riding in my youth, I was worried about how quickly my equestrian instincts would return. I quite simply didn’t want to make a fool of myself.
Sharon White and Heather Meyer greeted me warmly in the stable as a multitude of Lipizzans turned in their stalls to get a gander at the new girl – some with the snowy white faces of veterans; others, “babies” in various stages of dark gray going gradually lighter. (As a child, I was particularly fascinated by the fact that these horses are born black and turn white as they age.)
Heather already had Storm pretty much ready to go. All we needed to do was make sure I had a helmet – just to be on the safe side. In the meantime, Sharon was telling me that Storm is the “school horse” because he is a “Cadillac.” At 17 – middle age for a Lipizzan – he is as professional as they come. And gorgeous, I have to add.
Helmet on, I followed Heather and Storm out of the barn. Heather told me to go ahead and mount and explained that she would keep Storm on a lunge line this first time, so I could get a good feel for riding him. We would take things slowly, which was just fine with me. Then we proceeded into the arena.
The rest of that lesson went by so fast I scarcely recall it, even though it was less than three months ago. The sensation that most remains with me is one of pure delight.
By the time of my third lesson, Heather confessed she had wondered that first day how long it would take me to learn to relax and move with the horse – to be a quiet rider. For by that third lesson, I was starting to feel I was making genuine progress.
Heather, I must add, is an excellent teacher because she offers corrections in a gentle manner and is quick to tell you when you’ve done something well. More than anything, her love of horses comes through clearly. It takes only a little time chatting with her to know she is a true horsewoman.
One of the biggest differences in riding dressage – the style of riding you use with the Lipizzans – compared to the saddleseat equitation I learned growing up is that in dressage you have to sit the trot. I have some minor balance problems, probably from ear infections as a child. Posting – the moving up and down in the saddle that you do in traditional English riding – was not all that easy for me when I took my first riding lessons years ago. And I had heard during many summers at a riding camp in the North Carolina mountains that sitting a trot properly is even harder.
I am happy to report that sitting a trot on Storm is WAY easier than I had ever expected. He has amazingly smooth gaits. No wonder they call him the Cadillac!
As Heather explained during one lesson, dressage is the most difficult form of riding, because the rider has to learn to be absolutely connected to the horse. The cues a dressage rider gives her mount to ask him to do what she wants are very subtle. The average person watching cannot tell what the rider has done to make the horse move into a trot, for example, or change leads – or even stop.
Though I used a traditional English saddle in that first lesson, Gabriella Herrmann, the late Col. Ottomar Herrmann’s daughter who runs the ranch, suggested that from that day forward, I use the Viennese saddle. It has no stirrups, which means a novice like me is not as inclined to think about what my feet are doing. Instead, I could concentrate on my seat, on learning to let myself move fluidly with the horse.
For all you riders who’ve never gone without stirrups, it is an experience I highly recommend.

Next time I’ll answer the oft-repeated question from friends: How DO you get on the horse without stirrups?

Anyone who’s been in journalism as long as I have has sat through her share of meetings – ALL sorts of meetings. One question that really has begun to chew on me lately is why members of boards remain members of boards if they can’t listen and have no recall.
Sometimes I have to clamp my teeth on my tongue and dig my feet into the floor to keep from springing up and answering the question myself, because I have heard the answer again and again and again and again … well, you get the point.
Fortunately, most people who serve the public – especially those I’ve seen in Sarasota – are far too gracious to say, “Don’t you remember? We covered that at the (fill in the blank) meeting.”
I can’t help but wonder, though, if they occasionally wish they had a tape recording of the last statement they had provided to the same group, so they don’t have to waste their breath.
Some questions get asked by board members who haven’t attended a meeting in a few months. Don’t they read their minutes? Why doesn’t the chairman gently point out, “We discussed that at such-and-such a meeting,” then ask the board member to talk, AFTER the current meeting ends, with the person who can answer the question.
Yet the truly troubling board members are the ones who come to the meetings without fail and ask the same question every other month or so, as if on some type of rotation, seemingly oblivious of the answer they heard the first time.
And I am not talking about issues that are fluid. I’m talking about “This is the reason” or “This is the law” matters that do not change.
Come on, folks! Why even serve on the board if your memory is that bad? Give up your seat to someone who can keep up with what’s going on!
Once again, my recommendation – if the member chooses to remain on the board – is for the chairman to politely tell him or her that that issue had been discussed recently, then direct the board member to talk with the appropriate person AFTER the meeting.
Of course, for every board member who repeats himself, there’s a member of the public who likes to hear himself reiterate an observation or complaint he has delivered to the board on numerous prior occasions.
The folks who live here year-round who show up periodically to talk about an issue as if they never had mentioned it before are the ones who drive me to such suppressed sighs that I could have put Al Gore to shame in that infamous debate with George W. Bush.
I start to think, “Mr. Chairmen, is your spine made of rubber? If you feel you must call on this offender – on the extreme outside chance he has something new to say – and he proceeds to launch into his favorite discourse, tell his that is old business and the board must move on to new business!”
In a perfect world, every board chairman would have a steel rod in his spine and keep the gavel very handy, ready to pound it each time he calls on anyone – board member or member of the public – who proceeds to say something that’s been said so many times before that every regular attendee should be able to say it along with him.
But this is not a perfect world. And that is why I commend the following to every person who sits on a board or likes to blather on at board meetings: Please, PLEASE think of the title of Robert Fulghum’s book, “Everything I ever really needed to know I learned in kindergarten,” and remind yourself that one of the first rules of kindergarten is “Listen.”
To all would-be board chairmen I say, dedicate time to several viewings of the boot camp part of “Full Metal Jacket.” If you don’t feel you can do a reasonable impersonation of Lee Ermey as Gunny Sgt. Hartman, then please, PLEASE decline any opportunity to EVER serve as chairman.

If you appreciate the arts and haven’t been to a recent performance of the Sarasota Ballet, you have done yourself a severe injustice.
On Jan. 30, I felt privileged to be in the audience to watch the company perform “Les Sylphides,” “The Rake’s Progress” and “Facade.” In fact, I could not have been any happier (and I would have been in an even colder climate, by far) if I had been at a performance of American Ballet Theater or New York City Ballet.
“Les Sylphides” has been one of my favorites since I saw it performed many years ago on “Live from Lincoln Center” — probably with Mikhail Baryshnikov and Gelsey Kirkland. I love the Chopin music and the elegant “traditionalist” costumes. The choregraphy is poetic and charming. So what if there isn’t much story to it. It was the perfect appetizer for the program.
The true hit of the evening was “The Rake’s Progress.” I may not be an expert on ballet — though I have seen my share of the good and the bad through the years — but I would find it incredibly difficult to believe that any other company could have produced a more splendid performance.
Sarasota Ballet is remarkably fortunate to have a number of magnificent male dancers. While I bemoan the fact that I was unable to attend “Troy Game” earlier in the year, when they I’m told they truly were able to “strut their stuff,” the male dancers in “The Rake’s Progress” had plenty of opportunities to “strut their stuff,” and they made the most of them.
For the lead, Octavio Martin was perfection. I don’t gush readily these days, but I have to tell you that Martin deserves every accolade I can heap upon him. And Lauren Strongin as the Betrayed Girl — well, I’ve been gushing over Strongin ever since I first saw her perform in “The Nutcracker” a couple of years ago.
“Rake’s Progress” kept every audience member’s rapt attention that night, as far as my eyes and ears could tell. It was captivating, from the borrowed Birmingham Royal Ballet sets to the costumes to the staging. From my balcony seat, it appeared the dancers barely touched the stage. They were so light on their feet as to be ethereal, though so many of the movements required great muscularity. Indeed, as I watched Martin in a seated pose on one corner of the stage while Strongin took the audience’s focus, his chest was like a bellows as he regained his breath.
The final ballet on the program, Sir Frederick Ashton’s “Facade,” was a joyous way to end the evening. It showcased in a variety of dance movements, including Martin and Kyoko Takeichi in a tango/pasodoble. If you weren’t in high spirits as you filed out of the Asolo after watching that, then you had to have been suffering with a week’s worth of weariness.
As the dancers took their final bows, I was especially interested to see what transpired between the ballet’s director, Iain Webb, and his wife, Margaret Barbieri. Takeichi had gone behind the curtain to bring both of them onto the stage. However, Webb retreated quickly after the applause and refused entreaties to return. It was obvious that he wanted Barbieri to bask in the audience’s adulation for her extensive staging work with this young, enthusiastic company.
I have not had the pleasure of meeting Iain Webb, but this truly touching display of his love for Barbieri tells me that he not only is a gifted leader of this company, he is a man with a heart to be admired.

His formal name is Desert Storm Maestoso, and, as my husband points out, he has “a face like you’d see in a storybook for children.”
Not only is he handsome, he is as good-natured a soul as I ever have met.
For a time, he is “my” horse at Herrmann’s Original Royal Lipizzan Stallions of Austria, in Myakka City.
That’s right, for an hour at a time, this Lipizzan stallion – and a wonderful instructor named Heather Meyer – give me undivided attention in the same arena where the horses perform the amazing Airs Above the Ground for the public.
Every time I leave the stable, I feel like I’ve had some incredible endorphin infusion; it way surpasses the boost I get from my workouts at the “Y.” I grin through the lessons and grin all the way back to the office on Siesta Key. This is a high that lasts for hours.
How does one get to take a horseback riding lesson on a genuine Lipizzan stallion? It’s very simple, actually.
Pelican Press photographer Rebecca Baxter and I went out to the Herrmann’s ranch last spring to do a story on the famous stallions. During the interview, Col. Ottomar Herrmann’s daughter, Gabriella – who took over the reins of the operation after her father passed away a few years ago – mentioned that she had begun offering lessons to people with riding experience.
Anyone who knows anything about keeping a stable of horses knows that the creatures have to eat; their upkeep is not inexpensive, shall we say. The lessons, Gabby noted, are another means of bringing in income.
Lessons. Hmmmm.
That evening after the interview, when I returned home from work, I’m sure one of the first things I told my husband, Robert was that the Herrmanns offered lessons.
In fact, Robert probably would say he grew tired of hearing the word, “lessons.” I told him I was going to start saving up for this extraordinary opportunity.
A few months later, he surprised me with four lessons for my birthday. It’s a wonder everyone in the neighborhood didn’t hear me shriek in excitement.
And that is how I came to meet Storm on Dec. 6. Heather remembered me warmly from my visit with Rebecca, but Storm gave me the once-over he probably gives any new student, wondering what kind of rider I was going to prove to be. These horses are very intelligent, I assure you.
It had been 26 years since I last had done any riding, but Heather is one of the most patient and most positive teachers I ever have known. By the time I drove away from the Herrmann ranch that morning I couldn’t wait to tell anyone who would listen that these riding lessons were going to be one of the most marvelous experiences of my life.

Interested in seeing the majestic white stallions perform? Through April, the Herrmanns put on public shows at 3 p.m. on Thursdays and Fridays and at 10 a.m. on Saturdays. The shows are free, but donations are graciously accepted. For more information, call (941) 322-1501. The Web site, www.hlipizzans.com, offers directions as well as details about signing up for lessons.