Judgement

Thank you Mae Hawkins for becoming our sweet boy Judge's Guardian Angel!  Through Hope Grows Guardian Angel program we are able to raise funds to help support our program horses with special needs.

Judge is a very special horse who requires very special care.  We don't know much about Judge's past.  Last summer, he was rescued by H.E.R.O. from a kill broker (a person who purchases horses for meat) in Pennsylvania.  Judge is an ex-Amish workhorse who is very well broke to both ride and drive.  He was most likely used as a cart horse, riding horse, but possibly a plow horse as well.  Judge is the grandpa of the barn...his big sweet face, fuzzy ears and floppy lower lip resemble more that of a giant teddy bear than a horse.  His swollen legs, cataracts, and bumpy spine tell the story of his hard-lived life.

To know Judge is to love him.  He is the go-to horse in our program for kids who need a quiet, gentle horse to learn from.  His calm and quiet demeanor is contagious and he has a way of making others feel more confident and safe when they are around him, even though he is the biggest horse in the barn.  At Judge's elderly age, he still has so many gifts to give the children who come out to the farm to work with our horses.

Despite the irony in his name (which he came with), the greatest gift he has to give is his unconditional love - never judging anyone for the way they look, what clothes they wear, how much money they have, how they do in school.  It is this lesson which has become the center of our entire program.  Every child coming to Hope Grows is made to feel special and loved, despite what baggage they arrive with.  Like our horses, each child has their own story, their own experiences and insecurities that all add up to who they are.  Through love and understanding, sometimes we are able to break down walls and be let "in" to a special place in the heart - the place where hope can grow.

Where love is spread, hope will grow.

Tracy

Wear Your Breeches with Pride

Today was a special day.  The barn door burst open right at 12 noon  and in ran the boys, my helpers, with their release notes waving like flags in their outstretched hands, permission for them to finally ride.  As promised and highly anticipated by all, we brushed our sweet mare, Dakota, with her own bucket full of brand new grooming supplies (also a surprisingly exciting event, as comments were made by the boys like “Wow, cool hoof pick!”) and led her into the indoor round pen. 

Two times around the arena and Dakota began looking in at her trusted companion, the one boy who had been working with her for the past few weeks and she has begun to love.  She began licking her lips and giving the signs that she was ready to join up.  The boy’s body language changed immediately as he picked up on her cues.  He dropped his eye contact, took a step backward and turned his shoulder to the mare, seemingly disinterested.  The mare immediately stopped running and turned in to meet the boy who in the center of the arena.  The boy stroked her head quietly praising her before turning and walking away.  Like a magnet, the mare followed the boy, a loyal companion.  And all of this in silent communication between a horse and a boy. 

“Is it time to ride now?”  he asked as I approached him in the round pen.  “Just about” I said, to which he asked if he could take a moment to go change into his riding clothes.  I looked at what he was wearing…jeans, rubber boots…everything that was quite appropriate for riding in a western saddle and just walking.  I wondered silently what he meant by “riding clothes”.  When he came back to the arena with a proud look on his face I noticed that he had somehow gotten his hands on an old pair of english breeches…the tight stretchy ones with the suede knee patches.  With his camoflauge hunting jacket, breeches, rubber boots, and helmet, he was now officially ready to ride.  My heart warmed.

After a successful first ride for both boys, we were finishing up chores in the barn.  It was almost time for pick-up and I noticed my helper was still wearing not only his helmet, but his breeches as well.  “I’ll take care of this,” I said, “why don’t you go change back into your school clothes before your ride gets here.”  He hesitated, “Umm, I think that I’ll just wear these back to school,” he said looking down at his baggy breeches, “I want everyone to know that I went riding today.” 

Looking out the window in the stall as the boys climbed into the truck to head back to school, I couldn’t help thinking to myself, “Wear those breeches with pride, my friend.” (And silently praying that he could pull it off back at middle school.) 

Where love is spread, hope will grow.

Tracy