When I was five years old, my Aunt Holly and Uncle Bob recommended to my mother that I begin REAL riding lessons – and specifically with a local woman that they knew from the Quarter Horse industry, Rose Watt.  Up until this point my “riding” had consisted of my weekends with my grandparents – climbing up on, and falling off of, my Shetland pony Shana.

Being now five years old, you know – an age of such maturity, athleticism, and attention span – my mother decided that yes, indeed I was ready to begin weekly lessons and rigorous training.  We went and met with Rose at her farm – Edgewood Stables – and not only became enamored with her, but with her pony Chocolate – the latter having already been described as “Heathen Pony” or “Bucker.” And with that one meeting, I moved on from aimlessly wandering around paddocks, to aimlessly wandering around show rings attempting to understand WHY you had to always go left first when entering a pleasure class, WHY you had to go AROUND the barrels individually and not all at once, and WHO told people that ponies couldn’t jump 6′ fences.  Looking back, I realize that my lessons must have exhausted her, but good lord I was cute.

The years rolled on, and my relationship with Rose, and her family, quickly moved on from that of trainer/student to that of mother/daughter.  My teenage years were spent rebelling against my parents, and my horse was always the first thing to be threatened against curfews, boys, and bad grades.  My summers were spent in full “barn rat” mode, hanging out with her daughters, sleeping on their couch, and smuggling myself and my horse into her truck and trailer to get to horse shows.  I roamed around the different disciplines, making my thoroughbred do an event one weekend, a hunter show the next, we ran barrels, we did western pleasure, and I even (sorry Rose) roped her goat.  I have fond memories of playing “knock out” with a single fence against her daughter, attempting bronced out bareback trail rides on green broke ponies, and numerous trips to the hospital.  Needless to say, I look back on those formative years with a giggle, but I would probably murder the teenager that tried these things on my farm.

Last Friday I received a panicked phone call from her daughter that spun my world and left me full of emotions that I couldn’t even describe: Rose had been in a bad riding accident and was being life flighted to the hospital.  Amy knew nothing else, and I was told nothing more.  I have already realized in my short 28 years how much Rose has taught me as a horse woman – it was so much more apparent as I made the trek to Lexington and began taking lessons with others – people that I thought would teach me SO much more than my small upbringing in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania.  And yet I was quickly made aware that my foundation was just as strong as someone who had trained with an Olympian all of their life.  But these emotions had so little to do with riding and so much more to do with LIFE.  Each memory indicative of Rose and the woman that she was, the woman that she taught her daughters and many surrogate barn rats like me to be.  These are only a few of them.

Gumption: When I was a very young girl, only 8 or 9, we received a phone call in the late evening telling us that the barn had collapsed.  The ice compounded with wet heavy snow had been too much for the structure, and they needed all hands on deck to get the horses out before the remaining beams collapsed.  My mother left me and my sister at home and raced to the farm, ready to help.  They got every single horse out, but the barn was completely destroyed.  Rose moved the horses to a friends stable almost 20 minutes away from her home and continued on in her lessons and boarding immediately.  Looking back, she must have been devastated with the loss of her home, her income, and her blood, sweat, and tears, but none of us students ever saw her falter.

Work Ethic:  Our barn, like most, was inhabited with a plethora of girls – so we all became teenagers right around the same time, and the arguments over boys, ponies, and other senseless things began.  And yet Rose showed up every afternoon after a long day as a counselor at a local school with a smile on her face and a boisterous laugh.  She must have been exhausted after already putting in 12 hours in her “career”, but her love of teaching, and her love of horses, pushed her forward as she taught lessons well into the evenings, and then she gave up 50 weekends a year to haul us all to shows and rallies both near and far.  I rarely saw her take a vacation, but I also rarely saw the smile come off of her face.

Compassion:  Rose essentially became a second mother to me, but this was never more apparent to me than throughout the year that my father was battling cancer, and the years following his death as I attempted to regroup in my life.  She herself had encountered many similar battles, through the loss of her husband among many others.  I knew during those long, lonely months, that I could call her, or even just show up at the barn that I now no longer even boarded at, and she would listen for hours, or simply throw me up on one of her training horses and begin barking orders, allowing me to push back any depression or anger at the world and simply ride.  Every time a new event occurred in my life that made me question my place in the world, my faith, or my bravery to push through – I thought of two people: my mother, and my second mother Rose.  Her daughter and I spoke often, the only other person in the world who could say “I know how you feel” and I could believe them.  And each time, when one of us was feeling especially down, we would remind the other to “think of our mothers.” These women who could endure SO much, and yet wake up each morning with a smile and a mission – to improve their own lives as well as the lives around them.

And this leads me to endurance:  I have witnessed Rose endure so much in life, but from an outsiders view you would never know.  There are so many people in this day and age who feel the need to complain about the slightest thing – their horse being lame, their car getting a dent in it, waking up late, or having a bad hair day.  And yet the people who are struggling through the hardest battles in life remain mum.  These are the people that are there when you need them, take the shirt off their backs, and are laughing boisterously over a glass of wine at the end of the day – because these are the people who understand what it is like to have nothing, and still enjoy the gift of a new day and a beautiful sunset.  She still remains one of my dearest friends, a shift from the mother/daughter dynamic to a true friendship as I grow older.

I know that Rose will make it through this next trial in her life with these same traits, battling through and anxious to get back to the barn, back to her horses, her students, and her life, we can all be assured that she will be back in the saddle again – and in no time.  But beyond that, I hope that every other young girl has that trainer – the one the not only teaches you half pass and pirouette, how to get a flying change and how to find a distance, but the one that teaches you how to LIVE life – a life that means something, and a life that impacts so many around you.  I know she has impacted mine, and I know so many others who would agree. Get better Rose, your Edgewood Team that encompasses such a great area around the world now, is rooting for you.  We love you.