I’ve been mulling over this whole “women and horse” connection you hear about. You know, you see it in films, read articles, and it always sounds like some kind of deep, almost magical bond. They say it gives women power, a sense of freedom, all that stuff.
Being the type who likes to figure things out for myself, not just take stuff at face value, I decided to do a bit of informal digging. Nothing too serious, just wanted to get a feel for it. So, last month, I drove out to a local stable. I didn’t really have a plan, just thought I’d wander around, observe a little, you know? I told the person at the office I was just looking around, maybe for my niece, so they wouldn’t think I was too weird.
So there I was, just watching people. Lots of younger folks, mostly girls, taking lessons, grooming horses. It was all pretty much what I expected. But then my eye caught this one woman, probably in her late forties, maybe early fifties. She wasn’t doing any elegant riding or anything. She was in a stall, pitchfork in hand, mucking it out. Hard work, from the looks of it – sweaty, bits of straw stuck to her clothes. Definitely not the “beauty and grace” image often painted.
After a while, she took a breather, leaned against the stall door. I figured, now’s my chance. So, I went over and just casually asked her, “So, what’s the real story with horses and women? Is it all that ’empowerment’ stuff people talk about?”
She let out a good laugh, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Empowerment? Oh, I suppose for some it might be,” she said. “But for me, it’s a lot simpler than that. This fella here,” she nodded towards the big horse in the stall, “he doesn’t care if I had a rotten day at the office, or if I snapped at my husband, or if I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. He just knows it’s me.”
She continued, telling me a bit about her day job – something in the city, high-stress, lots of office politics, the usual grind. “When I come here,” she explained, “it’s just… straightforward. There’s no pretending. You know how society kind of pushes you to be a certain way, to fit in? This horse, he doesn’t care about any of that. He just wants his feed and a good scratch. It’s authentic. That’s the word, I guess.”
That really stuck with me. It wasn’t some grand, mystical experience she was after. It was about finding something genuine, something real, in a world that often feels a bit manufactured. It wasn’t about the horse bestowing some magical qualities on her; it was about the simplicity of the interaction. The hard work, the smells, the quiet understanding between her and the animal. It cut through the noise of her everyday life.
So, that was my little field trip. I went in expecting to see one thing, maybe something out of a storybook, and I came away with a much more down-to-earth understanding. For that woman, anyway, it seemed less about finding some elusive power and more about connecting with something honest. And that, I can totally get.
