Herding
Written by: Christie McGraw, Educational Guide
When I was young, I remember sitting behind my Dad on his horse. I can still conjure up the way his flannel coat felt gripped in my little fingers and the smell of the dusty leather saddle beneath us. Loot, my Dad’s horse, was a massive Quarter Horse with a soft brown coat and a bright white blaze running from his forehead to his nostrils. He had a tendency to trip over even the most unassuming objects in his path and his massive frame would threaten to crash to the ground with us in tow when he stumbled. My family were trail riders. There was nothing civilized or fancy about our little herd consisting of my parents, myself, and a couple of fairly wild horses. We ventured out every weekend away from the ranch where our horses were kept and set out to inevitably find trouble. Deer would spook the horses. Angry property owners would spook us when we accidentally crossed into the wrong field. The best moment of every ride was always when my Dad pointed the horses back toward the ranch and unleashed their instinctual knowledge that they were headed home. The horses would gallop so fast it felt like we were flying.
Even as a child, it was clear to me that these giant animals had lives that were far more complex and interesting than anything we would do on a riding trail. They made this apparent by starting every ride walking comically slow and exchanging backwards glances with the herd they were leaving behind. Occasionally, Loot would try to turn us around and head back to the barn (as though we might not notice). Neighs would echo back and forth from horse to horse. They were secret and haunting messages that conveyed only a deep emotional tone to me.
As an Educational Guide at Bowers School Farm, I have the privilege of observing and interacting with a herd of horses as I work. Each horse has its place in the bunch. One smaller male horse is known for being a bit feisty. He tests his dominance in small, but unmistakable ways. Some of the very large and more settled boys in the herd seem to only be asking themselves where the best food and nap spots are. There have been times when they have chosen to peacefully nap in questionable places like directly in front of a tractor that needs to haul a wagon full of guests around the farm. The Bowers herd had only two female horses in it for many years. These two mares formed a sisterhood and they could often be seen standing in solidarity. I liked to imagine them running their choices by each other to be sure of the other’s contentment levels.
Very importantly, each member of a herd gives their input on the dynamics of that herd. When a new horse attempts to join them, there has to be a consensus. This new horse must be brought in by other horses. To me, it looks like a middle school cafeteria. The eternal question of who will be allowed to sit at the cool kid’s table is presented again and again. To horses, though, it is all part of their nature. Their ancestors ran in wild herds and performed similar social dances. It might be as subtle as a long stare across a field with two ears perched back. Or possibly, it comes as a nudging aside of one horse as he tries, unsuccessfully, to be first to the food trough. Sometimes, it is in the soft sigh that can be heard when a horse finally relaxes and feels like they have found their place. In the end though, they function as a group. They are social animals. They need each other.
My parents had a garden at Bowers when I was young. I inherited that garden when they passed away. My original herd is gone, but I still get to watch some of the very same horses that my family watched while we planted and harvested season after season. I remember when I started working at the farm, and I drove the tractor around a turn towards the community gardens for the first time alone. I rounded the corner and saw the herd out in the field in front of those familiar gardens. The horses were backlit by the looming sunset and glistened out there as if they were one organism. A whinny was unleashed and signaled that it was time to gallop. l watched in awe as the horse’s backs moved up and down and their hooves seemed to barely touch the ground below them. They were headed back to the barn…back home…so fast that it felt like they might be flying.
