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Show ReportJune 04, 2007 Describing yesterday's show to a horsewoman who hadn't been there, I guessed that 95 percent of the conversation had been about caterpillars. A horsewoman friend who had been there said emphatically, "No -- 99 percent. At least." Since the overwhelming majority of the conversation at most horse shows is about horses, and most of the rest is about dogs, cats, or the Steamship Authority, this was remarkable. My ride times were 11:18 and 12:01. At about 9:30 Allie and I rode out of our barnyard, heading for our friend Elaine's farm on the far side of Chicama Vineyards. Damned caterpillars were hanging down in the middle of the Stoney Hill Road, on invisible threads that didn't seem to be attached to anything. The trails were worse. In a 15-minute ride I picked or flicked at least 10 off my clothes. Keep in mind that, this being a dressage show, I was wearing my white breeches and Allie her white saddle pad. In the best of times white is a ridiculous color to have anywhere near a horse barn. In caterpillar season it's insane. Caterpillars are sticky. They don't flick easily. When they squish, the squish is green. Don't ask how I know this. I was wearing a black T-shirt over my striped blue show shirt. Ordinarily black is a good barn color, but the caterpillars -- think skinny half-inch-long worms -- are invisible on a black background. The upside is that the squish is invisible too. We rolled out of Elaine's barnyard at about 9:52, which was only about seven minutes behind schedule. By my reckoning this is on time. In the truck's rear- and side-view mirrors we could see caterpillars collecting on the front of the trailer. You begin to understand why everyone at the show was talking about caterpillars. My pet question was "Do you remember these things being this bad before last year?" I sure didn't. Neither did anyone else. I've only lived here a little more than 20 years, but from the beginning I've spent plenty of time in the woods, walking with friends, walking with friends' dogs, walking with Rhodry, and, for the last eight years or so, riding. Before last spring caterpillars came in ones, twos, and threes, not millions, billions, and trillions. We speculated about why and wondered about natural predators: how long would it take how many guinea hens to rid Martha's Vineyard of caterpillars? Infestations inspire apocalyptic thinking. I seem to be reverting to my Calvinist roots -- I wasn't even aware I had Calvinist roots; I thought it was all Low Church Episcopalian and Lapsed Unitarian. Were caterpillars one of the plagues of Egypt? First it was ticks, then it was traffic, then it was tularemia, and each time the tourists kept coming, so now it's caterpillars? Enough of that. I had a really good show. In mid-May we slipped about 50% from what we can do at home. This time it was more like 15%. It's not like we nailed training level test 3 -- we glitched here and there but mostly it felt pretty good. We got a respectable 64, and the judge noted "Quality horse!" in the comments section. Allie really liked that part. Test 4 wasn't quite as good -- my focus was flagging, and I fluffed a couple of transitions because I forgot where I was supposed to do them. We wound up with a 60. Not bad. The day's only real bummer was the dressage equitation class. I stuck around till 3:30 -- otherwise I was done by 12:15 --because it was such a great class at the last show. This judge didn't seem all that interested. She only worked the class one way of the ring. She didn't ask for anything a training or first level rider could be expected to know, like a free walk or a sitting trot or a canter -> trot transition. She was more interested in picture-perfect position, less in whether the position could elicit the desired effects. I think I won't do it again -- unless there's some way to find out in advance how the judge intends to run the class. My new bridle made its debut at this show, which may explain our success. I ordered the new bridle a month ago; it arrived late last week and I picked it up at Campbell & Douglas on Friday. It is far spiffier than my old cheapo bridle ever hoped to be. It's a Passier Gemini (no, I didn't buy it for the name). The leather's beautiful, and the straps are a little narrower than those of my old bridle; Allie, despite her frequently goofy expressions, has a rather fine head, and this bridle looks good on it. The browband has a row of little crystals on it. Would I ever have bought a nice bridle like this if the cash had been coming out of my pocket? Doubt it. After Joan McGurren was killed in a driving accident last November, I helped look after her three ponies -- Emmy and Sweeps, the Welsh mother-daughter pair; and Fanny, the Morgan -- till homes could be arranged for them in Virginia, where Joan lived before she moved here. None of us who helped out were doing it for money, but after the ponies left, Joan's husband, Jay, gave each of us a gift. Mine was a gift certificate to Campbell & Douglas, the local tack and feed shop. I knew immediately that I was going to get something special, something I wanted but would never have splurged on; I just didn't know what. In retrospect, a new bridle seems obvious: my old one, originally black, was now mostly brown and mottled, and besides, my barnmate couldn't look at it without asking me when I was going to get a new one. It'll always be "Joan's bridle," and I don't think I'll ever take it off its hook without thinking of Joan and Jay, and Fanny, Emmy, and Sweeps.
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