Saddle Acres

“Dressage’s Midlife Crisis and Why Your Riding-School Horse Might Just Save It”

Dressage, they tell us, is facing a crisis. Falling spectator numbers, shrinking memberships, shows closing down… it’s all sounding a bit grim. The sport that once pranced proudly in top hat and tails is now, apparently, staring moodily into the mirror, wondering if a freestyle remix of Beyoncé might make it feel young again.

But maybe the problem isn’t just the ticket prices or the lack of trade stands. Maybe dressage, and the riding world more broadly, has forgotten its greatest resource: the riding-school horse.

Yes, those noble, patient, saintly creatures who spend their days trying to interpret the signals of five different riders in five different hours, ranging from “accidental piaffe” to “emergency halt at E”.

The Unsung Heroes

Riding-school horses are, quite frankly, the backbone of equestrianism. They introduce people to the sport, keep riding accessible, and quietly perform half-passes for riders who swear they’re “just steering.”

Yet these horses are often labelled “lazy,” “stubborn,” or “not off the leg.” In reality, they’ve simply developed the good sense not to react to someone’s left leg, right hand, and enthusiastic seat all giving contradictory instructions at once. They are not lazy, they are philosophers.

The Delicate Art of Self-Awareness

Somewhere along the way, we riders started believing our own press releases. We went from “I’m learning to feel the rhythm” to “I’m basically doing Grand Prix” in the space of a riding holiday.

We’ve all met that person who insists their riding-school mount “just doesn’t go properly for me” as if Geoff, the 18-year-old schoolmaster who’s been teaching balance and patience for two decades, has suddenly decided today is the day he’ll stage a mutiny.

If we’re honest, many of us ride for joy, for fitness, for the smell of the mane and the freedom of movement and that’s wonderful. But somewhere in that joy, we lost the reverence for the craft of riding; the hours, the sweat, the sore muscles, the humility of learning.

Learning Is the New Luxury

Dressage’s salvation won’t come from more glitzy venues or bigger prize pots. It’ll come from riders rediscovering the art of wanting to be better for their horse’s sake, not their ego’s.

It means celebrating lessons as much as ribbons, taking pride in improving our seat before our score, and understanding that true partnership, not just posing for pictures, is what makes riding extraordinary.

Imagine if every riding-school rider treated their weekly lesson like a step towards artistry. Imagine if every rider at home thought of “working in” not as a chore but as a privilege, the chance to dance with a horse, however imperfectly.

The Comeback Tour Starts in the School Arena

Dressage may be struggling with identity, but it’s not dying; it’s just waiting for us to show up with the right attitude.
Forget the crisis headlines. The future of dressage doesn’t live in elite arenas or YouTube highlights. It lives in every quiet arena where someone’s trying to learn a better contact, sit straighter, breathe with the horse.

Let's celebrate that riding-school horses are our unsung professors. The humble riders who admit they’re learning, and to bringing back the idea that being a rider isn’t a social label or a status symbol. It’s a lifelong apprenticeship in empathy, discipline, and grace.

Now go thank your riding-school horse. (Preferably before you next ask for shoulder-in.)"

This was posted by Keystone Equine. I thought it would bring back many memories for us.

When I was a kid…

‘English riding’ was a foreign concept, here in my neck of the woods. Wanting to do so simply meant that you were weird. Everyone rode and showed stock seat or else, they grew quite proficient riding ba****ck at home.

Our model of perfection was the British Horse Society’s old “Manual of Horsemanship”. We did our best, despite the lack of an actual Pony Club, to follow this book to a tee. One thing that strikes me as I scroll by today’s ads for tack and ergonomic riding togs, is how styles have changed over the course of my lifetime.

First of all, helmets were a bit of a fluid notion. People often jumped at gymkhanas in either flat cloth caps or bowlers, or even with bare heads. I vividly remember the day that the Canadian Equestrian Federation steward started enforcing the new rule that our velvet hunt caps required chin straps of some kind… and the mad scramble to fashion something, anything, so that we might still be able to jump and compete!

Our elephant ear jodhs and breeks were bulletproof, of whipcord with a dozen teeny little buttons that one struggled with at the knees. When Harry Hall came out with two-way stretch fabric, suddenly, a whole new world opened up to us, one of form-fitting rust and canary. We wore ratcatcher shirts with buttoned chokers or complicated stocks that needed correct tying. Our pins were plain hunting whips or small gold blanket pins, as anything else was considered vulgar.

It was all about good taste. Our backsides were well and truly covered and it was the horse, not the rider, who was meant to shine.

On chilly days, we showed in beautiful hourglass cut tweed coats—whether or not we were hourglass shaped—of an elegant and flattering length. Hot days, we brought out our cream or baby blue linens. Gloves were always brown.

Boots were a whole different story.

There were no zippers, kids, and if they were easy to put on, they didn’t fit. Oh, the desperate moments before one’s class, trying to fit boot pulls, baby powder, even plastic bread bags all inside the boot top, without rucking up the breeks. Speaking of boot tops, patent ones were all the rage when I was young and I was never lucky enough to have them, but my sister did. Spurs sat high upon the counter seam; any lower, they were wrong. Our boots were also shorter than we see now, built of a stiffer leather than is current and without a doubt, Dehner and Vogel were THE ones. I have mine, still.

Now, depending on how old and traditional your teacher was—mine were all crusty pre-war types—you might have a fitted sheepskin numnah under your saddle, or no pad at all. The saddles were flocked with wool and would shape quite nicely to fit the horse. Hermes close contact saddles were the new thing, with their cutback heads and absolutely nothing in front of, underneath or behind your leg. A huge game changer was the invention of stirrup irons with rubber treads.

We used flat bridles for showing with plain snaffles, or full bridles or pelhams. The latter two had rolled leather lip straps, as well as curb chains. Children were expected to understand and be proficient with double reins at an early age… and so, they were.

Black tack was considered cheap and shoddy, even in dressage, so all tack was brown—and never, ever had sparkles on the browband! Actually, there were no sparkles, period. For show hacks, browbands of plaited velvet ribbon were considered bling enough. Whether saddlery, clothing or teachers, all the best came straight from England or Germany. Ordering anything new was a slow and patient process, for there was no keeping up to the trends with a click online.

Good teachers were rare treasures here in the west and should one be taken into a program, it changed the entire course of one’s life. Teaching was quite strict by today’s standards and in my memory, without much input from the parents. Hours were spent being lunged on our horses without reins, or stirrups.

I remember that we usually had to drop our irons for equitation classes and these had to be crossed in front of the saddle to rest on the horse’s shoulders. No swinging, dangling stirrups, ever. The judges thought nothing of asking us to switch and ride one another’s horses. We braided buttons down the neck with yarn, or with thread for the really important days. Tails were pulled to lie flat along the dock, with checkerboards damp-brushed upon the rumps of hacks.

We trotted and cantered ‘round to live organ music, all in the quest to earn trophies that one had to actually polish. Oh, those beautiful loving cups and silver trays...

Way, way back, when I was a kid.

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Hoping to get memories and pictures added, so we can share with each other. If you have any issues doing so, let me know. I'm not very techy. Sally Daiger Schiller.

We lost a friend and excellent horsewoman this last week. Cinda Newby. She rode at times at Saddle Acres, taught at the little farm next door and was a long time resident of the Palouse area. For those she touched, she enriched our lives and shared her love of horses.

Mrs. Marsden with Diane's Destiny.

Diane Rasmussen and Sally Schiller. With Marnie at Trail BC when the Dressage Team performed at the event.

Sherri (Shurree), Donny & Rocky at Farrugut State Park in 1965.