In April each year comes the none-too-eagerly anticipated time when the horses and I are compelled to shed the fast-held remnants of winter's relative inactivity and begin the slow, progressive trek back into summer's energetic routine. In northern Minnesota, none but the hardiest and most determined (not to mention most masochistic) equestrian enthusiasts pursue their sport through the punishingly frigid winter months. I rank among the winter wimps. When my season as a riding instructor ends in late October, so does my interest in spending any more time out in the stable than is absolutely necessary to attend to the daily needs of the animals. As a result, come spring we are all - human and non-human alike - in pretty pathetic physical condition. There are muscles to be toned, extra pounds to be lost, hearts and lungs to earn stamina, and (in all cases but my own) TONS of hair to be discarded and affixed to every available surface (a poor time for chapstick).

For my own part, I can anticipate arms and shoulders burning, overwhelmed with the task of removing the horses' now obsolete winter adornments. Aching seatbones make riding little more than a necessary evil for weeks to come. An all-too-rapidly tiring back and legs possessing all the strength and stability of marshmallow fluff prompt yearly self-admonitions for allowing myself to deteriorate to this deplorable state of disrepair. All in all, the thought arises that winter need not have ended quite so soon.

At this point I offer the exclusive privilege of assisting me in conditioning the horses to one of my most advanced riding students. The benefits are obvious for all concerned: I will be allowed a slower recovery from my sorry state, not having initially to take on the responsibilities of grooming and riding more than one or two horses a day; my horseless student will have more frequent opportunities to ride than will be available within the context of her lessons and will have the chance to regain her "saddle legs" before instruction begins; and the horses will be more thoroughly groomed, conditioned, and schooled than I would have either the time or energy to accomplish by myself.

Day one involves two hours of grooming and twenty minutes of riding at a very active walk down the graveled township road I refer to as my driveway. My student and I each handle two horses (one ridden, one ponied) so as to complete our daily goal before nightfall. Though not ridden for the preceding five months, the horses generally comply with a routine pulled from distant memory. There is, of course, the annually repeated question of just how much faster Dandy can walk headed toward home than he can manage away from it. But the only real challenge comes from the newest member of the herd, the six-year-old thoroughbred gelding, Waldo, whose only apparent recollection of being ponied relates to time spent at the track. There is a certain inherent anxiety associated with riding a 14.3 hand quarter horse mare whose front end is so far separated from her hind end that the act of walking takes on a somewhat life-threatening imbalance. Add to the circumstance a snorting, lovesick, orally-fixated, sixteen hand teenager whose only real education involves letting no other equine move in front of him, and things can get rather interesting. On the ride, Waldo refuses to experience even the slightest separation anxiety — he cannot be separated from my right leg.

Day two, and we spend yet another two hours tossing sheets of horsehair into the wind in anticipation of thirty minutes of riding pleasure. Today, Dandy suffers an untimely bout of selective amnesia: once headed for home, he cannot seem to remember how to walk. He rediscovers the required gait in a long distance leg yield. There will be no rewarding handful of grain for Dandy at the end of this ride. We lose sight of my student as her mount walks cooperatively and determinedly toward home. Meanwhile, Waldo determines to amuse himself by playing bumper cars with my right knee. All this, and freezing rain, too.

Day three - I limp out to the barn and join my student in one and a half hours of grooming bliss. We are making progress; I believe the mattress stuffing will now only fill a pillow. The snow falling outside is somewhat less than inviting, though a distinct improvement over yesterday's bone-chilling precipitation. Forty minutes on the driveway is occupied in envious reminiscences of a time when I, too, could ride after months of equestrian inactivity and not experience the torture of tender seatbones. Although I refer to my spring riding schedule as an appropriately humane conditioning program for the horses, I harbor no illusions as to whom among us requires the greatest physical consideration. The threat of Waldo snacking on my thigh proves secondary to visions of a nice soft and immobile couch.

Day four - Is that a shine I see? I notice that standing at just the right angle to the sun (yes, there is sun today), Persona no longer displays that filthy grey undertone to her otherwise chestnut croup. My student complains of sore arms. It is so true: misery loves company. At fifty minutes, we must travel beyond the length of my driveway and down the road to my neighbors' farm. Another neighbor has pastured his angus cattle in a field alongside the road. Waldo is quite certain that my lap is the safest place to be when faced with such alien monstrosities.

Days five and six bring almost a sense of accomplishment to our efforts with currycomb and brush. Daily temperatures hovering around fifty degrees prove ideal for this sort of work. We can now groom, tack up, and mount in one hour. We spend these two days walking for sixty minutes up and down the road. Waldo spends a little less time plastered to my leg now ... that is, until he spies those bovine terrorists. Dandy takes the occasional flat footed step between leg yields, but still my student abandons me as her ride takes her back to the stable at an eager walk. My seatbones don't ache nearly as badly as days previous; I may be able to sit in a wooden chair again some day after all.

We take a well deserved rest on the seventh day, but on the eighth, we're back at it again. It is now time to start addressing the issue of manes. The "neglected broodmare" look has worn out its welcome. The clownish appearance of a thoroughbred with a foot-long mane is no longer to be tolerated. Off comes the extra length in tiny sections until a rough yet acceptable correction is made. Perfection in pulling will have to wait, however, for today also heralds the year's first trot. One minute of trot is interjected into each half of the ride. The horses eagerly answer the request (if not a bit too eagerly), but relinquish adequate control. Waldo, as anyone who has ever watched the Kentucky Derby may suspect, trots sideways.

Days nine through twelve see three more horses with mended manes. The horses are now losing only insignificant amounts of hair during their daily grooming. I can feel equine muscles changing shape and texture. I now know that I will soon hear the familiar and favorable comparison commonly expressed by returning students, "How did you get your horses so shiny? My horse is still full of hair. He looks terrible." Out on the road, we add an additional minute of trot to each half of the ride each day. The horses are relaxed, responsive, and obviously enjoying the cool, sunny days. Even Waldo seems finally to be realizing that he alone is reacting to the cows. Perhaps the examples of the other horses are beginning to have a favorable impact. One can always hope.

Day thirteen - This will have to be our last "road" day. The horses will have another seventh day rest tomorrow when the farrier comes. The road gravel and hard surface wreak havoc on newly trimmed hooves, so following the farrier's visit we will begin schooling in earnest in the arena. But we do have this one last day of legging up before the next phase begins.

Grooming has evolved into a streamlined operation. Currys and dandys whisk away the day's accumulation of scurf and rolled-in mud. Combs easily untangle shortened manes. The horses are definitely taking on that simonized appearance. Tomorrow, I will search the depths of my tack trunk for the clippers and use the idle time to shave bridle paths and clean up ears, muzzles, chins, and legs. But even unclipped, I must admire the transformations that have undergone my horses in the last two weeks. It is truly amazing what a little (make that a lot) of elbow grease can do. My student no longer complains of tired arms. I myself am eager to show off the horses to my other students.

Knowing this is the last day I will have to enjoy a relatively casual ride in the trail-like environment of my mile-long driveway, and at last being able to reap the benefits of the horses' increasingly cooperative attitudes, I take the opportunity to smell the roses ... so to speak. I mount and experience no particular discomfort in doing so. As we commence at walk, I reflect on the fact that this is the only warm season when one can ride out of doors unmolested by horseflies, deer flies, face flies, mosquitoes, and the like. What a joy! Trotting toward the swamp, we are heralded by hundreds of newly emerged spring peepers and other assorted amphibians. Returning to walk, Waldo takes in the scenery (a pleasant respite from his less passive antics). At trot again, we pass the angus. Goofy black calves enjoy the perfect spring day in twists and bucks across the pasture. Waldo is still not pleased with the beasts, but seems a bit more interested than terrified nowadays. The return trip is unhurried and uneventful. Lo and behold, my student and I manage to keep even pace all the way back to the barn. At home, all equine companions enjoy a handful of grain in appreciation of their efforts.