What It Means to Be a Wisconsin Equestrian

My parents moved to Wisconsin from Pennsylvania in 1979 after my dad got a job as a trainer at a barn near Milwaukee. I love hearing the stories of their adventures while my dad was a trainer and instructor. Around this time of year it’s memories of the winters they survived.

My mom talks about how she tried to chip away at the ice in the water buckets each and every morning. She also laughs about the time she turned out one of the horses after a big snowfall and walked back to the barn only to have that same horse streak past her. So much snow had accumulated that the fence wasn’t nearly as imposing.

“So, tell me again, why did you move here?” I’ll quip in response, usually through chattering teeth.

The truth is, I wouldn’t say that I enjoy winter in Wisconsin as much as endure it. I grimace as I try to score hunter rounds with frozen fingers.  I mutter curses as fumble with coolers and blankets. It wasn’t until this year, now that I’m back in the Milwaukee area not too far from where my parents lived, that I’ve realized that my parents gave me a gift by having me grow up a Wisconsin horseperson. 

To be a horseperson in Wisconsin is a special thing.  It means you’re twice as crazy as everyone else in the country. 

Horse people are crazy.  It’s something we acknowledge, something we’re a bit proud of. It’s not a bad connotation of crazy, it’s just that horse people are unfazed by manure, can wax philosophically about the virtues of supplements, and buy expensive shoes they will never wear. This takes a special type of person.

Wisconsinites are crazy too, and again proudly so. Aside from our often-mentioned love of beer and cheese curds, we’re also people who grill out during 40° weather, who go to Packer games shirtless in the dead of winter and who are unimpressed by roads dusted with snow. We are a unique breed.

Combine these two demographics and you end up with someone who is almost super-human, or super-hero as I like to think of it.

I have a friend who lived in Florida for a long time. She told me of a horse person she knew who had heavy-duty cold weather gear that she would throw on when it was 50 degrees. I can think of times when I’ve ridden in a t-shirt at that temperature. This makes me feel like I’m one tough cookie, and I glow with absurd pride.

Neither wind, nor snow, nor sleet, nor bruises, nor anemic bank account has kept me from riding. I know that I am not alone, that many people here do the same, and I’m glad that I was born a horse person in this state. It’s become part of my identity. 

Hi, I’m Emily. I’m from Wisconsin, and I’m a lifelong horsewoman.