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The first time I came to Kentucky, USA, the road was lined with gentle rolling hills that at first glance resembled California. Endless grasslands were interspersed with sparse clusters of trees. The fields were divided into sections by fences, dotted with cattle and horses in the chilly winter rain. But somehow, it didn’t feel quite as boundless as California. The difference seemed to lie in the layout—more refined and delicate. Each fenced area was relatively small, and the distance between rural homes wasn’t very far either. After all, Kentucky is just a small Midwestern state in the U.S. But this unassuming little place had long been my dream destination. As someone moved by horses and equestrianism, how could I not come to Kentucky? How could I not visit the homeland of bluegrass and the sanctuary of equestrian art?
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Bennie SargentI had met him once at a horse exhibition in China two years ago. I knew he was an old friend of the Chinese people and that many domestic clubs had purchased their Quarter Horses with his help. But what I didn’t know back then was that Benny was a renowned Western riding coach in Kentucky and even across the U.S., as well as the owner of a famous training stable for high-quality show Quarter Horses. The term “Western riding” may not sound unfamiliar, but I hadn’t fully understood its true meaning before. In the U.S., “Western riding” specifically refers to several flat riding disciplines judged on the precision of the rider’s and horse’s movements, such asHorsemanship; for example,western riding; and alsowestern pleasure, among others. Each competition is divided into different levels, naturally varying in difficulty. The main focus is on the horse’s training and the rider’s skill. TakeHorsemanshipas an example—the required maneuvers range from beginner-level walk, jog, and lope to advanced-level skills like speed changes, lead changes, spins, sliding stops, and backing up in a straight line. All are strictly evaluated based on the rider’s posture, technique, and the horse’s form, movement, and more—such as the horse maintaining a collected frame with its head, neck, and back aligned, and so on. One of the goals of this trip was to learn the basics of Western riding under Benny’s guidance. How could that not be exciting? Feeling the steady gait, sensitive touch, and smooth transitions of these highly trained Quarter Horses, switching leads on different patterns, performing side passes, and executing spins……—the content was so rich I couldn’t afford to slack off even a bit.,And at the same time, I had to keep the horse relaxed and responsive. What else could I say? No more daydreaming—just focus and learn humbly.
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The air was incredibly moist, which made my nose feel much better after coming out of the hot, dry indoors. After taking a deep breath of the morning air, I took a step forward but almost slipped. The ground and stairs were icy—overnight freezing rain had glazed even the not-so-cold Kentucky. Driving to the stable, after the morning work, the sun rose, and the ice seemed to melt away instantly. Reluctantly, it at least had to hide in the grass as dew, occasionally peeking out.
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The black pasture fences made the already clear sky seem even clearer. Inside the fences, a couple of Quarter Horses used their lips to push aside damp, cold old leaves to find tender green shoots, savoring them with relish. In the homeland of bluegrass, even the horses’ palates had become spoiled.
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Despite having had both knees replaced with artificial joints, Benny still came to the stable every day, patiently teaching students in the cold indoor arena. Watching him struggle to stand and sit each time, I was amazed that his conversation had nothing to do with his pain. There was no small talk, not even about his wife, Shelley. Honestly, there was no need—what would be the point? It was obvious, even more pointless than asking a stranger you bump into in the restroom, “Have you eaten?”
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The University of Kentucky team competing in theHorsemanship was made up of girls sent by the school to train under Benny. Celia, who had just finished her2level event, walked up to Benny with her fingers interlocked, her hands clasped tightly. The confident girl before the competition said nothing, her big eyes brimming with apologetic tears. Listening to Benny’s explanation, the girl pursed her lips, holding back her tears, finally nodded, and turned to prepare for the next event. For some reason, my eyes felt a bit warm.
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The same chatter, the same youthful years, the same delicate hands, the same habit of fiddling withIphone. A dozen American girls from the University of Kentucky, just as delicate as their Chinese peers, had fallen in love with equestrianism. And so, a series of complex, tedious tasks and challenges became their reality. Horse care, grueling and monotonous practice routines, patient waiting during competitions, mastering complicated rules, executing precise movements, and accepting results without complaint. Yet they were just ordinary college students, most of whom wouldn’t make a living from equestrianism. They were simply moved by the charm of horses and fell in love because of them.
These competitions offered no material rewards or prize money. The riders and horses alike didn’t complain or put on airs. Over the course of a full day, the girls brought their own food and water, arrived early to help load the horses, took turns caring for them, competed with their own saddles and decorations, completed each event meticulously, and carefully tended to their horses afterward, drying every sweaty strand of hair. From morning till night. Equestrianism isn’t just about getting on a horse and getting off. For these girls, was the work dirty? Hard? Tiring? No doubts, no complaints—just happy, willing completion, then a relaxed farewell, ready to do it all again tomorrow. They knew learning was like this, that it should be this way, and everything made perfect sense. And all of this learning came at a cost. Watching these American girls, I couldn’t help but think, “What’s happened to some of our hardworking, brave, and simple Chinese people nowadays?”
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Haley asked me, “What’s the difference between Wayne and Frieda?” I said the stability was noticeably different. Wayne was lighter, smoother, with very short, quiet, and relaxed movements. Frieda had a bigger extension, moved faster, and wasn’t as smooth as Wayne.Wayne had suffered a leg injury, making his kicks a bit straighter. Otherwise, he’d be a super horse—and he’d even won two Western riding championships. “How old is he?” I asked. “15years old.” “The other one is8years old.” No wonder!!!
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Haley and Clinton worked methodically, neither rushed nor noisy. Before they knew it, they had fed the hay, cleaned the stables, washed the buckets, refilled the water, swept the floor, and tied the horses to the stall posts to let them relax. Then they brushed the horses, cleaned their hooves. Some did lunge work, others rode. Each person trained and warmed up about three to four horses, and the clock hands had leisurely moved from7a.m. to12a.m. Of course, there was still work to do in the afternoon.
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Doors left unlocked, no need to lock up when leaving—spring in Georgetown, a small town in Kentucky, USA, in the year2013. But in downtown Houston, near the Hilton Hotel, you wouldn’t find that kind of safety. There were plenty of panhandlers, scruffy-looking people, shady characters, and downright scary folks. You had to walk briskly without looking, yet couldn’t help but yearn for the peace of the countryside.
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Listening to the wind chime, through a glass of water I watched a fat pine branch lush with leaves standing in front of the house. A group of birds and a squirrel scrambled over crumbs on the ground. The sun, the first I’d seen in two weeks, warmed the back of my neck, while the breeze brushed my face with its cool hand, reminding me of the lingering spring chill. I sat drowsily on Benny’s wooden porch.
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Due to the Spring Festival, my already long hair hadn’t been cut before departure. After staying in the U.S. for over ten days, I couldn’t stand it any longer without a trim, yet I was reluctant to go to a barber shop. Easy fix — I bought a name-brand clipper at the supermarket. After returning home from the stable, I treated little cowboy Clinton to a big Mexican meal, then pulled out the clipper and grinned at him.OKWithout a word, he followed the instructions in the manual, plugged it in, and got to work. Three minutes — that included taking before and after photos. It turned out great, no different from trimming a horse’s mane.
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REINNINGThe competition was in the open division, meaning both professionals and amateurs competed together — anyone who wanted to could join. Riders of all heights and builds, young and old, mounted on Quarter Horses of varying sizes and coat colors, entered the arena one after another in near silence. I asked Benny why, after the event, riders had to dismount and let the judges inspect their horses. Benny said, “To check if the bit has rubbed the horse’s mouth raw or if the spurs have caused any injuries to the ribs or belly.”
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After warming up, I rode Vane, took a lap, and then Benny asked me to start jogging — a very slow jog, a very slow Western jog. Shoulders level, outside leg maintaining steady pressure, not too much body aid, reins steady yet relaxed, Vane’s back and neck in a straight line, head vertical and relaxed. If the pace got too fast or his head lifted slightly, I’d apply leg pressure and draw the reins to bring his head down into a rounded frame, then relax. Very slow, but never lax. “Now walk.” “Now slow trot.” That was Benny’s habit — always transitioning from walk to slow trot. Still very slow. Giddyup.--Clippity-clop.
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Kentucky Horse Park is expansive, featuring various horse-related museums, numerous stables, and performance arenas. The rest is vast pasture enclosed by fencing. Two massive black draft horses pulled a long carriage, waiting for enough riders to go on a park tour. Today, with light sleet falling and the cold, damp Sunday keeping most Americans either asleep or at church, the sprawling Kentucky Horse Park put on a show just for me, a Chinese guest. Aside from the staff and a few geese, there were only horses in sight.
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Shirley, Benny’s wife, was warm, capable, and endlessly talkative. The American-style dinner she prepared was exquisite and suited my taste perfectly. Plates and forks of all sizes filled the table. My stomach was full, but I couldn’t resist having another piece of bourbon-flavored chocolate dessert. The calories I’d burned during the day were quickly and abundantly replenished — I was delighted.
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The day before leaving Kentucky, there was heavy snow. Over half a foot thick, blanketing everything. Strangely enough, sunshine has been my strongest impression of America, but in these two weeks, it barely showed — like a shy girl lifting the curtain to glance at a new guest, then quickly retreating back to her room. Meanwhile, the horses and dogs were excited by the snow. The usually lazy horses in the paddock galloped cheerfully, while a big black dog from the neighboring farm trotted over for a visit, acting all cute.
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AQHAThe annual meeting was truly grand — hundreds of attendees from all over the U.S. and several other countries, representatives of Quarter Horse associations, all paying their own transportation, accommodation, dinner, and show ticket fees, traveling from afar and donning their finest cowboy hats to gather in Houston, Texas. In the homeland of cowboys, they discussed the Quarter Horse, a breed rooted in cowboy life. But the most entertaining part was definitely watching a major rodeo with this crowd of big-hatted folks in the VIP lounge. This rodeo was part of the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. The event organizer even gave a keynote speech at the annual meeting, claiming it was the largest rodeo in the world. Whether it’s the “largest” or not, I don’t know — but it was definitely big.30A spectacle watched by tens of thousands.AQHAAlso the biggest show I’ve ever seen.7Houston is known to many because of Yao Ming — a major city, the fourth largest in the U.S. But I didn’t like it much. Where I stayed was downtown, full of skyscrapers and hustlers. However,Rodeothe annual meeting was genuinely excellent. Over two hundred middle-aged and elderly men, all sporting high-end cowboy hats, gleaming buckles on their belts, and shiny cowboy boots, came to Houston. Most were ranch owners or club managers. They gathered here out of a shared love for the Quarter Horse. The first item on the agenda was a discussion on equine welfare. The large hall, aside from the speaker, was completely silent. The only line I remember is this:
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“There is no right way to do the wrong thing.”AQHAThe annual convention was indeed excellent. Over two hundred middle-aged and elderly men, all sporting high-end cowboy hats, gleaming buckles at their waists, and polished cowboy boots, arrived in Houston. Most of them were farmers or club owners, all gathered together due to their shared passion for Quarter Horses. The first item on the agenda was a discussion on equine welfare. In the hall filled with hundreds of people, aside from the speaker, there wasn’t a sound. I only remember one line:There is no right way to do the wrong thing“There’s no right way to do the wrong thing.”