About Heidi Nyland
photos by Nyland's good friend and fellow photog, Sddita Fradette
The Whole Picture combines Heidi Nyland's journalism and photography and equine passions—putting knowledge and creativity to work for you. . . .
Journalism and Photography Experience: The Whole Picture and Heidi Nyland can help with journalism, public relations writing, web design, editing, and photography needs. Nyland holds a bachelor's degree in English (from Ohio Wesleyan University) and a master's degree in journalism (from the E.W. Scripps School of Journalism at Ohio University) with a concentration in magazine and photo editing. At the latter, she was named Master's Student of the Year for 2000. Her stories and photographs are seen regularly in publications such as Western Horseman, Equestrian Retailer, The Trail rider, and Equine Veterinary Management. She has also been published in Horse & Rider (where she served as Assistant Editor, working under notable role models Jennifer Denison, Rene Riley and Kathy Swan), John Lyons' Perfect Horse, NRHA Reiner, Women & Horses, America's Horse, and The Paint Horse Journal, to name a few. Nyland taught college students to write after actively collecting information from many sources during a 2004 professional visit at Colorado State University. Nyland is an author of Western Horseman's Understanding Lamenes, Legends 6 and a contributing photographer for The Revolution in Horsemanship (by Rick Lamb and Robert Miller, DVM) and Breed for Success (by Rene Riley and Honi Roberts). Nyland is a member of American Horse Publications and the Equine Photographers Network. Nyland's photos have won multiple titles including awards from the Equine Photographer's Network and an AIM Award.
Equine Experience: Nyland started riding Ponies of the Americas at age 5 at Smiley R Ranch with Janet Hedman and the W. E. Richardson family. In college, she was president and later assistant coach of the Ohio Wesleyan University Equestrian Team, coached by champion trainer Terry Myers. (Read the story of her riding start below). Keeping active as a rider and riding instructor, Nyland began studying Brain Gym®—an international program based on whole brain and active learning. As a 4-H advisor, she started using the simple movements to help horseback riding students relax and achieve their goals in the saddle. Nyland became a registered instructor with the North American Riding for the Handicapped Association (NARHA®) —helping to combine horse knowledge and therapeutic experience with horsemanship training. She also works with fellow riding instructors—by presenting clinics—to teach how reflexes and Brain Gym techniques can help with any rider. Nyland has presented demos at Equine Affaire and at the National Youth Horse Council Annual Conference. Nyland taught at the Colorado Therapeutic Riding Center in Longmont, Colorado. She now produces the popular RFD-TV show, Horse Master with Julie Goodnight and works with Goodnight as she teaches horse owners around the country.
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Stable Riding: Finding Stability on Horseback
Some teachers teach so well, their lessons continue and stay with you for life.
By Heidi Nyland (written in 2000)
Scenes from Hilliard, Ohio's Smiley-R-Ranch play over and over in my mind as I try, desperately, to imagine what happened that fateful day: "Grandpa" W. E. Dick Richardson, in bib-overalls and baseball hat, hurries out to bring the spotted ponies in before the storm. Two of his grandsons jog along carrying lead ropes and holding the tops of their baseball hats. All three push through the half-gated door, pass the trail course logs, barrels and mailbox and fight the wind in the back field. The ponies perk their ears at Grandpa's whistle. Grandpa's worn hands clip my horse, Caesar's, halter with a lead. Grandpa turns and leads the way back to the barn. The boys corral the other ponies and take turns leading them inside. The blue sky darkens to indigo. Grandpa reaches the barn, steps across the wooden threshold and reaches for Caesar's stall door. I can't focus on one detail. The oldest grandson sees him fall. Grandpa falls to his knees. His hands clasp at his heart. The shady barn row flashes bright with nearing lightening. Caesar backs away. Tears. All of us. Lots of tears. Later, at home, all I can write in my middle school journal is "Grandpa Richardson had a heart attack and was in a coma for a week. He died August 13, 1988."
The scene played in my nightmares for years. This first equestrian teacher, father figure, and steady friend left me spinning in thought at twelve years old. Grandpa was everything I needed at a time my own father was not present. In 1988, I realized two father-figures were gone. One to a heart attack, the other to divorce. I saw, in my own father, reasons not to trust; in Grandpa I saw dependability, order and trust. His loss would impact me for years.
Grandpa, unfailing, had greeted me for lessons every week after I started riding at age five. I had depended--more than I knew--on seeing his laughing eyes, white hair and strong, working hands. Even more than seeing him, I depended on his expectations and work habits. He taught sequence, order and respect. I knew, from age five, the precise steps necessary to prepare, saddle and begin to ride a horse. By twelve, I improved each step--working to do what I had been taught better and better. Grandpa's teaching was about more than horse care. I would eventually understand his permanent, broader, life lessons. But at the time, about to start seventh grade, I only understood someone who had been so respected, steady and loving in my life was gone. I was alone.
I was at the barn for lessons just days before it happened. As usual, Grandpa pushed the top of his broom, expertly navigating the barn's cement floor. He swept between all riding sessions. Students were taught to respect rituals of preparation. Riders arrived, changed into boots, grabbed lead straps and headed around to the back of the barn to greet their spotted ponies'Ponies of the Americas (POAs). I was almost always late--my own ritual--and arrived just in time to see Grandpa finish sweeping near the barn's two swinging red doors. He called me by the nickname only he could use. Heidi-Ho! Grandpa reminded me he saved my prep spot. Then back at work, his steady voice buzzed my personal welcoming song--a stable ritual just for me. Hi-de-hi-de-hi-de-hi! Grandpa's baritone voice echoed through the barn. The melody repeated. Ho-de-ho-de-ho-de-ho!
I hummed along to the Cab-Calloway-jazz-great song, but began my own work. I hurried along the blacktop path to Caesar's stall. Each student had an assigned pony to take care of and ride consistently during the summer lesson season. Caesar was as good as mine. On my way, I passed and greeted the ponies I had ridden and depended on since age five. Jealous and eager to work, Caesar pawed the ground waiting for me. His solid-quarter-pony head rested on the barred stall window. My hip fell even with Caesar's point-of-shoulder as we walked back toward Grandpa. Prepared and on-schedule, Grandpa had already pulled Caesar's tack drawer and placed it on the nearest shelf. He glanced at the clock and kindly gave a ten minute count down.
Janet Hedman, Grandpa's daughter and our group's riding teacher, was waiting in the ring. Janet's reddish-brown hair framed expressive, laughing eyes just like her dad's. The two shared kind, energetic mannerisms. This father-daughter team worked well together and split training duties evenly. Janet counted on her dad to cover grooming and ground safety. After the first half hour in the barn, Grandpa helped us lead the ponies out the main doors to the riding arena. Grandpa relied on Janet to guide us on horseback. Janet, always in bright-colored tanks, shorts and sneakers, waited in middle the dusty riding ring. The father-daughter schedule was perfected after nearly 10 years of working together. Grandpa knew if he taught technique, schedule and order, his students would know what to do--with or without his help. We were to be safely independent.
I had Grandpa's well-taught routine memorized. I efficiently sped through each grooming chore: rubber and metal curry combs, dandy brushes, mane and tail comb, hoof pick, blanket, western saddle, and snaffle bit bridle. My part done, Grandpa checked and tightened Caesar's girth and sent me out the doors. Grandpa's fatherly stability and consistency would not be seen so clearly again. This man who seemed so permanent and steady was suddenly gone.
I avoided riding after Grandpa's death. My grief and anger at being left resurfaced every time I thought of riding. This avoidance continued through to college, when surroundings made it impossible not to think of horses. With two equestrian roommates at Ohio Wesleyan University (OWU), I couldn't escape piles of horse books and rows of trophies. My roommates were going to be on the equestrian team and hoped I would be, too. Remembering bits of my own horse experience was suddenly comforting. I made a choice to recall scenes of Grandpa at Smiley-R-Ranch. I counted all the horses, remembered their spot patterns, heard Grandpa singing my theme song, and cried good, hard, timely tears. I opened my eyes a bit later to see my roommate's posters, ribbons, and show photos lining our cinder-block-bedroom wall. Horses were back--eyes open or shut.
I met my new riding coach immediately once I made the choice to remember Grandpa's lessons. I joined the Intercollegiate Horse Show Association (IHSA) team and began riding lessons the second week of school. I waited at OWU's Branch Rickey gym where horse trainer and clinician Terry Myers picked me, and three classmates, up for our first riding lesson. The ground shook as Terry maneuvered his Ford 350, fully-loaded, extended-cab diesel dually (a true cowboy truck) through the small parking lot. I climbed up into the truck for the mini-road-trip eight miles out of Delaware to Ostrander and Terry Myers' Training Center--a Paint Horse haven. Little did I know the truck ride to Terry's would be the first of many.
Four doors slammed. Seat belts clicked. Terry shifted the truck into reverse. Terry wore all the required cowboy garb--cowboy hat covering his short-clipped hair, long sleeve shirt, pressed Wranglers, crepe-soled boots, and clangy spurs. He tipped his hat at each of us welcoming us with kind, expressive, laughing eyes. I knew I'd be fine. My hands shook anyway. My confidence was gone. Chewing on his toothpick, Terry asked each student about classes, roommates and what we wanted to learn while taking riding lessons. He nodded his head and answered, "We can do that," to each request. I sat quietly in the front seat--content to listen and process and answer questions last. I stared at my new shiny, black lacer boots and tried to hold my hands from shaking. Terry asked, "How about you, Heidi-ho?"
With such fatherly attention, I barely noticed Terry softly speak the nickname no one but Grandpa had been allowed to say. Terry and I were fast friends. Finally at the barn, we walked through rows of stalls as he asked about my riding experience. Grandpa was on my mind as soon as I walked in the barn. The barns were so different--Grandpa's old-fashioned and red, this one bigger, white and new--but the same in content. Spotted horses, Grandpa, you'd be proud. Terry had Paints with the same mentalities and even looks as the shorter POAs I knew so well. I asked Terry if he knew Janet and Smiley-R-Ranch--just a county away. He did. I smiled to myself and realized the serendipity of all these new experiences. I told Terry I'd like to ride again--this time permanently. I knew it would take a little relearning for me to do what I had done before. In this starting again, the basic lessons were already present to be expanded. With his nods and "Here's what we'll do" mindset, Terry planned out what we'd work on to get all my confidence and stability back. As Terry saw it, I would ride as part of OWU's equestrian team. His expectations were set--I could depend on that.
Up on horseback, we headed outside to the riding arena. I rode Bear--an almost-solid Paint much taller than Caesar, but calm and kind like my old friend. Terry explained we could name what we wanted to do. We went through the usual walk, trot, canter, reverse and repeat exercises while Terry talked to each student and corrected positions. All I could think of was Grandpa. I'm back on a horse. I'm back on a horse. For the first time in what felt like forever, I knew Grandpa was still with me. He hadn't left. I wasn't abandoned. I finally made the choice to look at all that had happened with new perspective. Perspective shifts to a higher view when you're up on a horse. All Grandpa's teachings were firm and dependable in my thoughts. I could focus on the lessons, not the pain. I had the tools I needed--even after so much time--to get back up on a horse.
Terry seemed to sense my confidence shift. As I remember it, he smiled from beneath his ever-present cowboy hat and told me I'd lied. I'd lied? He said he knew I'd ridden before--almost every new student reported trail or pony rides, but he didn't realize I'd ridden before. I had learned to ride, and continued to learn. Grandpa and Terry's lessons were so similar: trust a pattern, trust what you know, trust yourself. "Confidence," Terry told me over and over, "confidence is all you need. You know what to do." Together, we worked on new lessons--learning the confidence to ride without stirrups, without reins, without a bit of fear. I was in good, trustable hands. Terry helped me build on what I knew before--teaching the confidence in my own skills so I could go on to teach others.
With tools for efficiency, respect and independence memorized so early, I realized there was nothing I couldn't approach. What my dependable first father-figure had taught me was not the lesson of chaos and abandonment I first thought. He did not leave me. He left me what I needed to go on. That's what all good mentors do. When you put your boot in the stirrup, ready to ride, you ride with the memories and values mentors taught. I had the tools to continue. With Grandpa in my thoughts, I would never be alone, especially while riding a horse.
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