March was still a brand-new month as I drove to the fenced-in parking lot of Old Friends.  The forecast called for rain but also warmer temperatures, a welcome change from a record-setting snow fall and bone-chilling cold of the past two weeks.  The rain was right on cue, but the warmer temperatures were lagging behind.  No matter.  I was at one of my favorite horse farms, and ready to begin my visit.  I was the only visitor understandably, but what I did not expect was for Michael Blowen himself to conduct the tour around the farm and the visits to its residents.  I felt awed, really, just realizing that he would guide this tour.  I just have such an immense respect for the vision he had to launch Old Friends, and for all he does for its retirees and for continuing to reach out to bring more horses to the farm, to live out their days in a cornucopia of carrots, visits, and volunteer attention, and most of all the care and compassion of Michael Blowen.

We began with a visit to Sarava, followed by Silver Charm and Game on Dude.  I had specifically wanted to see Silver Charm the most.  It would be my first visit with him where I could actually have the chance to be hands-on with him for the first time. I’d seen him at Three Chimneys prior to exportation to Japan, and been at Old Friends the day in December he was publicly welcomed to his new home, but I wanted to touch him and feed him carrots and really get to know him in the way you can only by being able to get up close and personal.

Besides how amazing their roster of horses is, and all their accomplishments, it is this chance to really get acquainted with them that I love the most.  A lot of breeding farms in the area tend to let you get up close to a retired race horse you followed and appreciated, even if just for a brief photo with the horse, but very few let you linger over fence lines, and have time to develop an acquaintance.  It is wonderful to get to love on the horses at Old Friends, if they are the type who appreciate that, and to feed them carrots.  They seem to love those carrots more than words can say.

After a brief stop to feed Sarava carrots, we went up to Game On Dude’s paddock.  Blowen said he’s one of the sweetest horses they’ve had at Old Friends.  I hadn’t really gotten to know Game on Dude that well yet, either.  As with Silver Charm, I had only seen him twice prior to this day’s visit.

 – Game On Dude; it was a bit challenging to get a clear photo of him in the rain but I think this captured his kind eye.

He really is a gentle soul, and seemed so well-mannered.  Just like that, a horse can endear themselves to you. I had been aware of Game On Dude’s race career and accomplishments, as I would have been with any headline-grabbing runner, but he’d not really been one I followed while he ran.

Just proves my point about what the difference getting the chance to know them, or at least get acquainted, makes. I mostly hung back and let Michael feed them carrots on this visit, but just seeing Game On Dude’s gentle nature boosted my soul.

I had been a bit captivated by Game On Dude, so much that I didn’t realize Silver Charm was in the paddock adjoining his.  Silver Charm was in a bit of a different mold from Game On Dude. Blowen had told me before we went up to him that he didn’t really like having his head touched.  I remembered that from one of my classes about horses, how to stallions (or I suppose, even colts), that is a sign of dominance and one they are not likely to tolerate or allow.  It was definitely that way with Silver Charm.  I wanted to pat him, to bridge the gap of all the years he’d been in Japan and the time that I’d not been able to get to touch him, but he just didn’t go for it, moving his head away. So I respected that and just watched him.  He has so much presence, and there was a bit of awe at being face-to-face with this horse I did follow throughout all of his racing days, from the Derby to the Preakness to the Dubai World Cup.

In fact, Blowen told me a story about Silver Charm in the Dubai World Cup I’d never heard before.  He said shortly before the race, Silver Charm was just laying down in his stall, and Baffert told his staff that they should be ready to get out of there quickly after the race, because Silver Charm just gave every impression he didn’t have a good race in him that day.  Of course, that turned out to be far from the truth.  Baffert and all of Silver Charm’s connections had every reason to linger after the race, in the glow of Dubai World Cup glory.  Silver Charm was tough, that’s for sure. I was so impressed that he not only won the Derby and Preakness at 3 (and nearly got the Belmont too), but that he also traveled all the way to Dubai and took their biggest race against competitors from around the world at the age of 4.

Blowen also said how smart Silver Charm is, and that he doesn’t miss anything, from being at his gate waiting when it’s time to be taken in to when the mares at a farm across the street are turned out.  To see him back in Kentucky and looking so well is wonderful, and I look forward to more visits especially as the weather gets better.  Perhaps he will even come to accept pats on the neck with time. Either way, I was just glad of the chance to visit.

We stopped to see a few other residents, and while I enjoyed the time to see them all, the next horse we saw that was especially notable to me was Yankee Fortune.  He was noteworthy for the same reason Game On Dude was, for being another kind soul.

I don’t remember much of what was said about his story, just that he was a recent arrival to the farm.  What captivated me was that he did let me pet him and welcomed it, and in his eyes I saw almost a benevolence.  It did me a lot of good to have that one-on-one moment of communion with this light grey horse.  I needed that; I really did.  In fact, given his parallels to Game On Dude, when he gets out of quarantine in a few days, Blowen will try pairing him up with Game On Dude as a pasture buddy.

My visit to Old Friends came just a few days after Blowen and all the farm volunteers had bid goodbye to Creator, the fiery majestic stallion who had ruled over his pasture for so long in retirement there.  Blowen said Creator and Ogygian were similar in that  you could never tell them to do anything, but had to ask and they’d be perfectly willing to comply.  I had always loved seeing Creator on my visits. I knew I couldn’t get too close to him, but he had so much presence that every time I came to Old Friends I wanted to see him.  I can only imagine, after all the years he resided at the farm and seeing how his personality was so captivating, what a void that had to leave.

We went near his pasture, empty and with the gate open, with a wreath of flowers affixed to it in tribute.  There is something poignant about the space where a horse used to reside, or I suppose any animal that we loved, suddenly being empty of their presence. I know full well Blowen and the staff have a fond spot for all the horses that come through the gates at Old Friends, and also realize losses will come frequently, since most of their residents are in their senior years.

But I imagine the loss of a horse with such a strong and charismatic presence as Creator, one that almost loomed larger than life, would be even harder to suddenly find missing.

I could fully empathize, because one reason I had come to Old Friends that day was as a boost for my own aching heart. Horses just have this way of doing my soul a lot of good. If I’m already having a good day, they lift me up that much more. If I’m a little burned out on something, and have a chance to be around them, I find myself recharged with just a little time in their presence.

I knew how they must feel with Creator being gone, even if my acquaintances with him had been more fleeting than theirs.  I knew because it had only been a week since I had to say goodbye to the cat I’d had since he was a kitten, to the nearly ten years we shared together.  And my cat had a larger-than-life personality too.  He was bold, clever, ruled the house (and me, a little), and he and I had a deep bond that words can’t fully describe, and he was the sweetest cat I’ve ever known.  He was diagnosed with advanced liver cancer, a disease he hid that he was suffering from (in the way cats will) until he just couldn’t hide the suffering anymore.  The diagnosis and its terminal status left me reeling.  The fact that it was already terminal and that he was suffering and not completely himself meant less than a week later, I spent one good last day with him full of love and things he loved to do, before he was eased of his suffering in my arms.  This is my racing blog, and I attempt to maintain a professional tone, so I haven’t yet spoken of my cats on here or anything as personal as this.  But this is also snapshots in time of my life, and losing him and not having a lot of time left from the time of his diagnosis was a blow.  It stressed me more to know he was suffering than to say goodbye did, especially knowing I couldn’t really help him, beyond buying him a temporary reprieve from the inevitable with medication.

I mention all this because it fully reaches me how it must have felt to lose Creator. From what I saw myself and from written tributes, he had that same larger-than-life personality as my cat had.  And they do have other horses, of course, but none of them fill that void because none of them are quite who Creator was.  If they feel like me, when such a life force leaves, there’s a big hole that can only be filled gradually and by time. It does really make you even more aware how much vitality that life brought to the world and your life.

I know Creator had a name that was well-known in the racing world, and that he became known to even more people through Old Friends.  My cat was known to only a smattering of people, but in both these cases, their lives were so meaningful because of the way they touched others’ lives while they they were here.  And that is why my heart goes out even more to Blowen and everyone who loved Creator, and why I appreciate even more the work they do.  Creator needed a home, and so many of these horses would fall through the cracks if not for Old Friends.  But then, instead of that happening, they fall into almost a sort of equine nirvana, with full retirement and surrounded by love, respect and compassion, and with frequent visitors and carrot treats.

My cat too came from a rescue situation, from homelessness in the animal shelter to being sheltered and surrounded by love every day of his life after that, until the time it ended.  Because then, too, sometimes the most loving thing we can do for the animals that we’re entrusted to care for, is give them a peaceful dignified relief from their suffering.  It was what Creator needed that day, as much as it must have hurt to let him go, and it was what my cat needed nearly a week before Creator’s passing.  It hurts that he’s no longer here with me, but it also brings peace that he is not suffering.  I do miss his presence, but I know that will lessen with time.  Like with all the horses Old Friends has seen come and go, what matters is that they were given loving homes and good lives, and fully knew they were loved and cared for.  That is why Old Friends means so much to me personally, as much of an animal lover as I am, and it is why I support them financially whenever I can.  Their mission is just so close to my heart, and every visit there and hearing the stories of the horses that needed rescued, and seeing with my own eyes what a great place they’re in always lifts me up.

And too, I can see why having all these horses practically in his back yard, and being able to see them every day, keeps Blowen going.  It is his dream manifested in every kind eye, every horse that has a guaranteed retirement, every eager mouth reaching for carrots, and every visitor that leaves inspired by time in these horses’ presences.

He told me he plans to expand his farm to the stop sign in one direction, which was nearly as far as the eye can see, and why not? The breadth of Blowen’s dream is deep and selfless.  Let it spread to eternity,  to the lives of all these horses and those yet to retire and to the people who visit too.  Let them walk away as inspired by his dreams, the horses he introduced and the flow of energy they emit.

We walked into a barn where they were building a hospital stall, to continue to provide top-notch care on site for the equine residents, and during the course of my visit it became evident how much Blowen’s compassion and kindness for these horses extends to people too.  He gave me a glass that had been especially made to honor Silver Charm, and even gave me an Old Friends magazine before I left.  I was so grateful for those gifts, on top of getting the personal tour and hearing all his stories about the retirees we visited.  Like he said, there are many good stories in racing too, but they don’t get told or heard as often as the more negative ones, because a lot of people in racing are too humble to tell them.  That too is why this farm is a wonderful asset to the racing world, even as these horses’ racing days are over.  Blowen does tell those good stories to anyone who visits.  It was great to hear of all the people, whether they are the horses’ former connections or just people who loved the horses for one reason or another, that continuously donate to their care or have set up funds for some of the horses, and the former connections that will come and visit the horses they either trained, owned, or rode.

It’s been said from time to time, when explaining why a farm like this is necessary, that racehorses don’t have retirement plans, but for those fortunate few, that is no longer true once they find their way to Old Friends.  At that point, the deep roots of Blowen’s dream, the “to-the-stop-sign/as far as the eye can see” expansion, ripples through their lives, with all the loving care and carrots they could want.

I walked away from my visit, once more renewed in spirit.  Old Friends is a treasure, not just for its horses, but for the people who walk through the gates too.  If you’ve ever had the love of horses take root until it’s like another vital part of you,  you know exactly why.

Old Friends. What do those words conjure in the imagination? Love, familiarity, gratitude for the ones they apply to? All of those and much more can be fitting descriptions.

Of course, Old Friends – as many who work in or follow the racing industry know, is the farm founded by Michael Blowen to give a home to horses who gave their all on the track and needed a place to retire when their racing and/or breeding days ended. It is often mentioned, of course, how unique it is in that it is the only retirement farm that accepts stallions.

It is why the regal yet fiery Creator, once considered a candidate for stallion fighting in Korea, rules over his pasture at the farm. It is why Gulch was turned over to the farm’s team when his breeding days were over – not because he didn’t have a good home, but because Old Friends has shown time and again how tireless and impeccable their care and management of their retirees are, and how dedicated their effort is to bring horses home and keep them accessible to fans.

I love this farm. There is much to be said for visiting the many well-known farms throughout this region and seeing their roster of stallions, comprising a Who’s Who of the racing world, but as Old Friends’ roster grows, it is quickly becoming one of the top farms to visit.

Just a recitation of the names of some of its retirees, past and present, is awe-inspiring.

Hidden Lake.

Game On Dude.

Amazombie.

Eldaafer.

Rapid Redux.

Ogygian.

Awad.

Precisionist.

Marquetry.

Taylor’s Special.

And we can’t forget the miniature horse Little Silver Charm. He is such an endearing mascot, and was a slaughterhouse rescue himself. Besides the chance to get to see these horses up close and personal and feed them carrots and really walk away feeling like you got to know them, it is the chance to hear their stories and how they came to be at Old Friends that really lingers. There are so many paths our lives can take, and when you hear the hard-knock lives that some of these horses had that got all turned around when Old Friends and their supporters got involved, it makes any horse lover grateful this farm exists.

Of course, the Thoroughbred industry is driven by economics and is a business. And I realize it is difficult to personally have an attachment to every horse a farm or a professional may come in contact with, through some facet of his or her job. But this sport wouldn’t be what it is without the horse. I know we can’t love every Thoroughbred we see. That is just logistically impossible. But there runs through me a respect for them, when I have a moment to look in their eyes. It doesn’t matter if it’s a low-level claimer or a top stakes prospect. I see something in their eyes that stirs my soul. This is not an anti-racing speech, by any means. I am simply saying that while economics have to matter and Kentucky is a proving ground for sires and broodmares, who will be sold on if they are not commercial enough, because there is often a fresh influx of retired runners to take their spot, it is still those moments when I can step back from that and just have a connection with the horse as a horse instead of simply a commodity that are ones to relish. I think most of us in this industry have that love of the horse at the root of what we do, of why we’re in it. I think an animal as noble and majestic as the Thoroughbred can be has that ability to completely captivate people time and again.

Over the years of visiting Old Friends, it has been wonderful to see Michael Blowen’s efforts to build this farm into a showcase for the Thoroughbred, to give people that chance to see them up close and feel a connection, has been recognized and embraced by the industry. It has shifted from largely being rescue horses to cases like Gulch’s, Game on Dude’s, and Amazombie’s, where these are horses that could have retired anywhere, but they were turned over to the care of Old Friends and to the chance to be seen by fans as much as possible. It’s a great life, with all the visits, attention, and carrots.

So when Silver Charm finally arrived at Old Friends on December 1^st, 2014, after his long journey from Japan, it struck me how truly fitting it is that the farm is named Old Friends. I had missed him more than I realized during his years outside the U.S. And when I saw the photos of him arriving at the farm, it was wonderful to see how magnificent he looks and to think of the stellar care he has clearly received and of the collaborative effort to bring him home and to his U.S. fans once more. He really is an old friend, dear and cherished, and I look forward to the day he is out of quarantine and I can feed him carrots and give him a measure of the affection it was more difficult to show him at Three Chimneys, as they are a working farm first and foremost, though quite generous about letting fans visit.

I had been waiting so long to see Silver Charm come back to the U.S. and hoped when that day came, he’d be somewhere I could visit him once more. He was phenomenal during his racing career, and that was more than enough to endear him to me. I saw him at Three Chimneys a couple of times before he went to Japan, and that just wasn’t enough for a horse I like this much.

Three Chimneys kept up with him, sharing updates from Japan every now and then, and when social media use became more widespread in his last few years there, it was even easier to see how he was doing. But even then, I had not fully realized how much I’d like to see him back here. You just never know how long a stud career may last, or if a horse will even live past his days as an active breeding stallion.

That is why it was so wonderful to hear of him coming home, to be finished breeding at what seemed to be a relatively young age of 20. I realize that is getting on towards the twilight of a horse’s life, but when some horses breed up to age 25 or even longer, it was great to hear he was already being pensioned and on his way back. I can’t help but feel, seeing what excellent shape he is in and that it was always planned for him to return to the U.S., that the JBBA and the Lewises possibly pensioned him a bit earlier than may have been absolutely necessary. Everything I’ve heard about the collaborative effort to bring him back and how much Michael Blowen wanted him at Old Friends really seems to indicate that. The long journey should be easier on him than if they waited five or so years, and he should still have a while to bask in his fans’ adoration. It was heartwarming to see the video of him walking off the van, greeted by Three Chimneys’ stallion manager Sandy Hatfield, and to know that all had been done to do what is right by the horse. Too many stories at Old Friends, while they ended up better when the horses arrived at the farm, are not as good as Silver Charm’s. So to hear one like his really is touching.

It was a misty afternoon with intermittent drizzling rain when several dozen people, fans and media alike, arrived at the open house to showcase the newest resident. He was paraded in a small circular paddock just steps away from the quarantine barn by Sandy Hatfield, and it was so good to see him with my own eyes again. Sandy herself echoed that sentiment when someone in the crowd asked her about being with Silver Charm again, and she said, “Ten years had been too long.”

He was worth the wait, though. Those few brief visits with him back at Three Chimneys had not been enough to give me a real sense of who he is. This time watching him at Old Friends did.

I could have watched him all day. His presence is incredibly captivating, and there is such an air of nobility about him. He was so bright-eyed, and taking everything in.

It did seem he was trying to figure out where he was, after all the stops along his journey, and perhaps even figure out why the horses in the pasture across from him were watching him so intently. They were geldings, but his neigh to them was commanding, one of a stallion either offering a challenge or already claiming territory.

All too soon, he went through the paddock gates and was led into the quarantine barn, to stay there for 3 weeks. I longed to touch him as he went by, but that was not allowed – yet. I look forward to the day when I can get even better acquainted and get to feed him carrots too. How lucky, not only for him, but for all of us that care about him get to be near him once more.

I later read that Sandy Hatfield herself said she would be at Old Friends more now to volunteer and be near one of her favorite horses. I had that thought myself, even before seeing him up close again at last, that I would want to come often to visit Silver Charm. He really is an old, dear friend, and I look forward to getting to call him an even dearer friend in the months to come.

Note: this post was written shortly after Cigar’s memorial service was held on November 14, 2014.  It is a bit long, but it is one last homage to the horse that he was and what he meant to me and so many people. The photo above is of the sun shining through the clouds that day.

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The night before Cigar’s memorial service, I searched for the way from my house to the Horse Park, where he lays at rest.  It was not that I didn’t know the way well, but just that I wanted to be certain of the amount of time it would take to get there.

I had known, from the time I brought a bouquet of white roses to pay my respects in the rapidly gathering darkness the night after he died, that I would need to return when his memorial service was held.  That night, even knowing he was an older horse and his amount of time left on earth probably was dwindling, had been about trying to come to terms with his passing.

The memorial service, while it would probably have had moments when I’d miss him all over again, would be to celebrate the life he lived and what he meant to me, and it was a strong pull to be there.  Unfortunately, the service came at the end of a trying week that made a jumble of my plans and found me scrambling to get a car repair finished in time to be there. That is why I conducted the search for directions to be sure of the quickest way to the Horse Park. With a little pang, I noted that they directed me to take Cigar Lane, of course named for the legend, but not a road I normally see brought up in directions, as it skirts around the perimeter of the Park, instead of leading directly to the main parking lot.  It was definitely a day when everything was drawing me to him one more time.

I’m sure I’ll attend the celebration and remembrance of the twentieth anniversary of his Breeders’ Cup Classic win next year, and visit the Park at other times, but without him there it just won’t be the same. It may take a while before standing at his grave doesn’t hit me hard, so I’m not thinking I’ll be inclined to do be at the Park that often for a bit.  Just as the directions had steered me to Cigar Lane, any time I went to the Park, I knew my destination would be a straight course to Cigar.  I never got tired of watching him and being in his presence, even if he was just grazing.  How could I? In a sense it felt like a blessing just to be in his presence, to get to be that close to one of the all-time greats.

It was a sunny but bitterly cold day the day of the service, and I walked into a florist’s shop to pick up a single rose for Cigar.  When I first paid my respects, I had thought of getting flowers in the colors of the silks he carried – red, white, and blue – and I considered it again, but once more settled on a white rose. I saw a canister of peppermints on their counter and while I waited for the florist to wrap the rose with baby’s breath, I impulsively grabbed four of them.  I could put them in among the baby’s breath perhaps, or around his grave.

I actually had a whole bag of peppermints at home that had been meant for his birthday this year. When I wasn’t able to make the celebration, they just stayed in my car until I could mail them and then when even the time to mail them seemed to slip past, I moved them to the couch and there they’d sat while the seasons changed from late spring to summer to early fall, and Cigar left us.  Part of me didn’t want to tear the bag open to put a handful of the candy on his grave.  Perhaps I’d give them to a living horse at some point, as they had been meant for. Perhaps I’d just keep them as the intended gift.

At the florist’s shop, I changed my mind about scattering the peppermints among his grave and asked the florist instead to attach them to the flowers.  Realizing that request might sound a bit odd, I told her the rose was for a memorial service for a horse, and that horses like peppermints. I don’t know where they came from, but suddenly I was in tears.   I’d been utterly fine, but perhaps I started thinking of the years of birthdays come to an end, as his birthplace Country Life Farm had said the day after he died.  Sometimes a lot of things are just thrown at us at once and the tears were probably a reflection of that, as well as just about Cigar himself.

I’m not sure where she had been although I guess it must have been in one of the little stations where other florists were making creations for the shop displays or for orders, but suddenly a lady came up to my side and starting asking me if it was my horse, and I said, “No, he was a famous horse and they were having his memorial service today.” She asked if he was Cigar, and I said yes, and then told me her own horse had just died so she understood. It all spilled out of me then how I just grew up watching him and he was the horse of my lifetime.  She asked if he had been at Rood and Riddle when he died and said her horse had as well.

Those moments of connection because of the horse have been ones that have brought many amazing people into my life, whether it was briefly or had long-term effects positively rippling throughout my life.  This was one of those brief connections where neither of us knew each other’s names, but it didn’t matter.  We loved the horse and we understood each other’s grief, just as many times I had understood other people’s joys and shared them as well at some of the greatest triumphs in horse racing.

I remember after Barbaro died, his owner Gretchen Jackson said, “Grief is the price we pay for love.”  It’s true, and inevitable, and when these animals touch my soul, I too grieve for them deeply.  But though the grief hurts, I would never ever trade it for the chance to follow these horses’ paths and have them touch me the way they did.  Maybe the price seems steep, but there was never a question of them not meaning something to me.

I only managed to arrive at the memorial service when it was all over and throngs of people gathered in little groups, in the pavilion where I had seen Cigar so many times, now displaying two photos and a wreath of red, white, and blue flowers with his name on it.

 

 

I’m not sure to describe how I felt seeing his stall empty.  It wasn’t sadness exactly, but perhaps a little wistfulness that he and I would never meet face-to-face there again.

A TV nearby and one mounted on the wall opposite showed videos and photos of him here at the Park.  His presence still lingered, strongly.  It may be that is why I wasn’t too sad at his stall.  As long as he had lived there, it possibly could have seemed like he was just out roaming his pasture, and while the stall was partially stripped and straw was laid out on the remainder of the floor, that too almost seemed like it was just awaiting his return through the open door at the back.

I walked along the path outside the barn, parallel to his pasture.  I had to leave the rose for him.

I hadn’t seen his grave since it was freshly dug and my flowers were the first ones there, though I propped them against the banner on his paddock fence rather than at the site.  It seemed a place I didn’t want to approach while it was still so fresh, maybe to let him lie in peace.

But now it was landscaped, with a horseshoe of hedges around it.  Inside the horseshoe were lots of floral arrangements – many in the red, white, and blue colors I had contemplated getting – and even a pumpkin that someone wrote “I love you Cigar” on.

What made me cry there was the headstone, my first time seeing it.

 Cigar

April 18, 1990 – October 7, 2014

Unconquerable, invincible, unbeatable

 

That is what he was to me, and that is how I will remember him.

When he looked at you, you felt all his nobility and you knew the few defeats he’d had since his race streak began were of little consequence.  That spirit he had was never diminished and it never failed to awe.  He was magnificent.

And yes, those words did make me tear up, because they were the perfect homage to who he had been and what he had meant.

It’s funny, sometimes, to think of how our lives will turn out and the path they will take.  Cigar was not born on an elite Kentucky farm.  To be sure, he was born on a farm with a history of excellence in a state with Thoroughbred history, but it is not the first place that comes to mind when you think of the Thoroughbred industry.  He traced to some of racing’s greats in Northern Dancer and Seattle Slew, but his sire may not have even been a blip in the Thoroughbred bloodlines except for Cigar.  But Cigar was all it took, all it would have taken, to put any sire on the map – for a time, at least.

Palace Music’s name will linger in people’s memories because of the path his son Cigar blazed through racing in his unconquerable year, his perfect 10-for-10 tour de force in 1995.  So even with Northern Dancer and Seattle Slew in his bloodlines, and after he ran into a fence as a weanling, and didn’t take to the turf at all, it may not have seemed like he was destined for greatness in pedigree or racing form.

The rest is history.  He won his first start on dirt.  He won the NYRA Mile, which was renamed the Cigar Mile.  He wrote his name into the record books.  He was larger than life.  And his retirement to the Horse Park was marked with fanfare and a banner hung over the Hall of Champions barn that welcomed him home.

I was not there for that, but I was just as overjoyed at his arrival at the Park as I would have been if I’d been there to see him arrive for myself.

I would not visit Kentucky until three years after that, and wouldn’t live there until four years after he took up residence in Lexington.  But when I did visit, my path at the Horse Park was unwavering and led straight to his stall.  He was near the door and it was my first chance to look into his eyes.

While I missed the memorial service, I heard his long-time caretaker Wes Lanter had spoken of how people from all across the country and the world would have tears in their eyes the first time they saw him.  It was a common bond Cigar created, one that I had not realized had been shared by many.  I hadn’t expected to get teary-eyed the first time I saw him, but it was understandable.  To hear I was not the only one was a testament to Cigar. He moved people that way.  It’s why I say he will always be part of who I am.  Being in the presence of true greatness stays with you.  I guess it influenced everyone that way the first time they saw him, and if they’re like me, every additional time too.

I know, as I said about standing near his stall, a horse like that doesn’t really leave, even if he stays only through people’s memories.  Yet that path he took during his life, and that one perfect day to cap one perfect year, when one race announcer intoned the phrase that came to be as much a part of Cigar as his white eye and the pin-fired marks on his hocks… well, to see that phrase on his grave, it just moved me all over again.  I suppose it was a mix of being grateful we had known him at all, and that he had found his path to burn in our memories indeed, and also a tinge of sadness that the years will pass and there will be people who know him only for those words.  That while those words mean everything if you watched that race, they are now an echo of a glorious past, and a body that lies still.  I don’t know.  It’s hard to say what ran through my mind at that grave site, at seeing those words on the stone, at knowing they were the perfect eulogy.  And yes, for sure, it is hard to stand outside his pasture and know he lies beneath the earth now instead of presiding over that domain.

 

The grief will diminish and all he was will linger.  I signed the new banner that hung on his pasture fence, “I love you Cigar.”  That was all I needed to say at this time and all that the cold settling into my fingers even made possible.

As I turned away from the grave and to escape the bitter cold, I noticed a large banner with his photo on it hung above the barn just as it had on that day when he arrived here in 1999.  And I knew from that time he arrived to that day last month when he breathed his last, the Horse Park had given him exemplary care as they do all their horses.  They had ushered him into his new life greeting his fans, and they had ushered him out of this world with all the care and dignity he deserved, when there was nothing more that could be done for him.

 

I lingered in the barn once more, seeing the banner I had signed hanging above his stall, and the framed photo of the people – including my friend Judy – who had gathered for his twentieth birthday celebration a few years ago.

 

Outside the barn, we spoke with a horse park volunteer and one of the Hall of Champions managers about him.  The volunteer spoke of how he was not her favorite horse, personality-wise, but he had a presence about him that always made you stop and take notice.  Those weren’t her exact words, but as best I could remember the gist of them.  My friend Judy agreed that he was unearthly and I know just what she meant.  He had that look of eagles you hear about but it seemed to transcend even that, just as he transcended his modest beginnings, and the injury he sustained that could have kept him from even racing, and how he outran anything else his sire and dam ever produced, and crafted their legacy as well as his own.

I signed the guestbook in the barn and as I did, my eye skimmed over other entries and notes people had left.  There were some who said Cigar had been like a teacher to them, and that had also been on the banner outside. I was still a little numb at seeing his grave again, reabsorbing his loss, and the whole trying week I’d had, and so that phrase didn’t make sense to me at the time.

I left not long after and noticed how beautiful the sky was,  how even while it was bitterly cold outside, it was sunny and provided a blue backdrop against the sign that read Cigar Lane.

I was reflective while at my work shift that evening.  I thought about how many people said he was a teacher to them, and realized that perhaps what they meant about him being a teacher is that he showed that where you can go in life, what you can be, and who you are, is all within you.  Life may seem to dictate that you “should” be this or can only achieve that, but I think determination and will go much further to shaping our destiny than any preconceived notions of what we “should” be, as long as we don’t buy into those notions.

As the daylight faded with what I could only think of as an achingly beautiful sunset, perhaps it was a fitting end to this day.  There were tears and there were reminders of how glorious Cigar had been; there was sadness and beauty in equal measure.

I don’t often think of a sunset as achingly beautiful but I know why it hit me that way on this night.

Across town I knew that same sunset would be lingering through his stall door and his pasture and maybe some of it would reach beyond the hill where he laid at rest.

 

This world is beautiful and it gives us beautiful things

and they can’t last

that is how we appreciate them all the more

so I said goodbye to Cigar, to the physical form he had taken

but to the way he made me feel, to the lessons I too see he did teach, there’s no end to that

 

It is tonight as I write this, a few weeks after the service, that I came across the photos of the last time I saw Cigar

It was in summer and he was looking through the door at the back of his stall

The light came through and made a silhouette of his head, a glow

His graying tail was just discernible and he held himself regally as always

 

I turned away when he was not interested in visitors

and let him be

It was the only time I saw him this year

but it stays in my mind, though he didn’t meet my eye

how even in his stall and not being presented he had a bearing that commanded attention

That’s who he was

 

That’s who he will always be.
Rest in Peace, Cigar

 

 

 

With thanks and credit to Marshall Blevins and Coady Photography –
Most of these photos were taken with their equipment

Evangeline Downs: A Snapshot

My first visit to Louisiana, specifically New Orleans, included a detour to Evangeline Downs where my friend Marshall Blevins now works, as a track photographer for Coady Photography. It’s a dream job for anyone bitten by the racing and photography bug. Same career as at Keeneland, just in a new setting, in the heart of Cajun country.

Over the years of following racing and especially since beginning to write the Jockey of the Month column for Jockey World this year, I’ve heard a lot about how many jockeys come from this region of the U.S. and rise to prominence nationally. Yet beyond the Fair Grounds, I had not heard of any other Louisiana tracks other than the bush tracks that were referred to now and then when speaking of where Cajun jockeys got their start, often at a young age.

I have a little casual hobby of collecting tracks, so to speak, and while it has to stay casual due to being rooted in Kentucky most of the year to finish my degree, I welcomed the chance to add a new track to the collection, as well to visit Marshall.

Since I hadn’t heard of any Louisiana tracks beyond those already named, Evangeline Downs didn’t bring up any connotations. I didn’t even know they raced at night until shortly before my visit. I did a little research ahead of time and saw they have a casino on-site too. It was my first visit to a track with a casino, and I’d heard so much about how that can be poorly managed or leave the host track still “suffering,” in spite of the extra infusion of gambling dollars.

Admittedly, my two days at the track wasn’t enough to give me more than a cursory glance at how things were managed at Evangeline, but I left with a very positive impression.

I saw the casino once, tucked inside a building behind the grandstand. A few restaurants were near the casino. I didn’t eat at any of them when I was there, and even if it was to keep people from leaving and not being able to continue gambling, I did like that it had actual restaurants with table service available to the general public. Food stands are fine just to fill you up, but there could have been long days I’ve spent at the track where having a full meal and a guaranteed place to sit would have been quite welcome. The only hindrance to that was that smoking was allowed indoors, probably common for most casino areas. It certainly was that way when I visited Las Vegas, and was like that here as well.

But back to the track itself. I actually got to experience the best of both worlds, accompanying Marshall around the track to get photos with the Coady Photography cameras, and also to visit the backstretch one morning.

What stood out the most about being there was the friendliness. One man, I don’t think I ever caught his name or ties to the track, would stop by the photographer’s office both nights just to say hi, and he had previously brought Marshall and Lori gumbo he made. Even standing by the rail during one race, when I chose to watch with the patrons instead of shoot the race on the other side, a man struck up a conversation about admiring what I do (the track photography part) and we had a friendly talk about that. I told him I was really just visiting my friend and had been allowed to take photos here, but had learned from working for Coady at Keeneland this past April that it was definitely my calling. He said he had a buddy with a horse in the race about to go off.

I love Keeneland and its grand tradition of racing. I wouldn’t want to trade places with anybody during the months they race, and everyone there was great to me. But to visit a track with this much hospitality from the local people, to see the jockeys even pose a minute for Marshall on the way to the track, and to see the people and families with young kids gather at the rail, was a great experience. It was also great to see all the people troop into the office wanting win photos and workout photos. I’ve felt a sense of community at the few tracks where I’ve so far been privileged to visit the backstretch, a sense of family of sorts due to all being invested in the racing game, whether emotionally or financially or both. But this went a little beyond that. It felt even more close-knit. My favorite memory was from after the last race on the last night of my visit. A man and visiting relatives, including kids of varying ages, all tried to gather around the computer to see how close the finish had been. Their horse had prevailed but so narrowly you almost couldn’t see him, practically entirely shadowed by his rival on the outside. It was one of the closest win photos I’ve ever seen, looking quite close to being a dead heat. The trainer exclaimed over how tight a finish it had been and called everyone in to see how close it was. One of the youngest children with him looked at the image on the screen and didn’t understand all the fuss. “What’s wrong?” she kept asking, even when they patiently told her nothing was wrong, it was just such a narrow win. That was a cute moment too, watching her trying to grasp the vagaries of a near dead-heat, as the trainer expressed relief that it had not been a dead heat so they didn’t have to split the earnings. Lori, also Evangeline’s track photographer, looked at his winner and commented it was good they hadn’t trimmed the whiskers on his muzzle. I looked again – it really had been necessary for the horse to have the whiskers to identify him as being in front.

The jubilant family left with their win photos and we closed up the racing office. New Orleans beckoned to me then, another new world to explore the following day, but I knew I’d want to come back to Evangeline sometime. Its friendly vibe alone is worth coming back to.

Marshall also echoed this when I asked her about working at Evangeline.

“I love the people here – how friendly they are, how they talk, how they show up to the races still ready to just have a good time. I wasn’t able to have the same kind of community at Keeneland as I have here. Everyone has been so welcoming and that might be the best part. I’ve been fishing and four wheeling and swimming and boat driving and it’s all thanks to Coady Photography and the amazing people in Cajun country. I also really enjoy seeming the same horses run back so often.”

Working at Keeneland is wonderful, and it is a track that will always be special to both of us, as to so many people. But it didn’t take me long at all to see the charm a track like Evangeline also has, and to fall under the spell of Cajun hospitality just as Marshall has. It was a perfect new addition to my collection, and even more than that I can see how it is a great community to work in, a community that welcomed me too for the brief time I was there.

Keeneland has rolled around again, a highlight of the racing calendar for myself and most racing fans. There is just nothing like an afternoon or a morning at this track. Few others compare.

Yet this meet turned out to have something new for me in store, after nearly 11 years of coming to the races here. I was fortunate enough to get to work for Coady Photography, my second foray into working at a track. It feels like living the dream, and I wanted to mostly let the images speak for themselves, of what living this dream looks like.

I had only stood near the finish or start of races on a small number of occasions, last summer at Saratoga, and if the adrenaline I felt as the field thundered by – their hooves incredibly loud even on the turf, in a way you never hear on the grandstand side making my heart beat faster and almost in rhythm as they raced by in the blink of an eye and the sheer heart-pounding anticipation of waiting for them to burst through the gate in the Blue Grass Stakes, so close I felt I almost could have touched them, the biggest race I ever stood at the start for and my first time experiencing one of Keeneland’s signature races this way…. I could see just from that surge of adrenaline I felt rush through me, what the horses must feel as they wait, the wide ribbon of track open before them and how it must surge through the jockeys too, at tenfold what I felt or greater….

No there aren’t words to describe fully how it felt. I will try, but then let the pictures speak more eloquently than I ever can about the experience…

Working for the track photographer is all that is Keeneland, all that draws me here time after time, in an even better more distilled version of the experience. It is the workouts along the rail, captured perfectly with the use of the professional camera for the first time; it is the look in the horse’s eyes in the paddock up close, the quiet before the rush down the stretch; it is meeting eyes with the jockeys as they get a leg up and pass by on the way to the tunnel, and the unspoken wish of a safe trip for all; it is the sunlight gleaming on each coat as the Blue Grass entrants emerge from the tunnel to begin their warm-up; it is the far-off look in Hard Not To Like’s eyes, gazing over my head, as she was sponged off and led from the stakes race winners’ circle on the turf course; it is watching Dance with Fate capture the Blue Grass with only a single rail and a camera lens between us, no crowd and the noise muted; it is only him I see, then and when he returns to acclaim from his connections… It is watching the sun set on Blue Grass Stakes day, over 12 hours at the track and still wanting more… And that is exactly why I say working for Coady is living the dream, it is doing what I love to do even on my own time, out of passion. And that is still extraordinary to me, as I work to wrap up my degree and work full-time in retail, that doing what you love is in reach. As my job in retail is a living but not a calling, that is why I run off to the track every chance I get, where time slips by unnoticed and fulfillment flows through me. It is my life, where I feel I was born to be.

And there is one other highlight as well. Working on the track, especially the track in my hometown, has made it possible to connect with more racing people and be more incorporated and recognized in their world. I have followed racing so long, that those connections among people who understand the passion for racing that drives me, is wonderful to begin to make. It will be even better when I can transition to working in racing full-time and find those connections come more and more readily.

(all photos credited to Coady Photography, and to be used only with express permission from Coady Photography)