Samara Heinrichs Prak

Choice:  the act of choosing : the act of picking or deciding between two or more possibilities : the opportunity or power to choose between two or more possibilities : the opportunity or power to make a decision : a range of things that can be chosen. I'm not entirely sure why today this was the word that stuck in my head, but it's something that is a common theme in my life. Showjumping is all about choices. When we walk in the ring we can choose to  participate that day, or we can be indecisive. For those of you who don't ride, let me explain one thing: indecision is ALWAYS bad. Riding horses and hoping something will work out typically ends poorly. The odd time one will be lucky and get away with indecision, but eventually it will catch up to you.   My fiancé Phil always likes to say, "you must live with the consequences of your actions". Normally he says this with a great deal of sass, but there is major truth to it. Every action requires a choice. Ther...

I'll admit, the title may sound pretty stupid. I never grew up watching the Care Bears. To this day I can't admit to seeing even five minutes of an episode. Nor did I know there was such a thing as a Care Bear Stare until this year. Despite all of this, it would seem that my new moniker at Creekside Farms is "The Intensive Care Bear". If you know me at all, I've probably told you at least once how I've tried to avoid coaching like the plague. I've even remained fairly successful at doing so until last fall when I inherited some children to teach. It turns out I have enjoyed it far more than I expected. It would also seem that I laugh far more than a professional coach probably should. This all started when one of Linda's kids decided to describe all of the people that coach her. Kim received the "particular about details" description, while Jenn earned the "confidence builder" award. Somehow (Unsurprisingly, I suppose) I receive...

A while ago Holly Grayton asked if I’d write another article for her magazine Alberta Show Jumpers (sorry, no spoiler alerts for that). I have seriously neglected any sort of writing this spring and was struggling to come up with a topic. Just last week I was in the arena and realized that Holly’s deadline was coming up quite quickly. I asked the ladies who were also in the arena riding if they had any great suggestions. Now, for those of you who don’t know, Lindsay Beadle and her mom Julia recently made the move to Creekside with their business. Lindsay, rather glibly, pipes up and says, “Why don’t you write an article about professionals sharing facilities?” I immediately had to laugh at this, as the thought had already crossed my mind. She follows that up with, “you could call it ‘Novel thoughts by Samara.’”  So, we have Lindsay to thank for my first blog post in way too long. I did think her answer was slightly too sassy for Holly’s magazine, which just means you’ll...

Just before Christmas I went fencing for the first time, thanks to my good friend Shauna. It may seem like a strange bucket list item for some of you, but given that my favourite movie is The Three Musketeers (I know, please don’t judge me), I always thought it looked like fun.  And indeed, I had a great time. Shockingly (or not for those of you who know me) I was deemed “aggressive” by the person teaching me. Little did he know who he was talking to…. En Garde is a French warning that translates to “[be] on guard”. It is defined as: a direction to be ready to fence, taking the opening position for action. This all sounds like positive, affirmative action in fencing. One must be “en garde” and ready to engage. However, it was not at all what I expected, and significantly more exhausting then I had banked on. I have definitely not conditioned my arm muscles to be fencing fit and maintaining a fencing position had my arm and hand shaking from strain by the end.  ...

For the third time in the last few months, I had someone stop me and ask when I was writing another blog. This seems to have turned into a trend, as it's apparently now the only way that I remember to write again. However, it is greatly appreciated to know people read and enjoy this. So, to all those out there that read this, thank you. The irony begins with Stacey, the very one who asked me when I was going to write again. She approached me when she arrived at the barn to ask what was apparently an "awkward" question. Turns out my definition of awkward and hers are two entirely different things. There was a myriad of thoughts running through my head before I found out her request was merely to borrow some riding boots. Boots, which it turns out, I had in her size. Go figure. The borrowed shoe situation has turned into a thing at Creekside this fall. More specifically, only when Alex arrives to teach. Somehow we've developed a pattern that I lend shoes, more often...

In honour of Halloween, I guess it seems only fitting to start my next blog referring to a bunch of lost souls out searching along a yellow brick road. Over the years, I’m sure more than a few children have dressed up as one or two of the characters from The Wizard of Oz. Quite honestly, I think I’ve felt like several of them this fall. Maybe even all at once. If only I had a brain, the scarecrow yearned. If only I had my courage, the lion dreamed. If only I had a heart, the tin man wished. And they set off on that journey together, looking for what they did not have. If you’ve read my previous blog, you’ll know at one point this summer, it may have been mentioned that I didn’t have a brain. Fortunate, as one cannot have a concussion with no brain to concuss. I can sympathize with the scarecrow. A brain is precious and unique to each individual. Please take care of yours; treasure it, train it, feed it, protect it. Most of all, be grateful for the power of thought. Pick up...