Riding Horses Acadia Farms Fox Hunting Horse Shows
By Cathy Eaton Written in 1976 Updated 2015
Dedicated to my father whose dream it was for us to ride and compete, and dedicated to Ray and Jan Francis, who spent many years training ponies, horses and riders and teaching us discipline, perseverance, and sportsmanship as they shared their passion with us.
In 1889, six-year-old Grampa lived with his family on a farm in Pugwash, Nova Scotia about five miles from the grist mill. No grown man could be spared from the harvesting or farm work to drive the wagon filled with wheat to the mill where it would be ground into flour. Grampa volunteered. His mother said that was ridiculous, but Grampa insisted he could handle the job. His father agreed because the road was not intersected by any other roads and because the horse knew the route and wouldn’t get lost. Several times a week, Grampa packed a lunch droved to the grist mill, waited a few hours, and then drove back with bags of flour. Thirty years later, his own children began riding at Acadia Farms, where the family summered and later moved. In the 1920’s Grampa House (Margaret House Eaton’s father) often visited Acadia Farms from his home in California. Aunt Betty Butterfield recollected: All of us remember the pony cart, Grampa House, and Tiger Lily. Daily trips to Northfield to get an ice cream soda. (It gave Grampa a chance to listen to the only radio around and get the news of the political convention.) It must have been quite a nice little jog from the farm to Northfield Center, up a very smart hill just outside the gate, and then the couple of miles to town. Riding in the car and being allowed occasionally to hold the reins were my early supreme adventures. Some times little Cy received permission to join his older sisters Lee, Mary, and Betty on the expeditions. Acadia Farms stabled a small, mean, nasty pony that nobody could control. Against his mother’s wishes, his dad often mounted Cy on Tiger Lily and attached by a lead line, the two of them would roam the park for hours, the pony bucking and bouncing in the beginning. Once Tiger Lily fell in a hole. Grampa, the lead line wrapped around his wrist several times, pitched forward and fell off the horse. One particularly hot summer day, ten-year-old Cy, having gone riding and groomed several horses, was tired and thirsty. The stable manager kindly treated him to several tall glasses of delicious grape juice. However, wine had been substituted for the grape juice. Dad began the trek up to the house; the road started to tilt; Dad could not maintain his balance, and he passed out in the bushes. Grampa and Colonel Long organized the Summit Hunt and Club House; Grampa filled the position of hunt master. Imagine an unpopulated Northfield lacking shopping centers, MacDonald’s, the Ford Plant, or housing developments. Then visualize the large territory that could be hunted over. Both Betty and Mary rode well, showed and hunted their horses. As an eight-year-old, Cy participated in the hunt on a large horse. On Ridge Road, Dad’s horse broke into a gallop, running away out of control, and passed everybody, including the hounds and the master. His horse roared on Route 8 and fell over, dumping Cy in a ditch. Grampa yelled, “Get up!” Like father, like son. Our Dad was always a firm believer that we remount our horses after a fall. This philosophy has held us all in good stead. While Dad spent two years in a German prison camp, he had a dream to return alive to his wife, Mary (Stevie) and to buy Arrow Cottage, next to Acadia Farms, from his siblings. Arrow Cottage became our home. Dad had another dream. This dream cost money and commitment. It required determination, patience, hard work, and a desire to compete. Not all of us shared Dad’s enthusiasm for his dream, but each child spent a part of our youth fulfilling it. Dad’s dream of us riding and competing, climaxed at Madison Square Garden National Horse Show where each of us eventually competed. That accomplishment belongs to us and Dad’s dream. Did I always love riding? I think so, but sometimes I was afraid. I have jumped horses, fallen off them, been rolled on, stepped on, bitten, and twice carried to the hospital in an ambulance. No big deal. Riding is a team effort – the horse and the rider with the considerable help from the riding instructors. First Tom Cathcart, then Fred Watkins, Ken Bresnin, and finally Ray and Jan Francis from England. The Eatons tend to be competitive, and so it followed that our riding progressed from small time farm and local shows to big time show circuit riding. The beginning. I think I remember riding perched in front of Fred Watkins or Dad on Roland. That may be a photograph. I know I recall coming back through the tunnel under Route 8 on a lead line, being terrified we would fall in the stream. I couldn’t figure out which leg, when kicking the pony, would direct him away from the stream. Another time, riding bareback behind Elizabeth on Sparky, I lost the reins. She claimed she still held them, not wanting me to be mad. We careened around a sharp curve and fell in a heap, Elizabeth on top. “Are you all right?” Elizabeth inquired from her perch – me. It may have been Mr. Bresnin who insisted we jump without stirrups, with out reins, and with our eyes shut. Someone taught the boys how to fall off (jump off) a fast moving horse. A little brown pony named Buster spent his time racing back to the stables, preferably without a rider. Experiencing the smell of sawdust, a sweaty horse, and the smell of leather tack in the stables begins to recreate a morning ride at Acadia Farms. Some days we rode along the park road or through the trails in the woods. Trotting on the gravel park road, cantering down the sheep pasture hills, and jumping one by one over wooden coops filled many hours of riding. Blue skies, green grass, rainy days, dry pastures, crunchy snow, we rode all year long in all types of weather. The Troika track with its elaborate outside course provided serious jumping practice. Cy III helped build the pen, a bank jump, a real stonewall, and cavaletties that increased in size. Once or twice a day – for 10 consecutive days, I fell off between the third and fourth cavaletti. When I was determined to ride Come Summer over the series of fences, I fell off. But if I concentrated on staying on, he stopped at the fence and dropped his shoulder. Needless to say, a part of our required attire was a hard hat to protect our heads when we fell on them. During the winter and inclement weather, we exercised the horses in the large pole barn, flanked on two sides by roomy stalls and on the end by a tack room, feed room, and cleaning room beneath the loft, stacked with hale bales. Bundled in winter jackets, scarves, and gloves, our frozen breath mixed with manure, hay, and sawdust. Weaving in and out poles, changing diagonals without looking, attempting basic dressage and figures of eight, riding in pairs, trotting without posting, backing up, mounting and dismounting, jumping rail or brush fences were all skills that we practiced over and over in efforts to improve our equitation form, our timing, and our knowledge of our mounts. We even developed routines involving four or five pairs of horses – trying to obey Ray Francis’ curt commands. The thoroughbreds, raised at Acadia, first experienced human weight, trotting and cantering, in the barn. Of course, falls, bucking horses, and refusals at fences occurred with healthy frequency. Nevertheless, comradeship developed, and Acadia Farms hosted a crop of talented riders, striving to excel and applauding each other’s efforts. The marvelous facilities at Acadia and the magnificent trails in the park spoiled us. Although we helped in the grooming of horses and cleaning of tack, those tasks and the maintaining of the horse barn were competently completed by various grooms: good humored, tall Mac Mills, his cousin Willie Wales, Pat (nicknamed Mickey), his brother Jimmy, the carpenter Lee, and most unforgettable Edward Edgar Thomas, the blue-eyed blond Welsh youth. No one could work harder or take more pride in the immaculately manicured horses than Edgar unless it was Jan Francis, who worked long hours training horses, coaching riders, and braiding manes at horse shows. For models to us children, these two people were incomparable; my heart belonged to both of them as well as the debonair Ray Francis, later called Popsie. Ray and Jan Francis were a second family to me, and the horse world a whole new world for me, apart and vastly different from my tamer school days. Although we often trained for long hours (four hours or more on weekend mornings and sometimes several afternoons during the school year), our activities varied as did Acadia’s terrain: the park, the Troika track, the barn, and the ring outside the barn. One day we played a crazy game of polo in which one team on horses challenged the other team on foot. Many brisk fall and winter days were spent fox hunting with Mr. Francis as hunt master, Jan and I as whipper-ins, and Mrs. Channing heading the field. Spirited horses bucking over the frosted fields, riders bundled in warm, proper hunting attire, and brown, black, and white hounds yelping frenetically and baying when they tracked the fox’s scent as Ray in vivid scarlet tooted the hunting horn. Many foxes trotted or raced across fields, but (and I was always secretly pleased) we had no kills, except one poor raccoon. I’ve never been blooded, a tradition where the blood of the fox is dabbed on a rider’s forehead on the day of their first kill. Mr. Fox, the marvelous pony blind in one eye, cleverly spotted the foxes on several occasions, and by tossing his head, he informed me where to look. Foxes have a scent like a skunk but not as strong. Screams of ‘tally ho’ or ‘whooooeeeeeeee’ alerted Ray who urged the hounds to the chase with the calls of the horn. All the hounds except Harriet, who never left the heels of Ray’s horse. During one of the Thanksgiving hunts, Jan and I galloped toward the tunnel; Jan vaulted off her horse, I grabbed its reins, and she scrambled up the bank cracking her whip – turning the fox from crossing the highway. On the Thanksgiving hunt, we lowered Scamp (aka Scootie) and Miggles – two Jack Russell Fox Terriers – down the fox hole, trying to force the fox out. No luck. Sometimes, we exercised and trained the hounds by urging them to follow a scent that had been laid out earlier. Showing the horses at local Chagrin Fall or other Ohio horse shows and later at shows in Pennsylvania and through out New England, we all entered the competitive and professional horse world. Acadia riders increased. Joan Mishler, Gail Cursey, Julie North, and Judy Fogg rode Acadia mounts. Later Brooke and Pam Carmichael, Pam and Leslie Sayle, Drew Davenport, Pam and Peter Horwitz, Terry and Teddy Ismond joined the stables, bringing their own horses. Pam Carmichael outdistanced the rest of us and rose to the top of the junior riding field. First on Gay Minstrel, she qualified for the United States pony team and competed in Canada and in the States. Then on Chance Step and Lancenet, Pam finished one year with number one and number two junior horses in the country. My two major successes occurred when I qualified in 1960 as a ten-year-old for the ASHA finals at Madison Square Garden, where Mr. Fox and I completed the course of three foot six inches fences with one stop. My second success also at the Garden was when Flying Mouse and I won the pony confirmation class. The original winner of the class was displaced because Mouse’s confirmation was superior and Flying Mouse moved from second to first.. I felt I had almost cheated the original winner was moved to second place. In 1959, after Cyrus Eaton gave Nikita Khrushchev a Shorthorn bull, Khrushchev gave Cyrus Eaton a Troika with three stallions that pulled a carriage or a sleigh: the outside two galloped while the middle one trotted. Ray raced one of the stallions at the Northfield trotter’s racetrack. One Christmas day, we all got to ride in the sleigh. Once the sleigh overturned, but no one was injured. Follows is a list of some of the shows we traveled to. In Ohio we showed at the Chagrin Falls Hunt Club, Lake Erie, Red Raider, Hunter Trials, Acadia Farms, the McBrides, Chagrin Valley Trails P.H.A., and Ravenna. In Pennsylvania, we showed at Sewickley Hunt Horse Show, Rolling Rock, Harrisburg, Devon, and Lancaster. We also traveled to Great Barrington in Massachusetts, Fairfield in Connecticut, Orange County and Monmouth in New Jersey, Waterloo in Michigan, Washington National Horse Show in Washington, D.C, Madison Square Garden in New York, and various shows in Canada. We first showed in 1955 when Cy III and John both won a first and a second. I exhibited in the lead line division. Elizabeth rode in her first show around 1959. Through the years we rode a great number and variety of ponies and horses.
1953: Mac 1954: Buster and Sparky 1955: Stockings 1956: Mr. Fox 1958: Flying Ace, Sunset, (The Troyka arrived that year) 1959: Summit of Acadia born; Gay Friar born 1961: Beau’s Cottage and Gay Girl 1962: Hark the Lark (Squeak), Leonka, Red (Grampa’s quarter horse), Shorty (cart pony), Rolland 1964: Flying Mouse, Polly Gret 1965: Kilkee, Gay Minstrel, Come Summer 1966: Carol W born Others: Winnifred, Jughead, Windsor Boy, Blue Velvet, Chance Step, Lancenet, Red (Grampa's quarter horse)
A Morning at a Horse Show – Remembering One Particular Day The slumped silence in the speeding car is barely disturbed by a series of Paul Mariot’s instrumental renditions of last year’s popular songs. Head lights attempt to penetrate the soft early morning fog that predictably will burn off before the horse show begins. No gateman halts our entrance to the show grounds; only a few cars are parked in isolated spots throughout the huge grassy parking lot. Mrs. Carmichael parks the station wagon near Acadia Farm’s two-horse trailer and the large horse van. We slide out, lugging our laundry bags containing pairs of high black, recently polished boots, and carrying blue or tweed jackets neatly pressed, and hard hats, mine brown and worn. I snuggle deeper into my ribbed green v-neck sweater, which ever after smells of horses. We roll leg bandages under stale electricity until Ray Francis tells Pam, Leslie, and me to prepare our horses for morning practice. I lazily curry Leonka’s narrow withers until Edgar chides me, “Be brisk.” Damn her. She always jerks her head up when I try to slip the bit into her mouth. Twice I return to the tack room: once for a different martingale, and once for a saddle pad. Elizabeth carries a wobbly box of coffees with and without cream and hot chocolate for me. I love to swallow great gulps to spread the scorching hot chocolate down to my toes. The donuts are from yesterday or the day before and lay heavily in my stomach. Edgar boosts me onto Leonka’s back, and we trot out to the ring. The fog is starting to lift, and I can just distinguish the fences. Leonka’s jerky trot bounces me all over as I try not to post; I am much more awake. The fences look big, especially the wide brush one and the permanent stone wall. I begin guiding Leonka around the dirt track, calling heads-up as I pass on the outside of the other early morning exercisers, who are still chatting. I squeeze Leonka into a slow canter, but Ray shouts at me to continue trotting. I do figure of eights, getting my diagonal without looking. Perhaps I just peak, but a judge would not notice. I also practice quick halts and trotting starts from the halts. Every now and then I squeeze my legs and gently pull back on the reins to make Leonka back up three or four firm steps. The loud speaker announced that we have five minutes until the ring must be cleared. I look over to Ray, and he gestures for me to quickly school Leonka over the fences in the ring. As the other riders head for various fences, I kick behind the girth to shake Leonka up. We swerve away from the brush, and Ray shouts at me to set her straight. We swerve out again because one of the Lennihan kids jumps it from the other way. In quick succession Leonka gathers herself up and easily sails over the brush fence, the two two post-and-rail fences, the white picket fence, and the triple bar. Finally I fearfully steer over the wall. Ray orders me to take the wall again. “Give her her head,” he booms out in his English accent. I had gotten badly left on our previous attempt, yanking back Leonka’s head. I should not have clutched. The second jump over the wall goes smoother, and I trot out of the ring as the tractors pulled in, and the men rapidly dismantle all the fences except the big stone wall. The loud speaker had to warn the other riders several times to clear the ring. I raise my leg in front of the stirrups and lean down to loosen the girth. Leonka shies at another tractor, and I barely regain my balance. I walk her around to cool her off and then return her to the stall. Ray asks me to polish his and Jan’s black tops. The usual lecture on messy tack rooms causes me to throw some shorts, tennis shoes, and a book in my labeled drawer. A second car drives up, and Drew, Brooke, and Pam stroll over. They become really annoyed, learning they will not be able to school over the inside course. For the next two hours, I hold horses’ heads still as Jan braids five manes while Ray braids eight tails. The loud speaker announces that a green hunter class will begin in the ring in ten minutes at 10 o’clock, and an open hunter confirmation class will start at 10:15 on the outside course. Edgar saddles up Winnifred, and Jan dons her blue coat, blue tie, and brown, high top boots. I roll some messy tail bandages and stroll over to the ring, buying a large coke and a fresh donut on the way.
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Some of the show people will remain clearly in my memory. Dan Lenehan ran the Sewickley Hunt Club and shows; he also judged at such prestigious shows as Madison Square Garden. His children – Michael (died in the 1960’s of cancer), Brian, Kevin, and Sheila – all shared friendship with us, the out-of-towners. Also at Sewickley we knew the O’Roukes, Jake Slaughter, and Harry and Chris Black. Red haired Rodney Jenkins changed from a shy, superb rider to a ruthless, sophisticated, superb rider. Such a crush I had before it became fashionable. Norman Hall roared with laughter when John, bending over to lower a rail, tumbled off. Max Bonham, a high jumper and trainer, later trained Drew Davenport. We admired such child riding stars at Katie Monehan, Terry Rudd, (who rode Hot Shot Kid to spectacular success), and Blythe Davis (who died when she was twelve from a fall off a horse.) Mrs. Carmichael, affectionately called Mernie, traveled with us to most of the shows. The Eaton family spent many enjoyable times with the Carmichaels at horse shows, on New Years Eve celebrations, and throughout the year. We even traveled together in Greece. Mrs. Carmichael usually drove us the many hours to horse shows in eastern United States. Pam, Elizabeth, and I set up miniature jump courses for us to practice over on foot. John and Brooke dated; Mr. Carmichael and Dad worked together; the families became quite close. The professional horse world that we had entered did not always emphasize sportsmanship and friendship; winning mattered excessively to those that made their living by training, riding, or showing horses. Occasionally rumors of poisoned horses or blown up cars indicated how ruthless this professional world could be. Gradually each of us chose to leave the show world. For a time John considered becoming a professional, and one summer he worked at the stables. My final year ended poorly because after three falls, Carol W injured her legs and would never show again. Although I rode at the AHSA finals in Michigan, I decided not to enter the three national horse shows. Elizabeth and Dad bought quarter horses named Tylara and Lady, which they rode for a few years at Arrow Cottage. Carol W, bred to one of the Russian stallions, gave birth to twin colts who roamed the fields behind our house for one summer. The little one Zorba died, and the other, after injuring a leg when kicked by another horse, was given to a retired horseman at Hawthorne Hospital. Ray and Jan moved to Jacksonville, Florida, where they set up a new Acadia Stables. Ray and Jan left Acadia after 22 years. In 1975 Ray divorced Jan, who joined up with Edgar Thomas. Pam Carmichael’s daughter, Lillian Keenan, is an exceptionally talented rider who currently competes at the top levels. On January 18, 1995, Ray wrote: “Time does fly; it’s 2 years since I left Acadia, and I still think of all the great times we had. Do you remember xmas day in the Troika? And riding Mr. Fox at the Garden, and Fly Mouse, the “Good Old Days.” I don’t ride as much now. I will be 70 in 2 months!!! but still do a lot of judging and am involved with a lot of horse activities. I still have a sailboat and do as much as I can in the summer on the Chesapeake and we try to manage to go to the Islands each year and scuba dive.” Ray married Cheryll and they raised horses, rode, and Ray continued to judge horses at many shows. Michael and I visited Ray and Cheryl near Annapolis, Maryland in 2017 and had a delightful time reminiscing about all the ponies and horses and special riding folks. And so it goes. Dad had a dream, which came true.
Ponies and Horses our family and riding companions rode. Grampa: Sunset, Red Cyrus: Sparky, Mr. Fox, Flying Ace, Sunset, Beau’s Cottage
John: Buster, Sparky, Mr. Fox, Stockings, Leonka, Gay Friar
Cathy: Sparky, Mr. Fox, Flying Mouse, Blue Velvet, Herman was nickname of horse I fell off a lot at the Troyka Track where Cy built many of the fences including cavaleties that got progressively higher, Leonka, Carol W.
Elizabeth: Sparky, Kilkee
Pam Carmichael: Gay Ministrel.Lancelot.Pam had top two junior horses in the country one year with Lancelot and Chance Step.
Brooke Carmichael:Chance Step.John dated Brooke for a while in high school and while he was at Dartmouth.
Jan Francis: Blue Velvet, Winnifred,
Ray Francis: Beau’s Cottage, Windsor Boy (belonged to Mary Jane Deering)
Julie North: Gay Friar, Polly Gret
Pixie Lilly: (John dated her for a while): Poly Gret
Pam and Leslie Sayle
Pam & Peter Horovitz,
Judy Fogg: Mr. Fox
On Grampa’s property was a horse barn and an indoor riding arena.Jan and Ray Francis instructed us from 1959 until we stopped competing, and then they ran the horse farm on their own and rented it.We showed competitively and often rode three hours a day on the weekends and during the summer and a couple of times a week after school.We showed in Ohio at the Acadia Farms gymkhana, Chagrin Valley Hunt Club, Lake Erie, Chagrin Valley Trails Horseshow; in Pennsylvania at Sewickley Hunt Horse Show, Rolling Rock Horse Show, Lancester Horse Show, Madison Square Garden, Harrisburg National Horse Show, National Horse Show at Washington D.C., Great Barrington, MA, Fairfield, CT.We all competed in hunter jumping classes, flat classes, and equitation classes.In an indoor riding ring, we practiced during the winter.For fun sometimes we played polo, half on horses, half on foot.Cy helped build a series of fences at the Troyka Track in Grampa’s park.I remember falling off a lot by the cavaletti’s (sp?).I loved riding horses and all the competing.Ironically, I have done no riding after my teens, and both boys are not comfortable around horses.
Mrs. Carmichael and the Mr. and Mrs. Francis chaperoned us.
Horse Friends:
Some special horse riding friends were Dan Lennehan and his family (Brian, Sheila, Michael, and Kevin) from Sewickley; Bob and Cheryl Gaudio from Chagrin area, Kathie Mattie who married Michael Lennehan), Judy Fogg and Julie North who rode with us; Drew Davenport who rode with us, Brooke (whom John dated) and Pam Carmichael (who were closest to.)Pam went on to ride the top two juniors horses in the country.Pixie Lilley was another favorite.(John dated her.)We all had many successes and won many ribbons and championships because we had excellent horses and ponies and excellent training.Riding was a marvelous experience that taught us discipline, competitiveness, and sportsmanship.I never realized what a spoiled life we led.
After I went to college, Dad and Elizabeth got two quarter horses named Lady and Valero named after Larry who worked on the cattle farm.It was fun to ride around casually on the farm.Jerry Talberg married Cheryl who was Novee’s daughter I believe.Truman Kingsley ran the cattle farm at one time as did Dwight Griffith.
Some of the guys that worked at the horse barn were Mac Mills, his cousin Willie Wales, Edgar Thomas from Wales, Mickey, and John from England.Lee Stevens and his brother Steve Stevens lived on the farm.Lee did more maintenance.In the winter Mr. Frances made up a hot meal for the horses.Someone started fires at the horse barn and at the cattle barn.
Nikita Kruschev gave Grampa white stallions to pull the troika as a sleigh on a carriage.Dad raced one of them against two others in a harness race at the Northfield Trotters Track.Grampa gave Kruschev shorthorn bulls from his herd.Grampa used to have his short horns shown around the country.Cy was involved with the cattle and showing them.Grampa’s assistant was Betty Royan, probably also his mistress at one time, and a classmate of Aunt Betty at HBS.At one point both the horse both and the cattle barn had major fires that a son of Steve probably started.I remember going over to the horse barn in the middle of the night and when walking over to see if I could help the men leading the frightened horses around, one horse walked right over me.I wasn’t hurt.
We also raised race horses.Carol W, daughter of Carol C and Wind Dancer (????) was originally supposed to be a race horse but she wasn’t fast enough, so Jan Frances trained her to be a hunter.I rode her until our accident.John considered becoming a professional horseman at one point and worked one summer at the barn I think.
We used to stay in motels and travel back and forth to shows with Mr. and Mrs. Frances.We learned a great deal about competition, sportsmanship, caring for horses.I can remember competing against professionals at times.John wrote me once that I was a wonderful pony rider.I remember Dad saying Cy had the strongest legs.John was probably the best rider on horses.