Kūkūilama - His Story Begins

Not the horse I thought I wanted but maybe the one I needed

Aloha, welcome back! Mahalo for all the kind words of support that poured in last week when I shared the finale to Zaraʻs story.

Some days I am still a little shaky when I arrive at the pasture and donʻt hear that familiar whinny and nicker greet my arrival. But the other two horses have moved on, because it is another day, another week, another moment to be fully present to what is. And so this Substack will move on too, as I keep promising to tell Kūkūilamaʻs story from the beginning.

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I began They Keep Telling Me I Should Write My Memoir with only a desire to write sequentially about my adventures of three decades prior. I thought of them as good stories, not as “lessons.” Still, from the start, as I looped back in a few essays about What Happened Before What Happened Happened, there were themes. One of the key themes was this: from early childhood I had been both a super analytical, empirically minded person with a lot of opinions and self-discipline when it came to my goals - and also an intuitive, spiritual person with a strong connection to the natural world and acceptance of the things I did not believe (rationally) but knew to be true.

That balance and integration of “left brain” and “right brain” - of both/and thinking - of balancing the particular with the relational - of walking between two worlds - might be a perfect summary of my path in life, my leadership style, my “personal legend.”

It plays out over and over again through these stories. You find me headed in a chosen direction, and then over the top “coincidences” either confirm that direction or lead me firmly down a different path. That is also how Kūkūilama ends up in my life.

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Kūkūilama - his name has many associations with the idea of “light”

Last week I explained that bringing the mature mare Hottie into the herd was a well-planned tactic to (eventually, years down the road I hoped) ease the transition for my young gelding Kūkūilama when his companion Zara herself transitioned. It was still a shock that Zara felt free to go so quickly. But the tactic was solid. Zara was basing her advice to me on her own experience.

Most domestic horses who are fortunate enough to live in a herd-like environment are also unfortunate enough to have that herd change at the whim of their humans, in addition to the natural course of births and deaths. Zara was no exception. Eventually, after my divorce from the Swiss Guy, I ended up with three horses. Zaraʻs main companion for many years was her male twin, another gray Arabian, an older gelding named Double Rainbow. Along the way we also had acquired a husband horse, a buckskin mare named Spirit. I got custody of Spirit in the divorce. She was the youngest of the three, a kind horse you could jump on bareback without a second thought after leaving her as a pasture pet for months.

Rainbow was showing signs of his age. I returned from a business trip to find that he had injured himself and his hind end was wonky. He would continually lose his balance and have to spin in a circle to regain his footing. And yet he told me he was not ready to go, and I accepted his choice.

A few days later the horses were having their hooves trimmed and I jumped on Spirit while my trimmer finished with Zara. Spirit was always an “easy keeper” which is to say we had to watch her weight. So I was surprised that I could feel her spine, missing the layer of padding that usually made her so comfortable bareback. I called the vet to schedule their annual check ups. It turned out Spirit had an inoperable tumor in her jaw and was slowly starving to death. Days after I got that news, I found her laying in the pasture, unable to get up. The youngest member of the herd passed first. Rainbow hung in for another five months before the afternoon I arrived to find him at a level spot he had chosen to lay down for the last time.

Zara was unexpectedly alone, but we both were in shock and grief, probably actually more than a little depressed. I could not even begin to consider getting another horse. My dear friends who own the large ranch just “mauka” (upland) from where I pasture my horses offered to drop off one theirs as a temporary companion for Zara. Months went by, and slowly Zara and I both adjusted. I started daydreaming about my next horse. And then the Covid lockdown hit.

No matter what kind of companion you seek - canine, feline, equine or human - in the modern world you have multiple options. There is the option of letting them show up organically. There is the option of asking your friends to be on the lookout for a good match. And there is the option of looking on a site or app. Honestly, I know more than a few folks who scroll through dating apps in just the same way I am currently eyeing the available dogs on the rescue sites. Iʻm not sure Iʻm ready, but if exactly the right one showed up, perhaps Iʻd want to at least meet them.

In the case of my next horse, not only were we in lockdown in early 2020 - exactly as the world closed in, I suddenly found myself with excruciating sciatica stemming from a herniated disc. No way I could have thrown a leg over a horse. I could not even drive 10 minutes to the pasture without stopping on the side of the road to regroup from the pain. Still, I had time on my hands to focus on finding a new member of our herd. In this I was both fantasizing wildly and trying to be practical.

The wild fantasy side was The Gelding of My Dreams. Years before I had attended a Light Hands Horsemanship extravaganza and met the legendary breeder of Arabian horses Sheila Varian. Here in cattle ranch country, Arabians are not popular. But Sheila had created her entire breeding program around developing an Arabian to work cattle and compete in Western disciplines. She rode in the vaquero style that is also the foundation of our distinctive paniolo tradition in Hawaiʻi. For a few years I had drooled over videos of young horses for sale on her website, studying the bloodlines and following their success at major competitions. Even more exciting given my work in conservation, Sheila had protected the Ranch with a conservation easement prior to her death from cancer in 2016.

On the other hand, my body told me the last thing I needed was a young, athletic horse. My mind settled on getting a versatile, been there/done that horse in their midyears. A mature horse that could also join me in doing Equine Guided Education work. My days of rescue horses were over. And so, when I struck a deal during the lockdown for one of my cowboy friends to trade a mare I saw him riding over 1,000 of acres on his Instagram account for the old trailer I never used, it seemed like the ideal solution. Iʻd let the trailerʻs inspection and registration lapse, and in the early days of the pandemic inspection stations and government offices were closed. He came with a couple of his Parker Ranch cowboy friends to pick up the trailer and do some work on it. Eventually he was able to get it inspected, and when the DMV opened by appointment I was able to register it. We just had to connect to make the exchange.

Then one morning he texted. He was afraid to tell me, but his daughter had fallen in love with the mare and wanted to use her for high school rodeo. Could he just pay me for the trailer? He was also concerned because he knew that Zara was alone at this point, pending the arrival of her new friend.

No way I would want to take the mare away from this daughter. And, I assured him, our mutual friend Terri who had been lending her ranch horses to me as companions for Zara was coming by for lunch, so Iʻd just beg her for another one and regroup.

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The first image I saw of the 3-1/2 year old gelding, then named “Kolohe.” He grew. A lot.

Terri walked through the front door laughing, holding the paper bag with our lunch in one hand and her phone to her ear in the other. She explained sheʻd just been talking with a farrier we knew, who had been asked by one of his clients to start a 3-1/2 year old Arabian gelding under saddle to be sold. Heʻd called to ask whether she knew someone who might be interested. Her response, “Iʻm about to have lunch with my only friend who likes Arabian horses.”

And my response to her was ABSOLUTELY NOT. I wanted nothing to do with a 3-1/2 year old Arabian, green broke cowboy style (read: trauma to be overcome), and besides, I donʻt like any of the bloodlines here in Hawaiʻi. She countered by showing me a couple of short videos. Just look, she argued, he doesnʻt look like those Puna Arabians. I had to admit he was nicely put together, but he was still 3-1/2 years old, green broke, with a traumatic start to being ridden.

She texted something as I set out our lunch plates, presumably passing along the message. A few moments later her phone pinged. She looked…and a moment later my phone pinged. “Whatʻs that?” I asked. “I just sent you his pedigree,” she answered. Catnip. I clicked open the image.

Iʻm a pretty good poker player, but I had not prepared my face.

“You have to go see this horse, donʻt you?” she said, full on chortling at my reaction. "How the hell was this horse foaled at Waikiʻi Ranch?” I sputtered. "Heʻs line bred Varian Arabian. My dream pedigree. But that doesnʻt change the fact that heʻs 3-1/2 and green broke the wrong way. And his registered name is KOLOHE¹! You have to come with me to make sure Iʻm not making a huge mistake.”

I pretended like I had a choice. But at this point, I know Iʻm required to follow the omens. This was not the horse I thought I wanted. But apparently he was the horse that had been chosen for me.

1. Kolohe means “mischievous” or “rascal” in Hawaiian.