One of my favorite sayings is, “There is nothing as strong as gentleness, and nothing as gentle as true strength.” Though I came across that saying for the first time later in my life, I discovered its meaning long ago, during the first year after I was mustered out of the military. And I learned it, not from a book or a teacher, but from a horse, a particularly anxious, mistrusting and ready-to-fight little mare named Baby Doll.
Like many veterans do upon discharge, I started classes immediately at a college near Camp Pendleton. I was also hired to be the Program Director at a ranch-themed children’s camp on weekends, supervising the staff of college and high school students who worked directly with the 100 or so 8-11 year-olds who arrived by bus each Friday evening. The staff ran the activities, monitored safety and “playing nice”, and intervened to solve problems. As “Deputy Doc”, I told stories and led campfire songs, kept the schedule running smoothly, and functioned as the camp nurse for the occasional scraped knee. During the week I lived in a house on the ranch, my quiet roommate a construction carpenter who was wrangler for the horses the children got to ride.
Most of the camp’s horses had been donated, were older and easy going, and were very safe to be around. Not Baby Doll. She had been given to the ranch by a family who had been unable to train her to ride. She was small for a quarter horse, and quick to kick or bite. Her previous owners had used a harsh bit in an effort to control her, so she would never allow a bit in her mouth. She had scars from a whip or rope near her withers and seemed to be afraid of everything. Because the campers could not ride Baby Doll, feeding her and paying for veterinary services was untenable, so the camp administration thought to send her on to a different home; I feared she might end up as glue or dog food. To prevent this, I offered to pay for all her expenses if I could have the school year to try to save her. And that is how my lessons started.
I placed Baby Doll in a smaller corral where she would not fight the other horses, and put Big Red in with her. He was an old, ambling-along-peacefully plow horse, powerful but gentle as a lamb. I took care of their food and water every morning and night. I always had an apple or a carrot or sugar cube when I climbed up on the corral fence to talk with her. It took several days before she would come near me, but the treats helped. Over time she learned the sound of my ’67 Chevelle Malibu rumbling down the road coming in, and would trot over to the fence to wait for me. Eventually I could ride ol’ Red in their corral as she learned that I was safe to be around. We never did try to put a saddle on her or a bit in her mouth, but within a matter of weeks I could slip a wide loop over her head and walk her around the corral. Then I took to having her walk along with me as I rode another horse around the hills in the evening. By springtime she followed me around the corral like a puppy dog. I could brush her, check her hooves (which did take some gradual getting used to!), and even look into her ears.
I took some time letting her get used to a blanket, which I wore around my shoulders for a few weeks. Eventually she let me put the blanket on her, and I led her by a simple leather halter. By late spring I could ride her, but only with a saddle blanket and moccasins and that halter……never a saddle, a bridle and bit, or spurs. She got in line behind Big Red on the trail rides and never once bucked or startled. When I left the ranch to transfer to a university, Baby Doll had become a favorite of the staff and was no longer wild and untouchable. Even a child could ride her as she walked along with the other horses, though she always wanted to be with Big Red.
I thought at the time that I was rescuing that battered little mare, but years later I have come to understand how much she did to save me. I was skittish, too, and thought everyone and everything was prone to hurt me. Like Baby Doll, I wouldn’t let anyone get close. I realized over time that the children’s camp had been the perfect place to begin to stand down. It was beautiful. I could be alone in the woods or find solitude down by the stream. I could ride out over the hills at sunset, and I had a safe place to live. My meals were provided at the cookhouse where the ranch hands ate. I was 23, and they were a lot older, many of them veterans or merchant mariners. Learning that I was a Marine Corps doc who had just returned from Vietnam led them to treat me with tremendous kindness while giving me the distance I needed. I went to school during the week, lived close to nature in a quiet valley, and was surrounded by happy children all weekend. Looking back, it seems as if someone had written a prescription for healing that perfectly suited me.
So, while Baby Doll had me to nurture her back to peacefulness, I had a year marked by the strength and kindness of those around me at the ranch. As I later studied psychology in college, I read about trauma and the techniques that help with healing. I discovered that I had already been helping that little mare simply by being kind, and consistent, and patient—the strength that comes from being gentle. Decades later I reflected on that hard, first year back in the civilian world. I realized that much of my own healing had come from the kindness, understanding and protection of strong people who were gentle when I was hyper-vigilant and feeling lost.
I hope you take this to heart, especially if you pride yourself on being “tough.” Endurance, faithfulness, commitment…..these are all good things that can require us to be genuinely tough at times. But being harsh, critical, and abusive toward others is actually weakness at its core, because it can only destroy that which is good. Being kind, and patient, and encouraging are far more powerful because they make things better. Try bringing to others the gentleness that is born of true strength, and relying on the strength that emerges from being gentle. And for what it’s worth, it has been my experience that Spokane Veterans Forum seeks to operate just that way.