Post by Makenna Wilson on Mar 9, 2013 18:13:59 GMT -5
makenna lindsay wilson.
SIXTEEN. FEMALE. JUNIOR. STRAIGHT.
It's not Kenzie's fault she's here in Florida; she'd much rather be at home in Chicago. It's also not really her parents' fault that there wasn't enough money to keep everyone fed. But I guess I'd better start at the beginning.
Kenzie was born as the first of three kids, in Joliet, southwest of Chicago. Her family was never rich, but they made ends meet well enough to live a comfortable life in the suburbs. Her parents wanted the best for Kenzie and her two brothers, and did everything in their power to raise the kids well and give them everything they needed and most of what they wanted. When Kenzie wanted pony rides, her father walked her down the road to a barn and made her watch a few lessons before he started paying.
Even from age six, when she started riding, Kenzie was careful about money. She knew her hobby was expensive, and although her parents assured her it wasn't a big deal, Kenzie always had a tinge of guilt when she rode.
Her childhood was completely normal. Public school, broke her arm, cried over mean friends, loved her parents and her horses. At twelve, Kenzie was strong enough and dedicated enough to start picking stalls after her lessons in exchange for a discounted rate, and she jumped at the chance. Her schoolwork faltered a little before Kenzie balanced everything out, but that was nothing compared to what was to come.
2007 was a hell of a year for the Wilson family. Kenzie's mother lost her job, and just two months later, her father was laid off, too. A family that once had steak once a week now struggled to stretch the savings account for as long as possible. Mrs. Wilson got a night shift at the local Walmart, which held back starvation for a while, but it wasn't nearly enough. In 2009, the Wilsons couldn't hold out anymore. They declared bankruptcy and tried to sell the house, but they couldn't get any buyers.
Meanwhile, the family entered a long, slow decline. Kenzie still worked at the local barn, but instead of working for lessons, she asked for cash. $50 a week wasn't bad for a 14-year-old, but when that $50, plus $100 per week from Mrs. Wilson's night shift, had to feed the family and pay the bills, well, something had to give.
First it was the car (public transportation was good enough). Then they started renting out a room (each kid didn't really need a whole room). The Wilsons were a strong, proud family, and didn't want the rest of their family to see what was happening. They were fine, really.
Christmas 2011 was when everything changed, for Kenzie, at least. It was their turn to host the family celebration, and there was no getting out of it. For months, the family cut more corners and saved every penny, and come December, they put on a good show and served turkey dinner and had presents and a tree and everyone was fooled, except Kenzie's aunt Margaret, who saw through the gilt exterior.
Margaret lived in Wellington, Florida, and while Kenzie had heard of the place (working with horses tended to do that), she'd never been down. She'd never shown, in fact, except for some dinky little schooling shows here and there. Margaret had a jumper in training, and would Kenzie like to come stay with her for the show season and take him around the ring a few times?
Kenzie was flabbergasted. Her parents were happy for her opportunity, and for another reason: if she left, it would one less mouth to feed. With only a little hemming and hawing, Kenzie joined an aunt she barely knew to a state she'd only seen in pictures.
It took months for Kenzie to figure out the sensitive, careful jumper gelding, but by April, she had shown him twice in the childrens' jumpers. She didn't exactly want to go home at the end of the season, and bless her parents, but they didn't want her back either. Mr. Wilson picked up an entry-level job and combined, their salaries were enough to cover two kids plus bills, and Kenzie would throw off their carefully-maintained balance.
And so Kenzie stayed the spring, and the summer, and the fall. Aunt Margaret leaves her alone most of the time, which means Kenzie is invariably at the barn, doing anything she can to pay off lessons.
Through years of hardship, Kenzie's learned to be tough. She doesn't complain, not ever, because the life she has now in infinitely better than the one she used to have. The word "no" is not in her vocabulary. Kenzie will try her heart out for anyone she trusts, and she will work through practically everything put in her way.
Kenzie still carries around relics from her past: a serious aversion to spending money, a tendency to hold on to what she has, and more than a touch of secrecy. She doesn't like to tell people where she lived before, for fear that they would judge her. But she does have quite a few friends, albeit friends who accept that she's not ever going to talk about life pre-Halcyon.
Kenzie was born as the first of three kids, in Joliet, southwest of Chicago. Her family was never rich, but they made ends meet well enough to live a comfortable life in the suburbs. Her parents wanted the best for Kenzie and her two brothers, and did everything in their power to raise the kids well and give them everything they needed and most of what they wanted. When Kenzie wanted pony rides, her father walked her down the road to a barn and made her watch a few lessons before he started paying.
Even from age six, when she started riding, Kenzie was careful about money. She knew her hobby was expensive, and although her parents assured her it wasn't a big deal, Kenzie always had a tinge of guilt when she rode.
Her childhood was completely normal. Public school, broke her arm, cried over mean friends, loved her parents and her horses. At twelve, Kenzie was strong enough and dedicated enough to start picking stalls after her lessons in exchange for a discounted rate, and she jumped at the chance. Her schoolwork faltered a little before Kenzie balanced everything out, but that was nothing compared to what was to come.
2007 was a hell of a year for the Wilson family. Kenzie's mother lost her job, and just two months later, her father was laid off, too. A family that once had steak once a week now struggled to stretch the savings account for as long as possible. Mrs. Wilson got a night shift at the local Walmart, which held back starvation for a while, but it wasn't nearly enough. In 2009, the Wilsons couldn't hold out anymore. They declared bankruptcy and tried to sell the house, but they couldn't get any buyers.
Meanwhile, the family entered a long, slow decline. Kenzie still worked at the local barn, but instead of working for lessons, she asked for cash. $50 a week wasn't bad for a 14-year-old, but when that $50, plus $100 per week from Mrs. Wilson's night shift, had to feed the family and pay the bills, well, something had to give.
First it was the car (public transportation was good enough). Then they started renting out a room (each kid didn't really need a whole room). The Wilsons were a strong, proud family, and didn't want the rest of their family to see what was happening. They were fine, really.
Christmas 2011 was when everything changed, for Kenzie, at least. It was their turn to host the family celebration, and there was no getting out of it. For months, the family cut more corners and saved every penny, and come December, they put on a good show and served turkey dinner and had presents and a tree and everyone was fooled, except Kenzie's aunt Margaret, who saw through the gilt exterior.
Margaret lived in Wellington, Florida, and while Kenzie had heard of the place (working with horses tended to do that), she'd never been down. She'd never shown, in fact, except for some dinky little schooling shows here and there. Margaret had a jumper in training, and would Kenzie like to come stay with her for the show season and take him around the ring a few times?
Kenzie was flabbergasted. Her parents were happy for her opportunity, and for another reason: if she left, it would one less mouth to feed. With only a little hemming and hawing, Kenzie joined an aunt she barely knew to a state she'd only seen in pictures.
It took months for Kenzie to figure out the sensitive, careful jumper gelding, but by April, she had shown him twice in the childrens' jumpers. She didn't exactly want to go home at the end of the season, and bless her parents, but they didn't want her back either. Mr. Wilson picked up an entry-level job and combined, their salaries were enough to cover two kids plus bills, and Kenzie would throw off their carefully-maintained balance.
And so Kenzie stayed the spring, and the summer, and the fall. Aunt Margaret leaves her alone most of the time, which means Kenzie is invariably at the barn, doing anything she can to pay off lessons.
Through years of hardship, Kenzie's learned to be tough. She doesn't complain, not ever, because the life she has now in infinitely better than the one she used to have. The word "no" is not in her vocabulary. Kenzie will try her heart out for anyone she trusts, and she will work through practically everything put in her way.
Kenzie still carries around relics from her past: a serious aversion to spending money, a tendency to hold on to what she has, and more than a touch of secrecy. She doesn't like to tell people where she lived before, for fear that they would judge her. But she does have quite a few friends, albeit friends who accept that she's not ever going to talk about life pre-Halcyon.
psynsation.
NINE. GELDING. ANGLO-ARAB. JUMPER.
Psynner's breeders thought he was going to be the Next Big Thing in dressage. Elegance of an Arabian, type of a Thoroughbred? What could go wrong?
A lot of things, as it turned out. Psynner definitely looks like a sporting horse, but he's thin-skinned and extremely sensitive. It was clear he wouldn't be calm enough for the amateur woman who bred him, so she sent him down the line to Margaret Wilson, aunt of one Makenna Wilson, who put him in training at Halcyon.
Psynner never got any less sensitive. He needs a solid inch of fleece between him and the saddle, the fattest full-cheek french link you can find, and absolutely nothing else. Seriously, the horse freaks out about a whip in the same arena as him. He's scared of nearly everything, and must be ridden by someone confident who will never, ever have anything more than a light contact, but will also give him moral support through everything.
He's still a star jumper, and he's fast, too, if you can get him past the scary flowers at the in-gate.
A lot of things, as it turned out. Psynner definitely looks like a sporting horse, but he's thin-skinned and extremely sensitive. It was clear he wouldn't be calm enough for the amateur woman who bred him, so she sent him down the line to Margaret Wilson, aunt of one Makenna Wilson, who put him in training at Halcyon.
Psynner never got any less sensitive. He needs a solid inch of fleece between him and the saddle, the fattest full-cheek french link you can find, and absolutely nothing else. Seriously, the horse freaks out about a whip in the same arena as him. He's scared of nearly everything, and must be ridden by someone confident who will never, ever have anything more than a light contact, but will also give him moral support through everything.
He's still a star jumper, and he's fast, too, if you can get him past the scary flowers at the in-gate.
