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Tyler Walker, 9, sits high on his saddle at the Freedom Hills Therapeutic Riding Program in Port Deposit, his slight frame straight, a leather riding crop resting lightly in his hand.
In the blistering heat of a summer afternoon, Tyler's new riding helmet slips down on his forehead, nudged there by a steady stream of sweat that trickles down the youngster's face. Tyler squints intently as his riding instructor, Renee Luther, gently guides him and two other horse-riding students around a dusty ring.
From an equestrian's point of view, the simple trot they're mastering isn't impressive, but to Tyler's mother, watching from close by, it's nothing short of a miracle.
"He was born hydrocephalic," Bonnie Walker says. "They said he'd never even walk. And look at him now."
"He's in control," agrees Jeff Dressler, a fellow parent and observer, nodding vigorously. "When he's on the horse, he's like every other kid."
That sort of transformation was exactly what Luther, Freedom Hills' founder and director, set out to produce, when she started the therapeutic riding program more than 20 years ago.
She returned to her family's 165-acre farm from college in 1982, armed with little more than a bachelor's degree in equine science and a fierce determination to help physically and mentally disabled children.
Luther and her sister, fellow instructor Robyn Sherrard, have spent two decades helping hundreds of kids with special needs. Children such as Tyler; Dress- ler's older daughter, Allie; and Rebekah Ragan and Lyndsay Montgomery, both of whom have cerebral palsy, come to Freedom Hills from across the area to experience what nature rarely offers them: the chance to be joyous, carefree children who -- while they're riding -- are no different than their peers.
Once a week, astride Frodo, Kelly or one of the program's six other trained horses, the youngsters master far more than the basic skills of riding. They build stronger muscles, greater self-esteem, and new friendships -- often equine.
Asked by a visitor what they love best about the riding program, all of the children beam and offer the same answer: the horses. And it appears to be mutual: The gentle creatures submit patiently to squirming, sometimes slumping riders.
Animal-assisted therapy is not new, but it has gained in popularity and credibility in recent years through medical studies showing measurable physical, as well as mental, benefits to patients.
Therapeutic riding programs, once unknown in this country, have blossomed in every state since 1969, when they were introduced from Europe.
There are 700 such programs in the United States alone, serving an estimated 36,000 riders
each year, according to the North American Riding for the Handicapped Association. Maryland has nearly a dozen programs, including Freedom Hills, which is the only program serving Cecil and Harford counties.
According to experts, therapeutic riding provides three main benefits.
"The first is mechanical, and has to do with motion," says Michael Kaufman, education director of NARHA. "For a person who can't walk, for example, riding a horse is the closest simulation to walking. The second is a normalizing environment. Many people with disabilities are used to being in hospitals or special settings. When you come to a riding center, all that is blown out of the water.
"And the third, almost intangible," he said, "is the relationship with the animal. It's often easier to establish a relationship with an animal, and that opens the door to building other relationships."
Part of the appeal of therapeutic riding, experts say, is that it meets different needs for different people.
For physically disabled riders, equine therapy helps them regain muscle strength and mobility though a nontraditional form of exercise, and there are licensed programs that specialize in medical rehabilitation.
Other programs, such as the one at Freedom Hills, use equine therapy to help patients with other tasks, such as building trust and learning responsibility.
Freedom Hills also includes nondisabled children in some classes, so that all riders can benefit from the experience of being around someone who is different. Luther and her sister, the center's only instructors, try to cater to riders' needs.
"We teach everyone as an individual, and we all have special needs," Luther says. She explains that just because an individual is challenged doesn't mean that she is limited. "If you have a highly functioning, mentally retarded person, he or she might achieve at the same level as someone who's not. The sky's the limit on what they can do."
For many of the children in the program, therapeutic riding provides their first real experience at feeling "normal."
"She's able to be independent, and she can do everything on her own and do it well," says Rebekah's mother, Kim, with a catch in her voice. "Everything else in her life is hard, and this is easy."
Ragan also says the benefits extend beyond those garnered by the riders themselves.
"There have been times when, because of Rebecca's medical costs, we wouldn't have been able to afford riding. Most families of disabled kids cannot afford riding because we have to spend so much on their medical necessities. By keeping the costs low, Freedom Hills has really provided that benefit for the family as a whole."
In fact, Freedom Hills keeps costs deliberately low -- $25 for group lessons, $45 for private lessons -- and frequently waives fees if families are unable to pay. The philosophy, Luther says, is to offer any child the opportunity to benefit from therapeutic riding. That commitment, however, means that there are months at a time when the center's budget is impossibly tight.
"I didn't write a paycheck for the whole month of February," says Sandi Didra, Freedom Hills' bookkeeper. "Robyn and Renee's dedication is just unbelievable -- they work 24 hours a day, seven days a week. How can you put a price on that?"
Didra doesn't mention the instructors' low salaries or that neither woman took any salary for the first 15 years of the center's existence.
Luther shrugs off the notion that what they do is extraordinary.
"I had this farm, and I saw kids with needs. Somebody had to do it," she says. "I ask the Lord to direct my path and he does. He always provides."
She would still like, however, the means to buy equipment or horses. Freedom Hills is in dire need of horses they can begin to train for eventual replacement of their current school horses.
And Luther wonders whether there will ever be funds to build an indoor riding ring, which the center needs for inclement weather. At an estimated cost of $150,000, however, it's likely that they'll continue to make do with what they have. Other supplies, such as hay and worming medicine, must be paid for first.
Like all nonprofit organizations, Freedom Hills and its volunteer board depend on fund raising. Its annual budget stands at around $100,000, most of which comes from individual and corporate donations. The center receives no county funding, and all professional services -- from veterinary visits to physical therapy and bookkeeping -- are donated. On Aug. 2, the program is sponsoring a community workday, asking volunteers to help replace stall doors, repair fencing and donate other goods and services. Many parents of program participants volunteer on a regular basis.
To Luther, the long hours, meager pay and less-than-ideal facilities are all worth it.
"Not long ago," she said, "Rebekah said to me: 'Miss Renee, I know you don't make a lot of money, but you make me happy.'"
Shrugging her shoulders, Luther smiled.
"What more could I ask?"
Copyright © 2003, The Baltimore Sun
