I’m so glad we had this magical afternoon with our wedding photographer, Kristen Somody Whalen. Hurricane was twenty-three, well into his retirement; Philip couldn’t believe I was going to ride him in my black-tie-NYC-engagement-party dress. In the pre-wedding frenzy, we were lucky to have a good trainer on call: former World Cup champion Katharine Heller (née Burdsall) sat on Hurricane a couple of times, once with a comforter around her waist, to make sure he was ready for his haute couture moment.
He was a perfect gentleman, and loved the attention. Kristen captured the fantasy-princess-on-horseback thing—but also, more importantly, the personal stuff: how much I adored Hurricane; and his contentment, brightness, and kindness. (Philip knew all along not to try to compete with Hurricane for my heart; he’d just have to love me and my horse, a package deal.)
We also brought out Philip’s favorite old boy, Chekhov, who, true to form, got lower marks on behavior. Best looking twenty-seven-year-old horse I’ve ever seen—and naughty as ever. None of us would risk sitting on this one. (Photos juxtaposed to show behavioral contrast. We plan to hang some of these side-by-side in our barn one day.)
We brought Grappa to graze nearby so Hurricane wouldn’t feel upset about being separated from his longtime pasture companion. Here you can see him in the background:
Then we pulled out Philip’s vintage BMW motorcycles, plus his Jeep CJ-7. (Which was also the vehicle we drove, post-dress-change, to our middle-of-the-pasture wedding reception.) And we ditched the formal garb for some cowboy-and-cowgirl style.
Rick Owens dress, Rocketbuster boots, Hughes-Bosca sleeping beauty turquoise pendant. Philip’s boots by Lucchese.