Isn’t it cool how power is still measured in horse units? Even across the metric/imperial divide, scientists worldwide still use the “hp” unit as an expression of strength of power. The Scotsman James Watt–famous for, well, the “watt” measurement of power–humbly coined the term in the late 19th century to allow comparisons between steam engine and draft horse power. He could have called it “MightyWatt” or “SuperWatt.” He might even have decided to create the term “megawatt”–but he left that to later physicians. Instead, Watt gave honor to the horse (whether he intended to or not) by creating an enduring measurement unit based on what he considered to be the power of a strong draft horse.
Specifically, at around 740 watts (745.7 for the imperialists and 735.5 for the metrics), one horsepower unit represents the power needed to lift 75 kg (165 pounds) a height of one meter (about three feet) in a time of one second (fortunately, imperialists and metrics agree on time measurement).
Animal locomotion : an electro-photographic investigation of consecutive phases of animal movements, 1872-1885 / By Eadweard Muybridge. Philadelphia : University of Pennylvania, 1887
It’s a nice reminder, in 2019, that horses can provide power for work and transport at a time when we desperately need green power sources.
But looking beyond this mechanical power, I like to think about what horsepower really is, for the people who’ve experienced it. How many of us have been affected, changed, even “saved” or “rescued,” by the power of the horse?
There’s something magical and, I think, inexplicable about the power of horses in the lives of people who love them. Somehow, perhaps through their unique blend of majestic strength, beauty, attentiveness, patience, faithfulness, intelligence, resilience, quiet expressiveness, and beyond-verbal communication–to name a few–they become our silent heroes.
What dearly loved horse hasn’t been the confidante, the devoted listener and shoulder to cry on, of his owner? What horse-person, when faced with emotional challenges, doesn’t run to the field or barn to gain strength from his or her horse?
And why is the amateur horse world made up of 90% women and girls? It seems no coincidence to me that this recent trend coincides with the rise of feminism in a world that still remains primarily patriarchal. Horses are a source of strength for people facing struggles of misguided authority, abuse of power, and unfair battles based on prejudices–common themes among today’s women and girls in developed countries. Horses tell us: I am powerful, yet I see you. I don’t let my innate power blind me. I am strong–much stronger than those you’re fighting against–but I hear you, and I listen to you. And as long as you are kind to me, I’ll never use my power against you.
Is it any wonder that there seems to be a trend of strong horse women who are also survivors of violence?
Horsepower. That’s what they’ve found. That’s where they found the energy to move forward, move on, and rebuild.
Women aren’t the only beneficiaries of horsepower, of course. Anyone, male or female, struggling with injustice can bond with a horse and find that magic of horsepower. It’s certainly why equitherapy is so effective in state prisons and addiction rehabilitation centers.
Sandra Bullock makes a connection with a police horse following substance abuse rehab in 28 Days.
Horsepower has another great application: in bullying. The drive that pushes people to bully others is a vast and complex topic of its own. But its dangers are significant. Bullying in childhood has lasting consequences, destroying self-esteem and seriously jeopardizing mental health; it’s a known catalyst for self-harm in young people, even preteens, including suicide.
Horses offer an escape and source of strength to people dealing with bullying. Children and young adults who feel isolated and friendless can connect and bond with horses, and benefit from their horsepower.
I remember Michael Morpurgo, author of War Horse, telling me about the little boy who came to his farm with his primary class, in the days before he became a famous writer. Michael and his wife used to run a pedagogical farm out in the English countryside, where they would receive groups of school children for a day, a few days, or a week, to get them out of the city and into nature. One week, they had a group staying with them that included a little nonverbal boy; his teacher warned the Morpurgos that the child wouldn’t speak to anyone and was very solitary. Michael and his wife decided to not push the boy to get involved, and just let him do whatever he felt comfortable doing. Late one night, feeding the animals in the barn, Michael heard a soft voice in a grand conversation. He followed the sound and discovered this little boy, out of bed in the middle of the night, opening up and telling everything he had on his mind to a horse. He spoke clearly and fluently to the one individual who gave him the power to do so: a horse.
That story has resonated with me for years–probably because, like many horse people, I relate to it. I know all too well what it’s like to talk to my horses instead of humans, to spend hours in a hayloft listening to the horses below munch their hay and snort, to breathe in that special horse odor that’s always associated with a sense of peace and strength.
That was never more true for me than during my middle school and high school days, when I dealt with immense bullying. I couldn’t relate to my classmates at school, and I faced every school day with dread, knowing I’d be teased, humiliated, and excluded. The one thing that kept me going through all those years, I know, was horsepower.
My newest article in The Horse tells this story. It’s the story of a girl getting a horse for Christmas. But it’s not a sticky sweet snob story about the spoiled rich kid getting spoiled even more during the holidays. It’s a story about survival and strength, about a horse providing me the kind of horsepower I needed to overcome my challenges. It’s about a red horse nicknamed Ladd, a game-changer who showed up just at the right time.
Appropriately, the name on his registration papers was Time To Bee.
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