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"HE GOT OFF THE TRUCK EYES WIDE OPEN, NOSTRILS FLARING, JUMPING ALL OVER EVERYBODY, AND JARED WAS LIKE, 'GREAT, I GOT THE IDIOT.' " —Derek Petersen someone just sit up there looking pretty on a horse," Anita explains. And show days are no exception. Jared doesn't have a groom at competitions—his daily routine is to wake up, feed all the horses, clean their stalls, tack up horses and then show. "It can be pretty difficult to get in all the barn chores and be in the ring," he admits. "Shows can be rough. Being at the farm then feels like a vacation!" Jared's brother, Joel, a full-time music major at Sante Fe Community College in Gainesville, Fla., is also expected to contribute to the family business despite not sharing a passion for riding. When Jared isn't on a horse he can be found playing in a church band with his brother; the 'shows' the family attends are equally likely to be of a musical nature as they are equine. "Drums are Joel's life, so we've got music in common and love playing together," Jared says. Both boys live on the farm, and this arrangement seems to suit all of them. "I enjoy everything I can with my kids, because you never know," Anita says. "They're really good kids, and I am so proud of them, where their lives are and the decisions they make." Jordan Coyne, an honorary family member and longtime girlfriend of Jared's, as well as an accomplished rider in her own right, rounds out the Petersen clan. She began riding with Derek when she was 16. She and Jared struck up a friendship, later began dating and now often compete against one other in the grand prix. Although Derek trains both riders (Coyne campaigns the Belgian Warmblood gelding Lazaro [Numero Uno—Peliana, Equator]), he jokes, "I hope Jared wins, because it's more money for me." This fairytale family rapport sounds almost too good to be true, and the Petersens are the first to admit that, despite all their best efforts and unwavering faith in God, sometimes it is. Problems still arise, and they don't have all the answers. "I'm not saying my kids are perfect," Anita says. "They still screw up. We're all human." And her husband and eldest son, she adds, are not immune from the problems that plague all familial training relationships. Sometimes they grow tired of one another; sometimes they argue. They are, in short, just like every other family. "It's kind of a love/hate thing," Jared says. "We're both very competitive, and sometimes we get really mad and frustrated, but in the end I know he has my best interests in mind, even though sometimes we'll be fighting tooth and nail. Sometimes we just take out our frustrations on each other, but I couldn't ask for anything better than to have my dad training me and including me in the business. "And it's usually me—it's normally not him—at the end of the day going, 'Ohhhh, I'm an idiot,' " Jared adds. "I still have a lot to learn." But even in the toughest times, the Petersens agree it's a rare honor and a privilege to work with the ones you love the most. "It's very cool to see your own son going out there and doing what you have a passion for, and he loves it," Derek says. "He's better than I am, for sure, and going to go further than I ever went. To get to do what I loved as a kid for a living and to watch my son go and do that... I wouldn't trade it for nothing." Be Fruitful And Multiply Along with training services, the Petersens' Legacy Farm is also a small breeding operation that stands the Holsteiner stallion Cisco (Concerto II—Harada, Corrado). Their stud doesn't have a biblical name, Derek points out with a chuckle, because "he's an approved Holsteiner from Germany, and over there it's all about breeding and pedigree and names, so we didn't want to mess with it. "I showed him in the grand prix," Derek adds. "We breed him to several mares every year, and he just throws the same thing every time, you can count on it. It's unbelievable. They all have the same brain, same eye and same look. You can breed it to 15 different mares, and he'll throw the same, which is rare for a stallion." Last year, they had a crop of six babies, which they start themselves—a task Derek finds especially enjoyable, since, he brags, Cisco babies are "born broke." Within a week, he teaches a 2-year-old to walk, trot, canter, swap leads and hop over tiny jumps. "I always keep the 2-yearolds in the field next to the jump ring where we ride every day, and I swear, they just watch and learn," he says. "You get on them, and they're like, 'Oh, OK, I know this stuff.' " C H RO N O F H O R S E .CO M W INTER 2013 45

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