In honor of St. Patricks Day, here's my Favorite Hunting Flask Recipe!

Sláinte...

In Cornwall (Portrait of the Artist's Wife) -Alfred James Munnings

If we’ve ever spent any time together, you undoubtedly learned that my heart was captured by horses from the time I was just a little lass. It's a love story that's weathered many seasons and many years—and thankfully, I found a partner who not only accepted my equine infatuation but embraced it with open arms. When my horse Shimmeree, nuzzled up to him over 30 years ago, I knew he was a keeper.

My early days in the saddle were under the tutelage of a spirited Irishwoman named Noreen Bailey. Like many of her kin, Noreen possessed a magical touch with horses that was both enchanting and exasperating. Spending over a decade under her guidance, I picked up a bit of a brogue along the way. I had a love-hate relationship with her—struggling with a pony, only for her to hop on and whisper a few Gaelic words, coaxing him into obedience.

Mrs. Bailey imparted invaluable lessons in natural horse care. She brewed her own liniments, cooked up flaxseed jelly on the stove, and scattered pine boughs to ward off worms. Her horses enjoyed a life unlike any others I knew, spending their days outdoors, basking in freedom and fresh air. Lameness, colic, diabetes, laminitis—these ailments were rare in her barns because she understood the importance of keeping horses close to their natural state.

I cherished the nights I spent at her barn before a horse show. Her cozy apartment nestled above the stables echoed with the sounds of equine contentment—snorts, snuffles, and the occasional hoof kick. The scent of warm hay would follow me up the stairs, and I'd settle in with a bowl of soup, enjoying the ambiance despite her less-than-stellar culinary skills. But her hot toddies? They were legendary, capable of curing any ailment overnight. Many a time, I'd sip one, drift off to sleep, and wake up ready to tackle the show ring with gusto come morning. I never questioned her wisdom when she handed me that steaming cup at just 8 years old, and to this day, I'm grateful. It's my trusted remedy whenever I'm feeling under the weather. But it's also become my faithful companion at Hunter Trials or on trail rides—a perfect sip for those crisp fall mornings when the leaves dance down, the horses vibrate with energy, and the air carries a sweet, brisk scent.

The recipe is delightfully simple—a splash of Bushmills (only Irish whiskey will do, of course!), a dollop of honey, a squeeze of lemon, a dash of cinnamon, a pat of butter, and a handful of raisins, all in whatever proportions suit your fancy! If you're in need of a warm toddy, add some hot tea (my preference is Constant Comment—a blend I still cherish!). And if you're preparing it for your flask, pour it all into a bottle and let it steep overnight, giving it a gentle shake every now and then.

The author and her beloved friend Henry

Though she's been gone for many years now, her memory lingers on. I owe much of who I am as a horsewoman to her. She not only gave me my seat in the saddle but also ignited a passion within me that has lasted a lifetime.

So here's to you, Mrs. Bailey, wherever you may be. Happy St. Patrick's Day! May your horses always be spirited, your company young at heart, and may you know just how deeply I cherished you.