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Monthly Archives: September 2016

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Unfortunately, dogs don’t consult the ‘Field Guide to North American Mushrooms’ before choosing which to eat and which to leave alone.

By Matthew Kearns, DVM

After a hot, dry August, we’re starting to get some late summer/early fall rain, and the rain brings the mushrooms. Some wild mushrooms are edible (and quite tasty); however, some can be downright toxic. Both classes of wild mushrooms grow right in our backyards and flourish at this time of year.

Names like toadstool, death cap and destroying angel make me want to make sure I don’t eat the wrong type. Unfortunately, dogs don’t consult the “Field Guide to North American Mushrooms” before choosing which to eat and which to leave alone.

The most common toxic genera of mushrooms are Amanita, Galerina and Lepiota. These genera carry a specific toxin called cyclopeptides. Cyclopeptides interfere with the nucleic acids RNA and DNA transcriptase, and these compounds are integral for cell replication. Therefore, cyclopeptides affect organ systems that have a large cell turnover (the GI system, liver and a portion of the kidneys). Other toxic mushrooms can affect the central nervous system, but they are not as common in this part of the country.

Above, the destroying angel mushroom is toxic to dogs.
Above, the destroying angel mushroom is toxic to dogs.

The initial symptoms usually start within 6 to 12 hours of exposure and affect the gastrointestinal tract, causing serious vomiting and diarrhea. The diarrhea many times becomes bloody, but dehydration secondary to vomiting and diarrhea is a bigger concern than blood in the stool. If untreated, the dehydration alone can lead to shock and organ dysfunction.

If the patient recovers from the initial GI signs, they can still develop liver and kidney dysfunction. If the exposure is small (this depends not only on the amount of mushrooms eaten but also the size/weight of the dog), the patient can make a complete recovery over a period of weeks to months. However, if the exposure is large, this can lead to complete liver or kidney failure.

Initial treatment involves hospitalization for decontamination and supportive care. In severe cases it is recommended to lavage (or pump) the stomach in conjunction with activated charcoal (to prevent further absorption) and IV fluids.

When I still worked emergency full time and we had a known or suspect mushroom toxicity, as long as we were able to control the vomiting, administer activated charcoal and support with IV fluids, the patients were discharged without any long-term damage.

How do we prevent mushroom exposure? Mushrooms are fungi and grow better under certain conditions. Some mushrooms require low amounts of light, but many do not. All mushrooms need a lot of moisture and decaying plant material. Therefore, making sure there is adequate drainage and removing any leaves, branches and other debris on a regular basis can reduce the amount of mushrooms grown.

Also, reduce watering (if you water regularly) to portions of your lawn prone to mushrooms. If you see mushrooms, remove them immediately at the base to prevent the aeration of spores. Then use a sharp shovel in an “up and away” fashion to remove the soil. If you can’t do that, use a garden rake or hoe to aerate that area and provide better drainage.

If you know that your dog has eaten mushrooms, bring him or her to your veterinarian immediately and follow their instructions. If your vet recommends hospitalization, IV fluids, inducing emesis (vomiting) and activated charcoal, then follow their instructions. Although it may be a little more expensive, it is better to be more aggressive early than to play catchup later. Also, treat your yard. Remember, “An ounce of prevention …”

Dr. Kearns practices veterinary medicine from his Port Jefferson office.

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Hillary Clinton’s lead in the polls at this point in the election cycle hardly guarantees victory. Image by Mike Sheinkopf

By Helmut Norpoth

Labor Day marks the unofficial end of summer and, in presidential election years, the traditional beginning of the general election campaign. At this juncture Nate Silver’s popular website, FiveThirtyEight, has all but anointed Democrat Hillary Clinton as the inevitable winner over Republican Donald Trump in November. The 538 forecast based on an aggregation of polls gives Clinton a 70 percent chance, give or take a point, to defeat Trump. It is a victory not only in the popular vote but also in the Electoral College. The polling averages produced by RealClearPolitics and The Huffington Post agree. They all have shown a Clinton lead for months, punctured only briefly when Trump clinched the GOP nomination in primaries or won it at the Republican National Convention. Polls are shining a bright light on Clinton’s prospects while casting a dark shadow on Trump’s. So it seems. How serious should we take these poll-driven forecasts?

By now we have lived with scientific polls in American presidential elections for 80 years. It started in 1936, when George Gallup conducted the first poll of a representative sample of American voters. For the record, he got it right that year. Few readers may be old enough to remember. Franklin Roosevelt was running in 1936 against … quick, who was the Republican opponent? OK, it was Alf Landon of Kansas. FDR led him in every poll conducted by Gallup and won in one of the biggest landslides — a great start. Gallup would not always be so lucky. In 1948, his polling consistently showed Republican Tom Dewey defeating Democrat Harry Truman, the incumbent president, who wound up with the victory on Election Day.

Back to Labor Day. At this point during the 2008 election cycle, Republican John McCain was ahead of Democrat Barack Obama 49 percent to 44 percent in the Gallup poll. Many probably don’t remember it. McCain’s lead was famously trumpeted as a “game change,” triggered by his choice of Sarah Palin as his running mate. The strong showing of the GOP ticket in the polls raised the hopes of the McCain camp for a victory in the November, while unnerving the Obama camp. Then the economy took a sudden nosedive as Lehman Brothers collapsed and Wall Street crashed. As the candidate of the White House party, on whose watch this calamity occurred, McCain saw his fortunes tank in the polls. It also did not help that Palin, his vice-presidential candidate, came across as clueless and tongue-tied on television in interviews with Charlie Gibson and Katie Couric. So, real-life events unfavorable to the White House party and missteps in the election campaign combined to reverse a lead in the polls that one side, McCain in this case, enjoyed at the beginning of the general election campaign. Lesson: Beware of pollsters bearing election forecasts eight weeks before Election Day.

Helmut Norpoth is a political science professor at Stony Brook University and has designed models to forecast elections in the U.S. and abroad. He will be contributing ongoing election analysis ahead of the 2016 election.

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By Michael Tessler

Covered in ash, crawling through rubble, debris and fire — we found hope. Watching as brave heroes marched into towers set aflame — we found courage. Seeing an American flag rise above a hellish landscape of melted steel, blood and death — we found unity.

Our nation, at least for a moment, stood as one. Though shattered, our hearts pounded together in perfect rhythm. We knew that we would overcome the horrors seared into our memory that dreadful September day. Americans, by nature, do that — overcome. We rebuild, we remember and we defend our great American experiment. For more than two centuries we’ve fought for that noble concept, despite all odds and adversities. No enemy foreign or domestic has ever been able to change that simple and profound truth.

Thomas Butler from Kings Park, right, made the ultimate sacrifice while saving others on 9/11. Photo from Michael Tessler
Thomas Butler from Kings Park, right, made the ultimate sacrifice while saving others on 9/11. Photo from Michael Tessler

My memory of that day is the clearest of my entire childhood. For so many years I’ve loved heroes I’ve never met. Mourned at the reading of names: the mothers, fathers, daughters and sons. They often come to mind, especially their families, whose loss remains profound and ever present.

Fifteen years later we’ve strayed far from that national singularity, that special comfort knowing that even in the chaos, we have one another. Today it feels that we are torn so far apart that I can barely recognize the America I love.

In this time of darkness, I’m reminded of wisdom bestowed upon us by the greatest generation, in a time not so dissimilar from our own: “… the only thing we have to fear, is fear itself.” Perhaps our nation is still reeling in forgotten grief. Or maybe we’ve lost our national innocence and have given into the cynicism. Perhaps a decade of violence with no end has rendered us apathetic to the world at large, but I refuse to believe that is true or permanent. There will never be a clear path forward, but it must be clear that there is a path forward.

We do not have to agree with one another to show civility, we do not have to hate to protect ourselves, and we must not allow fear to dictate our lives. Those who perished represented nearly every facet of the American people. Their religions, race, sexual orientation, gender, hopes, dreams and aspirations in no way diminished the gaping hole we felt from their loss. They were people, they were our American kin, and we must ensure that “never forget” is not just a Hallmark slogan but an eternal call to action.

We are Americans. We will crawl through ash, rubble, debris and fire to give one another hope. We will march up towers aflame to give one another courage. We will raise an American flag above a landscape however hellish to let the world know that we are the UNITED States of America and that “a government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

In loving memory of Thomas M. Butler, the hero I never knew.

Michael Tessler is the Special Projects Manager for TBR News Media.

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Abby Wambach greets fans at the Book Revue on Sept. 12. Photo by Rebecca Anzel

By Rebecca Anzel

Abby Wambach signs copies of her books at the Book Revue on Monday night. Photo by Rebecca Anzel
Abby Wambach signs copies of her books at the Book Revue on Monday night. Photo by Rebecca Anzel

Paying it forward:

Soccer star Abby Wambach, who played forward on the U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team, visited the Book Revue in Huntington on Monday night to meet fans and sign copies of her new books, “Forward: A Memoir” and “Forward: My Story Young Readers’ Edition.”

The 36-year-old is a two-time Olympic gold medalist who, with 184 career goals, holds the world record for international goals for both male and female athletes. She retired from the sport on Oct. 27, 2015, the day President Barack Obama honored her team for winning the FIFA World Cup that year. About 500 people lined up to meet the player Obama called “an inspiration” with a “not-so-quiet dominance.”

Many in attendance were young female soccer players who came wearing their team jerseys and asked Wambach for a high five.

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'Children in the Park' by Sylvia Kirk

Above, ‘Children in the Park’ by Sylvia Kirk

By Kevin Redding

A classical piano recital by Alexandria Le will be held in conjunction with the art exhibit. Photo from Ed Mikell
A classical piano recital by Alexandria Le will be held in conjunction with the art exhibit. Photo from Ed Mikell

For the opening of its seventh season as the premiere classical music series on Long Island, Le Petit Salon de Musique will do something a little different and more ambitious than any of its previous events. On Sunday, Oct. 16 at 2 p.m., not only will there be a grand presentation of a variety of classical compositions — performed by Carnegie Hall chamber pianist Alexandria Le — but also a gallery of local art that will serve as visual representation of the concert’s main piece: Russian composer Modest Mussorgsky’s stunning “Pictures at an Exhibition.”

The famous 10-movement suite was written in 1874 in response to the death of artist Viktor Hartmann, one of Mussorgsky’s dearest friends, and intended to be “evocative of a walk through an art exhibit.” Beginning with an artist reception on Sunday, Sept. 18 from 2 to 4 p.m. and continuing through Oct. 31, the community will be able to take that walk at Pictures at an Exhibition: Revisited at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship in Stony Brook.

Coordinators of the event, from left, Sylvia Kirk and Linda and Ed Mikell. Photo by Kevin Redding
Coordinators of the event, from left, Sylvia Kirk and Linda and Ed Mikell. Photo by Kevin Redding

Ed and Linda Mikell, the Commack residents behind the concert series, sought to honor the whole theme of the piece and with the help of exhibit curator Sylvia Kirk, 16 local artists working in different forms of media were chosen to visually represent and accompany the music. Linda, who is a former voice major and music teacher, had been a fan of this specific suite for a while when she discovered that Le would be performing it. “It’s one of my favorite pieces,” she said, “and I just kept thinking ‘wouldn’t it be fabulous if we could enlist some local photographers and artists for this?’ and I immediately thought of Sylvia, who kind of curates our little gallery here when we have a show. She knew so many photographers and we have a bunch of artists in the Fellowship so we met three times at my house, played the music, explained what the composer envisioned, and then people just went off and came back with their art.”

Kirk, whose own work will be included in the exhibition, rounded up a wide variety of artistic talent from the area, opening it up to anybody that did anything in any medium. Gallery visitors will see a quilt piece, a pastel piece, paintings, and a large focus on photography — which has lent itself especially well to the concepts within each movement.

“There are 16 artists and 23 pieces [overall], so some artists have two pieces,” said Kirk. “There’s three or four photo montages, two of them did digital art — they do all kinds of things digitally with their photographs — and many of us just took straight photos.” According to Kirk, some of the artists have decided to donate their work to be sold. As is the case for the musicians, their proceeds will be split with the fellowship.

'The Old Castle' by Jerry Levy.
‘The Old Castle’ by Jerry Levy.

Some of the 10 movements include the dark and melancholy sounds of “The Gnome” and “The Old Castle,” more lighthearted scherzos like “The Ballet of Unhatched Chicks in their Shells,” and the triumphant “The Great Gate at Kiev.”

The Artists:

Linda Anderson, Bruce S.G. Barrett, Doris Diamond, Julie Doczi, Susan Dooley, Jan Golden, Faye Graber, Merrill Heit, Kathee Kelson, Sylvia Kirk, Lily Klima, Jerry Levy, Eric Lohse,  Frances McGuire, Keelin Murphy and Len Sciacchitano

“Each movement has a picture associated with it,” said Ed. “I said to my wife that we should have a description or an explanation of what it is that the artists have addressed when they put their pieces together, a description of the events and what’s being interpreted.”

The Mikells, who launched the concert series in 2010 with Le as its first performer, want to continue giving those in attendance — performers and audiences alike — a great experience. “Everybody who comes out over the years have wonderful things to say,” said Ed. “They don’t really know or care what’s playing. They just know it’s going to be quality stuff.”

“People travel all the way into the city to hear this quality of music,” added Linda, “but it’s right here. You can walk right in the door, sit, and be 10 feet from the performers.”

Le Petit Salon de Musique, 380 Nicolls Road, East Setauket will welcome Alexandria Le in concert on Oct. 16 at 2 p.m. Tickets are $20 adults ($15 online), $15 seniors ($10 online) and $5 for students. For more information, call 751-0297 or visit www.lepetitsalon.org.

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Courtesy of the Erie Canal Museum An 1852 Abbot map of the Erie Canal.

By Beverly C. Tyler

Farming on Long Island has changed significantly over the past 350 years. The early settlers in Brookhaven used horses and oxen, raised cows, pigs and sheep and grew a wide variety of crops including wheat, Indian corn, barley, rye, flax, grasses, apple and pear trees. As wheat and Indian corn were the largest and most important crops, the local gristmill became the vital connection between the farm field and table.

For farmers, the miller and the blacksmith were the vital craftsmen. Brookhaven’s colonial blacksmiths worked in iron to produce farm tools and hardware. They made horseshoes and shod horses, oxen and occasionally cows. In 1681, John Thompson, Brookhaven’s blacksmith, made all the iron and steel work for a new Setauket gristmill run by John Wade.

By the end of the 18th century, increased agricultural productivity was becoming vital to Long Island farmers. By enriching the soil with seaweed, shells and manure, Suffolk County farmers increased the yield of each acre of wheat and other grains by two to three times. However, the dominance of wheat in Long Island agriculture was soon to change.

At the start of the 19th century, New York City had a number of tidal gristmills along the East River to grind grain. Grain and flour came from Long Island and as far away as Ohio. Grain from the west, transported by wagon, was more expensive than Long Island grain. This, however, was also soon to change.

With the end of the War of 1812, trade with Europe and Great Britain resumed. Europeans remained willing to pay high prices for American cotton and wheat. Great Britain passed the “Corn Law of 1815,” placing a tax on the import of grains. This was to keep the price of grains up and preserve the profits of the “landed gentry” (the British noblemen who owned most of the land).

In 1812 the United States exported 1.3 million barrels of flour to Britain. In 1816 that fell to about half (620,000 barrels). Long Island farmers still earned their living by raising grain and herding livestock, as they had since the 17th century. Now they began to have a wider market through New York City.

The Erie Canal forever changed Long Island’s relationship with New York City. Begun in 1817, the Erie Canal was fully completed in 1825 from Buffalo to Albany — a distance of 363 miles — establishing a water commerce route between the Hudson River and the Great Lakes.

The effect of the canal on Long Island and New York City population and commerce was dramatic. By 1826, 42 barges a day carried 1,000 passengers, 221,000 barrels of flour, 435,000 gallons of whiskey and 562,000 bushels of wheat. Shipping costs from Lake Erie to Manhattan plummeted from $100 a ton to less than $9.00.

By 1830, due largely to the Erie Canal, New York, which had always been behind Philadelphia and Boston in exports, was exporting four times as much as Philadelphia. By 1850, New York’s exports had grown another 160 percent.

On Long Island, wheat, barley, corn and rye proved unable to compete with cereal grains from the West. By 1836, with a population that more than doubled to over 275,000 since 1820 and shipping that tripled over the same period, Long Island farmers, seeing their market disappear, switched to raising potatoes, cabbage, peas, beans, asparagus and tomatoes for booming Manhattan and Brooklyn.

To be continued next time: A trip on the Erie Canal.

Beverly Tyler is the Three Village Historical Society historian and author of books available from the Three Village Historical Society, 93 North Country Road, Setauket, NY 11733. Tel: 631-751-3730. WWW.TVHS.org.

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Throughout our lives there are roads not taken. What might have happened, who might we have become, are all fascinating questions for which we will never know the answers. Suppose we had gone to a different college, married a different spouse, taken a different first job, followed a different career path, how would our lives have played out? Now most people we have asked have said they would change little or nothing in their lives if they had a do-over, that they had few regrets. But suppose the circumstances had changed, that when we were presented with a choice, we had taken the other road. It can be fun to speculate.

So, to paraphrase Yogi Berra’s famous quote, what are some of those other forks in the road?

The first such choice that comes to mind for me is the decision my husband and I made to return to the East Coast. He was ending his stint in the Air Force in Texas, and he had gotten a job offer from the medical center at The University of Oklahoma. We went to look, my husband and I and our then two children. The people were gracious, welcoming and encouraging. The medical school had a position open in the ophthalmology department, and he was thought to be the right fit after his considerable experience taking care of airmen and their families. The school made him what sounded to us, after the military, like a terrific offer. He toured the hospital, we were shown nice areas of Oklahoma City in which we might live, we were taken to dinner at a country club and we met several other young families who were happily settled there. At the end of a lovely weekend, we turned to each other and said “no.”

We were sure that we wanted to settle in San Diego, California. We had been out to the West Coast during my husband’s vacation weeks, and we loved the area — La Jolla in particular. The city was set in the hills, curved around the harbor, offered a fine academic and cultural existence and had the best climate in the United States. My husband hated the cold weather and thought he had found Shangri-la. I wasn’t so sure about the occasional earthquake tremors that rattled the dishes in the cabinet where we stayed, but I lusted for the ocean after two years in northern Texas. A decision was made: We would move there as soon as he was discharged. He even found a possible associate in a growing practice and we checked out a couple of places to live.

OK, you might ask, how did we wind up on the North Shore of Long Island?

The answer: family. Our children were my parents’ only grandchildren, my parents were our children’s only grandparents, and in those days — the late 1960s — flying between coasts was a big deal involving many hours and changes of planes. And, anyway, my father hated to fly. Additionally my parents were tied to their business in New York City with no plans to retire. On the other side, my husband’s three siblings and their families, along with aunts and cousins, were all in the New York area.

We reluctantly yielded to the pull of family and, in a manner of speaking, we left our hearts in San Diego and came east. We then had to decide where in the vicinity of New York we would stay. The choice was between two medical centers that were on the drawing board: Valhalla, in Westchester, and Stony Brook. So how did we wind up here? That is a story for another column.

Would we be different had we settled in La Jolla? Would our children be different? Ironically one of my sons felt the siren song of that beautiful coastal city of San Diego and almost moved there. But the proximity to family, among other considerations, prevailed. Had we taken the other road, we would be the same people with the same values, I trust, but the details of our lives? We will never know.

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Extended family has that wonderful yet terrible ring to it. When we gather with family we may not have seen in years, we get the chance to reminisce, to share details about our lives, and to face the horror of seeing someone who insists on reminding us of something we said or did that we’ve spent years working to forget.

Recently, we gathered with a large group of family and got to watch our children, who are now in middle and high schools, face the same treatment I recall all too well from my youth.

“He’s so grown up and handsome,” is one of the more innocuous statements about my son.

“He has your dimples,” another offered, which would be flattering except that I don’t have dimples. That lady insisted, however, that the laugh lines on the sides of my face were like dimples, to which my son and I blinked our long eyelashes, which he did get from me, and moved on.

“The last time I saw you,” one friend started, “you must have been no more than this high,” she suggested, holding her hand around mid-knee level. “Do you remember?”

No, how could he remember? When you’re that small, you barely remember your own name.

Back when I was a kid, older relatives used to approach my cheeks as if they were fruit they had to squeeze to make themselves prune juice. Between thumb and index finger, they’d grip tightly while spitting into my face something about how cute I’d become. I’d focus on not letting the tears spill down my sore cheeks as these distant relatives couldn’t keep their distance.

Other people’s kids grow up incredibly quickly because we don’t have to take care of them when they get sick at night, drive them to sports or music practices, or push them to do their homework. We don’t have to battle with them when they decide that everything anyone who is more than 20 years old says is absolute nonsense and that they don’t want to live by anyone else’s rules.

We can look at other people’s children as if they are a part of some longitudinal study or as if we are flipping through the pages of a picture book that spans several years.

When I see some of these children who drift in and out of my life every few years, I’m tempted to tell them stories that wouldn’t interest them, about how incredibly shy they were 10 years earlier, or how their laugh used to be like a bubble machine, filling the room with happy suds. For the giggling girl who became the taciturn teenager, those stories are as welcome as persistent questions about the boys in her grade or events that occurred during the day in school.

I can’t stop myself from commenting on how much taller the kids are getting, in large part because many of these teenagers, who I used to get on one knee to see eye to eye, are now towering over me. I even made one of them smile when I asked if he wouldn’t mind bending down to hug me.

At this recent gathering, I asked my son to go around the table and name as many of the relatives as he could. The relatives were aghast at my putting him on the spot but, thoroughly enjoying the day, he recognized the request was a playful prank.

No matter what I say to other people’s kids, I make sure I don’t pinch anyone’s cheeks. Even all these years later, I can still see those feral fingers and thumbs coming at me like talons.

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Firefighters place caps over hearts in memory of those lost during the Setauket Fire District's 9/11 Memorial Commemoration Sept. 11th. Photo by Greg Catalano,

On the 15th anniversary of the terror attacks on Sept. 11, we reminisce about how on that day, and for so many days that followed, we felt united as a country. A persistent theme when discussing the events is that the aftermath of the attacks brought us closer together as a nation. Our editorial staff would argue that 15 years removed means we still reside in the aftermath, and the legacy of 9/11 is still being written.

If we continue to splinter along party and racial lines, ties that bound us together in a time of horrible tragedy will simply be forgotten.

There was evidence that immediately following the events, we grew closer as a nation. Stories proliferated about long lines of blood donors, American flags flew everywhere — on front porches and cars — people took the time to help one another and civility ruled the day. And as we observed memorial events throughout the past weekend, communities still came together in harmony and with pride.

The initial feelings of solidarity as a reaction to the horrific events were real. However, we would hope that 15 years later, this feeling of unity would continue to apply to more issues.

After visiting classrooms and speaking with teachers, some of whom are now educating children who were born after that day in 2001 or are too young to remember it, the theme of unity struck a chord with them as well.

Our editorial staff wonders how America right now must look to those same students. They can turn on the news and witness divisiveness in an unfathomably ugly election season or see an NFL player being both heavily criticized and highly praised for kneeling during the national anthem. Do we still seem united?

While we feel a sense of togetherness on the anniversary of that day, as we recall the tremendous loss of innocents, or remember those who risked their lives to save others and think of those out there fighting to protect this country, there is still an overwhelming sense that we are growing further and further apart.

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"Ride for Becca" foundation created to help promising equestrians

22-year-old equestrian Rebecca Weissbard died suddenly when her horse fell on her during a jumping competition. Photo from the Weissbard family

Gold Medal-winning, 22-year-old equestrian Rebecca Weissbard died Aug. 31 in Saugerties, New York, when her horse accidentally fell on her during a jumping competition.

Her father Eric and her mother Lynne plan to honor their daughter’s memory by establishing a nonprofit for talented riders to help them fulfill their dreams, he said in a telephone interview. Acknowledging the fact that it is an expensive sport, their goal is to provide financial help to working-class kids who show potential and share Rebecca’s passion for horses.

Becca, as she was known, died instantly.  “It was quick,” her father said. “[The paramedics] tried their best, but nothing could be done.”

She was participating in one of the largest horse shows in the country, called HITS-on-the-Hudson. Becca and her mother were in upstate New York, and her father was home on the North Shore, serving a shift as an EMT with the Stony Brook Fire Department.

Rebecca Weissbard with her father, Eric. Photo from the Weissbard family
Rebecca Weissbard with her father, Eric. Photo from the Weissbard family

“She was such a dignified and well-put-together young woman,” Eric Weissbard said. “She wanted to be the best — to do it properly. She lived her passion and her dream. She worked hard and excelled. It is only fitting that we help other kids pursue their dreams.”

Her grandmother, Rochelle Weissbard, remembered Becca being around horses practically from birth.

“Rebecca was on a horse when she was a few months old — on her mother’s back; on her father’s back,” Rochelle said. “When she was two Lynne went back to training riders at Smoke Run [Farm] in Stony Brook and she took Becca with her. Right from the beginning she was a natural — and fearless.”

Raised in Stony Brook, Becca attended William Sidney Mount Elementary School through sixth grade. Her parents established Sundance Stables in Medford in 2003 but soon outgrew their rented barn and relocated the stable to Manorville.

“Rebecca was the welcoming, cheerful pied piper of the kids,” her grandmother said. “Wherever she was there was love and there was joy — and silliness — but when she was ready to ride, she’d take care of business. And she did. When focused, there was no one better. She rode to win.”

The grandparents have long supported the quadrennial Maccabiah Games held in Israel that bring together Olympic-caliber Jewish athletes from around the world. Traditionally held the year following the Summer Olympic Games, they are sanctioned by the International Olympic Committee and the World Federation of Sports.

As she became more and more proficient at the sport, Becca’s grandfather, Richard Weissbard, realized there were no equestrian events at the games. He contacted the director to ask why. That was about five years ago. The director said he’d get back to him.

The next Maccabiah Games — in 2013 — included equestrian events. Becca trained with Olympic equestrians Neal and Elisa Shapiro at Hay Fever Farm in Robbinsville, New Jersey, for several years. Neal Shapiro was the coach of the American Equestrian Team, which had 38 athletes. Becca won the first gold medal awarded in individual competition, which also helped the team earn silver overall.

The team members had to compete riding Israeli horses because the expense of bringing their own horses was too great. That was problematic for Becca considering, as her grandparents described seemingly in tandem, the horse she ended up with was “defective.” They said it actually went lame the day before the competition.

Very upset, Becca called her mother to find out what to do.

“She wanted to be the best — to do it properly. She lived her passion and her dream. She worked hard and excelled.”

—Eric Weissbard

“You march in there and you tell them you don’t care where they get a horse — just get one!” According to the grandparents, Becca practiced with a reserve horse for about two hours before winning the competition.

“She flew with him,” Richard Weissbard said; “…because she’s been around horses all her life,” her grandmother added. “We were so proud.”

At the games in Israel the then 19-year-old made connections that provided her with European opportunities.

“Wanting to go where the best horses are she chose to go to Holland,” her father said.

Becca worked at a horse stable in Holland for eight months. Her father said she learned a lot about top-tier horses and established a relationship with one particularly difficult horse. She made riding him look easy.

Labor laws for foreign workers dictated a return to the U.S., but a year later she returned to the Dutch farm for another three months. She’d fly back and forth as an escort for horses.

“In those 22 years she crammed in an awful lot of stuff,” her grandmother said. “But most of all she was a wonderful daughter, a great granddaughter, a terrific niece, and everyone who knew her loved her. Wherever there was excitement, there she was. Never a dull moment. She brought laughter and cheer and happiness and joy to everyone. She will be sorely missed.”

The Weissbards are setting up a foundation called Ride for Becca. “It will be a 501(c)3 nonprofit with the goal of helping kids who have potential to get to the next level,” said Eric Weissbard. “We want to find kids who are good and get them good training and get the horse good veterinary care.” They plan to keep Becca’s spirit and passion alive by helping others.

Once the 501(c)3 is established, tax-deductible contributions made out to Ride for Becca may be sent to Sundance Stables, 37 North St., Manorville, NY 11939.

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