Milan resident Stephanie Fitzpatrick believes in public service. An advocate for people with disabilities, an EMS volunteer, and a friend to animals, she said, “Helping my community is a way to give back, which everyone needs to do. People shouldn’t just be takers.”
Fitzpatrick is the executive director of Hidden Hollow Farm in Milan, a nonprofit therapeutic riding center for people with and without disabilities. This type of equine-assisted treatment has been shown to improve riders’ physical, cognitive, and emotional well-being.
“Horses relax you — they slow you down,” Fitzpatrick said. “When you’re riding, horses stretch out your body like physical therapy does. It also forces riders to think creatively. Even if someone is [partially] paralyzed, they still have to figure out how to give body signals and communicate with the horse while they’re in the saddle — with my guidance, of course.”
Therapeutic riding can also facilitate speech skills. “We practice saying ‘whoa’ or ‘walk on’ with our kids, and count steps [the horse takes] out loud during a session,” Fitzpatrick said. “One client who had never said anything their whole life spoke for the first time to one of our horses, and said, ‘Walk on, Sally.’ I’ll never forget it.”
Fitzpatrick credits her interest in helping disabled people to time spent with her autistic cousin. “And since I love horses, becoming a therapeutic riding instructor made sense,” she said.
Mary Jenkins/The New Pine Plains Herald
Fitzpatrick trained at the Cheff Center in Kalamazoo, Mich., and opened the Hidden Hollow facility in 1993. The 32-acre farm was part of 500 acres purchased in 1990 by her grandfather, Richard Staats, and her father, Al Weber, for their milk-hauling company. “They also built our beautiful barn,” she said.
At least 75 clients, ranging in age from 5 to 78, attend therapy sessions regularly. Some are sent from behavioral centers like Staatsburg’s Anderson Center for Autism, while others self-refer from nearby towns or counties.
“Many of our riders are blind, deaf, or have Down syndrome,” Fitzpatrick said. “We also help veterans, police, fire, and EMS — they see too much.”
Susan DeHaan, captain of the East Clinton rescue squad, is one of the farm’s six volunteers — called “barn brats” by Fitzpatrick. DeHaan offsets her riding costs by helping to care for the farm’s 20 horses and assisting the clients. “I first started coming here five years ago for my mental health — it’s stressful being an EMT,” she said. “These horses saved my life.”
In addition to working at Hidden Hollow Farm, Fitzpatrick serves as the sports director for the New York State Equestrian Special Olympics. “I took some kids to the Special Olympics at Skidmore College in 1992, and I’ve been hooked ever since,” she said.
A 35-year veteran EMT with the all-volunteer Milan Rescue Squad, Fitzpatrick was elected captain in April. Milan Fire Chief Kurt Mizgier, who has worked with her for nearly two decades, said, “Stephanie has a way of talking to patients in an emergency that calms them down. She’s really good at getting the information out of them that we need.”
Fitzpatrick was a humane law officer for the Dutchess County Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals from 2003 to 2010, and is now Milan’s\Dog Control Officer.
Somehow, she has found time to own and operate Milan’s only eatery since 2019, Rustic Tables Restaurant and Bar (formerly called Cider Brothers Road House). “I cooked in this same restaurant when I was 22 — when it was called Another Fork in the Road,” Fitzpatrick said. “I never really wanted to be a chef, but I do like to feed people, and make them happy.”
Fitzpatrick’s husband, Mike, who works for a water treatment plant in Poughkeepsie, runs the restaurant’s food truck in his off-hours.
“Stephanie does a lot for Milan,” he said. “Even her restaurant provides a service to the community — but in a different way. There are no places to eat up in this area; nothing until you get to Rhinebeck. That’s important.”
Fitzpatrick had open heart surgery following a stroke earlier this year, and returned to work after only three weeks. “I’m fine now,” she said, “But when I do croak, I want to know that I made a difference in someone’s life — whether in the restaurant, on the squad, or at the farm.”
