The only thing visible at first is the edge of a brown shoulder, hardly worth notice, just over the edge of the hill. Then, on a short whistle from Suzanne VanderSalm, the head of a bay Thoroughbred racehorse, ears pricked, appears.
VanderSalm planned for the Thoroughbred's birth, carefully selecting his bloodlines to produce an equine athlete. She introduced him to a saddle, to the dirt track and, eventually, to the winner's circle.
VanderSalm, who has devoted herself to the Michigan Thoroughbred-racing industry, says her life could change drastically within the next few months, pending lawmakers' decisions on four bills crucial to the trade.
The bills, known collectively as the Michigan Agricultural Enhancement Package, would allow for horse-racing tracks to become "racinos," featuring alternate forms of gambling, such as video slots, as well as off-track betting on Michigan races.
Under the bills, each of the state's seven tracks would feature 500 to 2,000 video terminals. The profits from these ventures would go back into agricultural programs and bolster the general budget.
The group of bills was passed by the state House of Representatives in March 2003. The Senate followed suit nearly 11 months later, approving one of the four bills in late April after massive revisions. The approved bill has been returned to a House committee for editing and second authorization.
People such as VanderSalm see racinos as a win-win scenario: The state would have a new revenue stream, and the state's racing-horse industry, which employs more than 42,000 people and generates an estimated $1.2 billion in annual revenue, would gain a much-needed boost.
But horse racing is an industry in decline. Since peaking in 1974, annual race attendance has fallen from 3.8 million people to 1.8 million in 2002.
The decline has dire implications, VanderSalm says: If the racing industry falls, the veterinarians, the blacksmiths, the farmers who grow grain and hay and the businesses that sell them will topple with it.
"If I don't buy $10,000 worth of hay, there is a farmer that will feel that impact," said Donald Smith of Darby Downs Farms in Schoolcraft.
"We'd like to get people back to the tracks," said Smith, treasurer for the Michigan Thoroughbred Owners and Breeders Association. "We really need for this to pass. If we don't get it, I will have to quit."
"It's not so much about gambling as it is about jobs," says VanderSalm about racinos. "It's about saving agriculture."
Others are not so enthusiastic.
Opponents -- who range from those who oppose expansion of gambling on moral grounds to Detroit and American Indian casino-interest groups -- note that Michigan is already arguably the third biggest state for legal gambling behind Nevada and New Jersey.
"[Racinos] would have a very marked effect on the entire city of Detroit, as well as the businesses coming in here," said Bob Berg, spokesperson for MGM Grand Casino in Detroit.
Fearing decreased casino revenue, Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick has lobbied strongly against the bill.
A study from Michigan Consultants of Lansing, a research firm, shows that Detroit stands to lose 2,000 jobs and $40 million a year in tax revenue if racinos decrease the number of gamblers coming in to the city.
Another study by the firm shows that racinos could economically devastate Northern Michigan, where several communities rely on Indian-owned casinos to drive the local economy. The study shows a loss of more than 2,000 jobs and $100 million in revenue throughout the region.
Sen. Thomas George, R-Texas Township, voted against the racino bill, citing the percentage of the population with gambling disorders and saying he is "concerned about the social cost to the state. I just think we have enough gambling in Michigan. There is a tenuous link between gambling and financing agriculture."
But Speaker of the House Pro Tempore Larry Julian, who wrote the first bill of the package and chairs the House committee overseeing revision, says he's optimistic the legislation will pass.
"I absolutely believe it will pass once we get it into a form both houses can concur on," he says. "We just have to handle hurdles as they come up."
Far removed from legislative debate, it is spring on VanderSalm's Richland farm.
Three new foals are on the ground, cavorting around their mothers on impossibly long legs.
"It's a pride thing to race Michigan-bred horses," VanderSalm says.
"It's loyalty. I love Michigan. Is it worth the struggle? No. But there is a lot to say for where you grow up -- people may leave, but they always come home."
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