when we are old and gray

I was thinking of a favorite poem this weekend, by William Butler Yeats, which opens:

When you are old and gray and full of sleep
 And nodding by the fire, take down this book
And slowly read...

And in my head it morphed to this:

When you are old and gray and full of sleep
And mucking out five stalls...

It reminded me of an older woman I saw once while with my daughter at a Pony Club activity. She could walk, but not easily, and two women around my age were helping her from the car to the barn. I imagined she might be one of the women's mother, come to see a horse, but after a while the women and two saddled horses came out of the barn, and with a fair amount of struggle, they helped the older woman mount. Then one of the other women mounted and the two rode off together. The older woman seemed happy, and her horse was frisky, but settled down as they rounded a curve in the path and disappeared.

Someone told me later that the older woman boarded her horse there, and although she was barely able to walk or mount, she often came out with various friends who agreed to help her and ride with her, because she was determined to keep riding as long as she could.

Sometimes, when I'm doing particularly difficult chores here on November Hill, I wonder what it might be like to manage things when I'm old and gray, and have to go more slowly, and more carefully than I do now.

I'm fortunate to have a husband who not only pitches in mightily on a daily basis, but is ten years younger than I am, and two children who I think will try to help as much as they can. But in the later years it could certainly be difficult for even an aged couple to do all the things that need doing.

I have in mind a retirement arrangement for horsewomen, where instead of struggling alone a group go in together, pooling resources so that everyone keeps their animals at "the home" and everyone pitches in to do what they can do. What can't be done could be hired out, which would be affordable if divided among the group. Wouldn't it be great for the grown children to know that aging parents have company and help and animals are safe and cared for?

Likely what set my mind on this course was the snow that fell here yesterday. We live in an area where the snow generally melts pretty quickly, but even one afternoon of trying to keep horses comfortable, especially Salina who can't go out on slippery footing but can't be stalled either due to her arthritic knees, set me thinking about my own body and abilities in the future.

While I walked around thinking about the future, the animals were all solidly in the present moment: horses and donkeys grazed their hay for half an hour as the snow fell, then made their way one by one to the barn where they went into clean, dry stalls full of hay. The Corgis ran wild, barking at the snow, Bear enjoying his very first snowfall ever. The Mystical Kit leaped into the air, capturing the snowflakes before they could hit the ground, and the other cats found baskets and boxes by the woodstove and poured themselves in like liquid fur.

I'd seen Keil Bay curl up like a kitten in the front field outside my window yesterday morning, soaking in the sun, as if he knew that later he would need that warmth. And last night, when we put blankets on, I realized that the first blanket I ever bought for Apache Moon, which was bought at the tack shop at the last minute on the day before a huge snowfall was forecast, and which was too big for him, now fits perfectly. I saved it as an extra all these years, but rarely used it because of how big it was. He's standing outside my window right this moment as I type, wearing the blanket, proving that I wasn't dreaming, or measuring wildly, when I taped him in October and discovered that he has grown an entire hand.

The snow is already gone, but we're in for a week of colder than usual temps for us. The wood stove is going strong, and I'm getting ready to take my daughter to a trail ride with her jumping classmates. While she rides out onto a 3000+ acre tract of trails, I'll sit in the truck and keep warm with a book.

The geldings just cantered past my window, reminding me that we are, for now, young and still full of beans on a cold morning.