November Hill farm journal, 197

 

The light on this big oak near Keil Bay and Salina isn’t able to be captured with my phone camera, but each day as the sun goes low in the sky, it glows for a few minutes, and the quality of that light reminds me of all the times I’ve seen the two Hanoverian beauties in that same light, but also the feeling of the light they each cast throughout their lives. 

This past week I had a very tearful day where I was being nearly constantly reminded of Keil’s presence with me still - it was both comforting and hard - and many serendipities including a very very close encounter with a barred owl who flew inches from my windshield and made eye contact with me as I was having a very hard cry while driving. 

Yesterday at my chiro appointment, the first thing I said when she asked how I was doing was that my horse died, and she said “Keil?” and I told her the story of his passing. I cried, she cried, she gave me a big, long hug, and it strikes me anew how far-reaching Keil Bay’s life has been because of how very present he was and powerful he was in my daily life and in my heart. It’s hard to make sense of him being gone, on that deep emotional level where it truly does feel like he has always been with me. And of course he is with me, but the urge to hug him is strong. 

Here are a few glimpses of the native plantings this week. I believe these are the first catkins I’ve ever seen on the hazelnut trees in the potager.

The climbing aster is buzzing with activity even in November, which is such a good reason to plant this if you don’t have it and if it’s native to your area. 

A nest made entirely of twigs has become visible in the now bare huge elderberry that volunteered in the front pasture the past two years. I did some reading and it’s probably that of a house wren, and could be an actual utilized nest or it could be one of a number of dummy nests the males build each year. I suspect it was an actual nest, as I recall seeing many house wrens flying in and out of the fully-leafed out elderberry in the late spring and summer.

This is my growing and thriving oakleaf hydrangea. I planted three two autumns ago, the deer got one, one is doing poorly, but this one is thriving. Its fall color is one of the reasons I planted it. I’m going to move the smaller one and see if a new location might give it a little nudge toward better growth and health. 

And of course I’m not the only one mourning Keil Bay. The herd go to this end of the arena at least once in a day’s time to stand by Keil’s grave. Cody was there alone this week, clearly missing his good friend. 

I just noticed the F marker and perhaps it stands for Friend.

Amazing Keil’s Enduring Heart Continues Magnificently Beating (for his) Friends.