a note on the longest night

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

-Wendell Berry, The Peace of Wild Things

winter solstice

My favorite holiday all year long is the winter solstice, and over the years we have created our own rituals to celebrate the longest night. On a winter solstice night several years ago, before we had our horses, my good friend Kim invited us to her house. We spent a wonderful afternoon riding, shared a lovely meal, and ended the evening with our ritual of reading poems by candlelight beneath the dark night sky.

What happened with Kim's horses as we went from barn to barn with treats and candles was the first of many solstices to come that we would share with horses. We are fortunate indeed to have our own barn now, filled with our delightful and wise partners in zen: Keil Bay, Apache Moon, Cody, Salina, Rafer Johnson, and Redford.

Tomorrow night we'll make some magic with the herd, and count our blessings.

Matthew's photo from the Great Smoky National Park is another favorite: hoarfrost, which has its own magic.



And a poem I wrote following our solstice with Kim and her horses. I have never spent time editing it, so in a way it's still in progress, but it captures some of what we shared that evening, and what became a central part of our yearly celebration.

Happy Winter Solstice, all!


Winter’s Solstice With Kim

Afternoon we ride patterns in the ring
as the sun lows and then slides from sight.
Smack of girth on saddle as we untack in dusk,
feed before dark falls,
prepare dinner for our hungry selves.

Holiday cookies and red wine.
White candles which we light
and take outside
to the little hill
beyond Fred’s paddock.

We chant, recite the typed out poems
while high above the wide dark sky
is smeared with stars.
We hold tiny flames
against the night.

Processional, the long slow walk
to the barn
Apples and carrots for the horses
Fred circles in his stall
and takes his treats, accepts warm hands
along his velvet nose.

We march in single file to the mares’ barn
Flames protected by cupped hands
Annie and Nix wait patiently with their babies
Firefly and Fenix
While Winnie nickers and paces.

Share warm breath with horses.
In unison we go silent:
sacred space.

We celebrate
this longest night.

Go home with love and light.

sunshine and ice skating

Today, finally, the sun has burst forth, along with some gusty wind that I hope will dry things out a bit. There is more rain forecast for the next two days, but even so, especially so, today's respite is welcome.

I've uncovered the round bale, am getting ready to uncover the shavings pile, opened barn doors and windows wide, and my goal today is to add in some new shavings to each stall, get everyone groomed by nightfall, and hopefully have some time left over to do a little bit of local shopping.

My husband has today off, so he took the kids ice skating with their homeschooling group, and afterwards, they'll stop off at their favorite gourmet candy shop to do a little bit of stocking shopping. (we do stockings a bit differently - once they get hung, everyone participates in filling them by Christmas Eve, so they'll be ready to "open" on Christmas morning - it makes it fun for everyone, and each time any of us goes anywhere during December, chances are a few little stocking stuffers will make it into the bag)

Better head out and uncover the shavings so they can air out! Happy Friday to all.

making peace with the mush

We are stuck in another wave of drizzly, warm for the season days. The muckiness of the ground bothers me on some deep level, probably because we have clay soil and it's slippery. I was aware yesterday that I was feeling frustrated with the unstable footing, and even more keenly aware that there is not one thing I can do about it. Except reframe my discomfort and figure out a new perspective.

I decided to focus on being cheerful and to walk slowly. I stopped wincing at the mush and tried to feel my feet sinking in, finding solid ground, and to experience it differently.

When I pushed the wheelbarrow full of hay out to the front field, I heard a loud and persistent bird call that I knew wasn't a song bird. It was the red-tail hawk, sitting on a low tree branch watching me, calling out over and over. This is the third sighting in a week or so. Each time I listen and although I'm not exactly sure what the bird is telling me, I continue to listen. Some things just sink in without having to know the words.

Back in the barn, the Big Bay had his own message. He begged me to allow him to be with Salina and the donkeys instead of the pony and Cody. Keil's front legs were muddy up to the knees, following a morning of rough play with the very pushy pony. I made the Bay promise he would not chase donkeys or Salina, as I didn't want anyone sliding down. He agreed.

So I opened the stall door and said "walk on." He sauntered down the barn aisle, completely content, checking out each stall, each empty feed tub, and then joined Salina and the donkeys by the round bale. It was covered, but I took the big blue tarp off and let them stand in a circle munching while I put the pony and Cody out in the back field with their own hay.

Then I led the Bay into the front field, went back for Salina, and of course Rafer followed. I stood by the gate and waited for Redford, reluctant to give up the round bale, but one, two, three, four, there he came skittering through the barn to find his herd.

Keil Bay kept his promise. All day long he walked quietly and gently around Salina and the donkeys. He carefully touched his nose to Redford's rump and even when Redford gave him a sharp kick, Keil simply stood still and watched Redford to see what might come next.

Three different times the donkeys ventured alone down the big hill. Salina looked up, not concerned but wanting to keep her eye on them. When they went all the way down, she couldn't. So Keil Bay walked very carefully down and in a big circle, gently herded them back up to Salina. It was so touching.

Late in the afternoon the neighbors across the lane wheeled out a big wagon of trash. White plastic flashed and rustled. Keil Bay went into high alert and trotted to the crest of the hill, ahead of Salina and the donkeys, to keep an eye on things. Cody and the pony trotted up from the back field to alert over the fence, rear guards. We've got your six, buddy. Even when separated, the herd members communicate and do their parts.

It was especially nice to see Salina relaxed and allowing the geldings to keep watch for her. She needed a break.

Today is another gray foggy day, although I can see through the windows evidence of clearing. Tomorrow I'm told it will be in the 70s, but windy. The gusting wind is not my favorite either, but perhaps the fact that it helps dry things out will make it more appealing.

how to feed 6 hungry equines, muck 5 stuffed stalls, groom 4 muddy bodies, dump 3 loads of poop, play with 2 silly geldings, dance with 1 painted pony

... and supervise two adventuring donkeys, all in one day (while daughter naps on sofa with sore throat):

Take lots of breaks!

After feeding breakfast, I made a run to the store for essential sore throat/cold supplies: tissues, ginger root, lemons, honey, ginger ale, popsicles, soup, and, most importantly, an advance reward for a day full of work - chocolate-covered, cream filled donuts.

After mucking the first two stalls I went trekking with donkeys:







Then I did another stall, groomed Salina, and exercised two silly geldings:



The pony couldn't stand it - so I let him in too, but he harassed the Big Bay so much I had to dance privately with the Little Man:



Then came more grooming, another stall, and Keil Bay and I took a break to play one of his favorite games.

He stands in the stall with me while I muck. The wheelbarrow is all that lies between Keil Bay and the big round bale in the barnyard. He watches me and the stall door. If I get more than 3 steps away from the stall door, he takes that as permission to barrel over the wheelbarrow and head for the round bale. This is like a game of chess. It takes great skill and thinking ahead to muck a whole stall without taking more than 3 steps. The key is to use the Big Bay's good manners to get him to step back so that he's always between me and the poop. He won't bowl me over to go through the door.

In between moves, he tries to distract me by offering his head for a scratch. He rubs gently on my shoulder. I scratch, he turns away, I stop scratching, he comes back for more. He offers his nostril so I can blow into it. This goes on and on.

Finally I declare myself the winner and he heads out to the paddock so I can finish off the stall.

All done! Except for forking hay into mangers, closing gates, and hoping husband will give clean water when he feeds dinner!