Later today I'll be leaping into a project that has been simmering for a couple of years. I have a cast of characters, a setting, the first 2-3 chapters, and finally the sense of conflict that will drive the story.
Two days ago every project was shrieking my name, but after doing some barn chores yesterday the din settled and this story's voice won out. This is the first book I've started that didn't already have a title and an ending scene, and I've discovered that having something to write toward makes it easier to get going. I also know that once the pen is on the page, or the fingers are on the keys, things begin to happen. I just have to listen.
Meanwhile, the stories here: Keil Bay's neck lump has disappeared. The pony is moving well. Cody is feeling good. Salina is in fine spirits and the donkey boys are chipper and sweet. We have a couple more cloudy days but thus far very little rain, and the ground is a bit more solid beneath our feet. Not quite dried out, but getting there. The temperature spread is such that they won't need blanketing all week.
Corgis and kit-meows are all existing peacefully and keeping life interesting. As I was writing this post, the Mystical-Kit got up on top of the kitchen cupboards and made his way onto the top of the one above the refrigerator. There's an opening there, I guess for venting, and I heard a scrabbling of cat claws, agonizingly long, and then silence. I hadn't seen him up on the cupboards, and after he fell there was no sound. I guessed he might be back there, and heaved and pulled until the refrigerator was out of the cubby it fits into like a glove. There was Mystic. I was writing, and fortunately some part of me was listening.
I was thinking this weekend about the need to tell stories. We all seem to have that desire on some level. Jung said something about that:
The reason for evil in the world is that people are not able to tell their stories.
Interesting that I spend some of my time telling stories and another chunk of my time listening. Not just in my therapy office, but everywhere I go. People seem drawn to tell me their stories. Usually I think "I don't have time for this. I do this for my job, I don't want to do it in the grocery store too." But then I listen. Because they need to tell it, and I usually get intrigued in spite of myself.
It's important to listen.
This week, in a tribute to balance in the new year, I aim to do both.
Writing makes a map, and there is something about a journey that begs to have its passage marked.
-Christina Baldwin
billie hinton’s camera-obscura:
life and lessons on November Hill Farm
Monday, January 26, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
weekend fun
Cody was getting a ride today when the donkeys decided they wanted in on the action. As it turns out, the Quarter Horse knows how to do the herding thing. And of course the donkeys played along. :)
end of the week shenanigans
Yesterday as the snow melted away, the day got started early when Redford decided to announce near and far that they did not have enough hay. My husband had given them their morning hay earlier than usual, and they'd finished it up before the normal breakfast tub time. He brayed until I came to the door, and when I realized why, I went out and set them all up again. It was still too early for breakfast tubs, and I like them to have a good amount of hay before I feed concentrates.
I decided to let Salina and the donkeys have the heart of the round bale, in the big barnyard, since that side was thawed out and not as mushy as the other areas. They were excited to get back over there - it's a favorite morning thing for them, but I don't allow it all the time, as it can get messy around the bales.
When I went out again to feed breakfast, the 65-or-so lb. heart of the round bale had been moved about 25 feet. It was still intact, but they had strewn hay in a semi-circle in the process of moving the core. I have no idea who did it, or how, but they were having a fine time, so much so that they didn't even care about breakfast tubs!
The geldings were supremely jealous, and came in to gaze over the fence at the big mess of hay lying hither and yonder.
After breakfast, I told Keil Bay to come back up to the barn in a while, as I was planning to ride. When I came back out dressed in breeches and boots, he marched up from the back field. He was ready for a nice long grooming and a quick hoof trim. He and I are both getting better at that. I feel more confident, and he understands that these are very little "mini-trims" that keep his hooves in shape, so he stands perfectly still and helps me out.
I saddled him up with a new "wither relief" saddle pad I bought just to try. It definitely keeps the pad off the withers. I want to ride in it a few more times before I decide for sure how much I like it. We also used H's loaned bitless bridle. The Big Bay was loose and supple, but there was something going on with his neck, which he wanted to stretch down. We did a lot of walking and some stretches, and a bit of trotting, and we tested out the bitless bridle. He was responsive, but I think did need some adjustment to the way it works. We'll try it again a few more times and see how it goes. Yesterday, everything was complicated by the fact that we have had a week or so off, he had a new pad, a new bridle, AND as it turned out when I dismounted, a sizeable lump on his neck. I had noticed some hair missing there when I groomed him, but didn't feel the lump with the brush - it was when I ran my hands over him after the ride that I felt it.
My daughter thinks he might have been bitten - one of those teeth-scraper bites they do sometimes in play. Whatever the cause, there is hair missing, and the lump. Interestingly, this is the same area he always seems to "do something to" - he has had two twigs embedded there the past two springs. After getting him untacked, I let him have the barnyard for awhile by himself while I put things away. He got three doses of Arnica and I'll see how the lump looks today. It didn't seem to be tender, but Keil Bay is stoic, so sometimes it's hard to tell. I have a good remedy for deep bruising that I can use next if needed.
While cleaning up the barn aisle, I found some animal poop that resembles deer droppings, rabbit droppings, and, as I discovered while researching animal scat last night, red-tail hawk droppings. It seems unbelievable to me that a deer was in the barn aisle, during the day, but I can imagine a bunny coming up to the edge of the manger to nibble some hay from underneath. It wouldn't surprise me if a hawk came in there either - it was right at the barn door, and a site that mice have used in the past to access the mangers.
This morning I was awakened by our new resident rooster, who happens to be a miniature donkey named Redford. He has taken on the task of alerting us to morning, the time for fresh hay and turn-out to the field. An important job for the youngest herd member to take on. He does it very well.
I decided to let Salina and the donkeys have the heart of the round bale, in the big barnyard, since that side was thawed out and not as mushy as the other areas. They were excited to get back over there - it's a favorite morning thing for them, but I don't allow it all the time, as it can get messy around the bales.
When I went out again to feed breakfast, the 65-or-so lb. heart of the round bale had been moved about 25 feet. It was still intact, but they had strewn hay in a semi-circle in the process of moving the core. I have no idea who did it, or how, but they were having a fine time, so much so that they didn't even care about breakfast tubs!
The geldings were supremely jealous, and came in to gaze over the fence at the big mess of hay lying hither and yonder.
After breakfast, I told Keil Bay to come back up to the barn in a while, as I was planning to ride. When I came back out dressed in breeches and boots, he marched up from the back field. He was ready for a nice long grooming and a quick hoof trim. He and I are both getting better at that. I feel more confident, and he understands that these are very little "mini-trims" that keep his hooves in shape, so he stands perfectly still and helps me out.
I saddled him up with a new "wither relief" saddle pad I bought just to try. It definitely keeps the pad off the withers. I want to ride in it a few more times before I decide for sure how much I like it. We also used H's loaned bitless bridle. The Big Bay was loose and supple, but there was something going on with his neck, which he wanted to stretch down. We did a lot of walking and some stretches, and a bit of trotting, and we tested out the bitless bridle. He was responsive, but I think did need some adjustment to the way it works. We'll try it again a few more times and see how it goes. Yesterday, everything was complicated by the fact that we have had a week or so off, he had a new pad, a new bridle, AND as it turned out when I dismounted, a sizeable lump on his neck. I had noticed some hair missing there when I groomed him, but didn't feel the lump with the brush - it was when I ran my hands over him after the ride that I felt it.
My daughter thinks he might have been bitten - one of those teeth-scraper bites they do sometimes in play. Whatever the cause, there is hair missing, and the lump. Interestingly, this is the same area he always seems to "do something to" - he has had two twigs embedded there the past two springs. After getting him untacked, I let him have the barnyard for awhile by himself while I put things away. He got three doses of Arnica and I'll see how the lump looks today. It didn't seem to be tender, but Keil Bay is stoic, so sometimes it's hard to tell. I have a good remedy for deep bruising that I can use next if needed.
While cleaning up the barn aisle, I found some animal poop that resembles deer droppings, rabbit droppings, and, as I discovered while researching animal scat last night, red-tail hawk droppings. It seems unbelievable to me that a deer was in the barn aisle, during the day, but I can imagine a bunny coming up to the edge of the manger to nibble some hay from underneath. It wouldn't surprise me if a hawk came in there either - it was right at the barn door, and a site that mice have used in the past to access the mangers.
This morning I was awakened by our new resident rooster, who happens to be a miniature donkey named Redford. He has taken on the task of alerting us to morning, the time for fresh hay and turn-out to the field. An important job for the youngest herd member to take on. He does it very well.
Friday, January 23, 2009
the remains of the very snowy day
Out doing chores yesterday afternoon, I was faced with all the remains of the snow. There are still large areas of ground, roof, and deck that have large amounts of the white stuff, some of which is packed and hard, other spots which are still soft and surprisingly fluffy.
In between the white patches there are border areas of lacier white lying on top of cold, brown mud. A few areas are red mud mixed with white. Beyond the lacy areas is the bare ground, nothing but mud and wilted winter grass. Strewn helter-skelter across this vista are what I'm calling hoof packs. Many of them. Apparently, when horses are barefoot, as ours are, the snow packs into the hoof until it reaches a certain overstuffed point and then it simply pops out. That big clot of snow and earth has the perfectly formed hoof on one side, and brown on the other. They will be the last to melt, as they have now frozen hard as rocks.
I have to say it: as beautiful as the snow was, it is now the ugliest I have ever seen it here.
In an effort to find some lasting beauty, and to get rid of the manure and hoof packs I'd mucked, I trekked the wheelbarrow down the long path several times. The path hadn't melted, and the snow in the woods was still fairly pristine. It was a wonderland of animal tracks: deer, birds, the bobcat. Most had blurred a bit but were still quite visible. At every fence and gate I saw something which amazed me: the deer tracks would go right up to the obstacle and then reappear directly on the other side, as though they had walked up nose and nose with the fence or gate and then popped over as if on springs.
It occurred to me that each time I went up and down the path, it got harder and slicker. And then I remembered the best time of sledding I ever had, when I was 12 and a neighbor packed down our road from top to bottom with his 4-wheel drive jeep. We had two weeks off from school, we had good sleds, a bonfire, treats at every house along the way, and a sledding track that seemed to go on forever, with curves and a few dangers (our creek was one of them) to avoid.
I called my daughter, who was in the barnyard giving sled rides to the Mystical Kit and Dickens. She brought her sled to the path and down she went. Had we thought of this the day of the snow, we could have something akin to those luge courses I used to watch on Saturday afternoons on TV. She convinced me to take a turn and down I went, laughing and shrieking. When I emerged back up at the barnyard all the horses and donkeys were looking, ears pricked. Salina especially was riveted on me. I've seen her run with the donkeys, moments when she is with them, but recalling something from her youth, a long stride, the pleasure of movement, a buck and a head toss thrown into the mix. She understands, I suspect, the pure unbridled joy of an experience from childhood, shared with one's child of close to the same age.
When we finished the last of the barn chores, a bit before sunset, the geldings came in from the field where they'd been playing. There was 5-year old Cody, the 8-year old pony Apache Moon, and 19-year old Keil Bay. Who do you think had the muddy legs up above the knees? I guess all of us middle-agers found some fun yesterday, even in the melting mess of snow and mud.
In between the white patches there are border areas of lacier white lying on top of cold, brown mud. A few areas are red mud mixed with white. Beyond the lacy areas is the bare ground, nothing but mud and wilted winter grass. Strewn helter-skelter across this vista are what I'm calling hoof packs. Many of them. Apparently, when horses are barefoot, as ours are, the snow packs into the hoof until it reaches a certain overstuffed point and then it simply pops out. That big clot of snow and earth has the perfectly formed hoof on one side, and brown on the other. They will be the last to melt, as they have now frozen hard as rocks.
I have to say it: as beautiful as the snow was, it is now the ugliest I have ever seen it here.
In an effort to find some lasting beauty, and to get rid of the manure and hoof packs I'd mucked, I trekked the wheelbarrow down the long path several times. The path hadn't melted, and the snow in the woods was still fairly pristine. It was a wonderland of animal tracks: deer, birds, the bobcat. Most had blurred a bit but were still quite visible. At every fence and gate I saw something which amazed me: the deer tracks would go right up to the obstacle and then reappear directly on the other side, as though they had walked up nose and nose with the fence or gate and then popped over as if on springs.
It occurred to me that each time I went up and down the path, it got harder and slicker. And then I remembered the best time of sledding I ever had, when I was 12 and a neighbor packed down our road from top to bottom with his 4-wheel drive jeep. We had two weeks off from school, we had good sleds, a bonfire, treats at every house along the way, and a sledding track that seemed to go on forever, with curves and a few dangers (our creek was one of them) to avoid.
I called my daughter, who was in the barnyard giving sled rides to the Mystical Kit and Dickens. She brought her sled to the path and down she went. Had we thought of this the day of the snow, we could have something akin to those luge courses I used to watch on Saturday afternoons on TV. She convinced me to take a turn and down I went, laughing and shrieking. When I emerged back up at the barnyard all the horses and donkeys were looking, ears pricked. Salina especially was riveted on me. I've seen her run with the donkeys, moments when she is with them, but recalling something from her youth, a long stride, the pleasure of movement, a buck and a head toss thrown into the mix. She understands, I suspect, the pure unbridled joy of an experience from childhood, shared with one's child of close to the same age.
When we finished the last of the barn chores, a bit before sunset, the geldings came in from the field where they'd been playing. There was 5-year old Cody, the 8-year old pony Apache Moon, and 19-year old Keil Bay. Who do you think had the muddy legs up above the knees? I guess all of us middle-agers found some fun yesterday, even in the melting mess of snow and mud.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
warming up and chinese fortunes
This morning it's 20 instead of 6, and going up to 49/50 by the afternoon, so more meltdown and mush, but no blankets and ice in troughs. A reasonable trade, imo.
Although if I could trade for sunshine and dry ground, I'd take that one.
I'm having a hankering to do one of my stone runes this morning, but as I'm still downstairs and my runestones are upstairs in the garret, I resorted to the Chinese Fortune Sticks which are sitting on this desk.
This red can is full of sticks that have fortunes on each one, and you're supposed to shake them half out of the can, and select the one that protrudes the furthest.
The thing about these is that they are NOTHING like the Chinese fortune cookie fortunes. These are rather brutal and often say things one doesn't want to hear.
My question was simply: what can I expect for today?
The answer:
A long delayed package of value will come to you.
Well. That's a relief!
I'm expecting a new box of Adequan for Salina. A couple of special writing notebooks for the upcoming retreat. Neither of which have been long-delayed.
We'll see what happens.
If anyone has questions and dares consult the brutal sticks, ask it in the comments and I'll shake one out and type it in for you.
Although if I could trade for sunshine and dry ground, I'd take that one.
I'm having a hankering to do one of my stone runes this morning, but as I'm still downstairs and my runestones are upstairs in the garret, I resorted to the Chinese Fortune Sticks which are sitting on this desk.
This red can is full of sticks that have fortunes on each one, and you're supposed to shake them half out of the can, and select the one that protrudes the furthest.
The thing about these is that they are NOTHING like the Chinese fortune cookie fortunes. These are rather brutal and often say things one doesn't want to hear.
My question was simply: what can I expect for today?
The answer:
A long delayed package of value will come to you.
Well. That's a relief!
I'm expecting a new box of Adequan for Salina. A couple of special writing notebooks for the upcoming retreat. Neither of which have been long-delayed.
We'll see what happens.
If anyone has questions and dares consult the brutal sticks, ask it in the comments and I'll shake one out and type it in for you.
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