Cody (the QH) didn't like hauling with the pony very much, as it meant he had to be tied on his side of the trailer, with the divider in, as opposed to his usual method of travel, which is free in the entire trailer space. So now he is reluctant to load, and we're doing the same work with him we did with the pony last year.
My daughter was standing with Cody at the trailer door, the primary goal being for him to just drop his head, relax, and lick and chew. He's not allowed to pull back, but he doesn't have to step onto the trailer. Eventually she'll have him load one front foot, then both, then load all the way again.
The donkeys were in the barnyard grazing around with Salina, and suddenly, Rafer Johnson got a determined look in his eye and marched over to Cody, peered into the empty trailer, and proceeded to load himself!
Of course Redford was not far behind. I took Cody and we quickly gave the donkeys a treat inside the trailer to reinforce that yes, it's a good place. Redford hopped in, and we had two donkeys loaded up for the road.
Salina didn't like it one bit! She started circling and calling, I'm sure thinking we were taking her boys away. We assured her that was not the case.
Today I went out and all I had to do was open the trailer door and step inside. Rafer was right behind me. Apparently, Donkey Loading 101 is a very short course!
billie hinton’s camera-obscura:
life and lessons on November Hill Farm
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
thank you
I wanted to say thank you to all who have sent condolences via comments here and via private email. It means so much to me.
Yesterday was the first time in a year that my mom has been able to visit us here at November Hill. She came with my teenaged nephew, who is on spring break, and we had an entire day to just hang out.
We walked out to the front field so that she could meet Redford, who promptly darted into the thicket of trees and peeped out at the new friends, while Rafer Johnson had his nose in their pockets, but gently, as he is the best ambassador of donkeys there is.
In a minute, Redford decided it was just too hard to miss out on all the attention, so he walked over and stuck his nose into the action.
The horses all said hello, and the pony showed off his grazing muzzle, and even laid down and rolled, grazed with it from the prone position, and then got up and shook the pollen off his painted self.
It was a nice illustration for all of us of adaptation to new things, and how what starts out difficult can transform to being just fine.
I also wanted to pull a couple of things from the previous post's comments.
My anecdote from the weekend:
Sometime over the weekend I was standing at the kitchen window wondering how my dad is doing where he is now, and I thought "if you're doing okay, send me a sign via a bird in the backyard."
I waited for a few minutes and nothing happened, and I figured he was busy or else he just didn't like the parameters of my request! And I forgot about it.
Yesterday I was sitting here working on something and I kept hearing the most beautiful bird song that sounded like it was right inside the laundry room door. At first I thought it might be coming from upstairs and somehow was echoing oddly down here.
But it kept on, and I got up to go check it out. When I got to the laundry room door, I glimpsed a tiny gray and white and black finch, so tiny I couldn't believe it was making such vibrant birdsong.
I opened the door and stepped out onto the deck, and instead of flying away, the finch hopped onto the branch inches away from my face, and looking straight at me, burst into a 15-20 second song that was absolutely stunning.
The little bird looked like he was all decked out in a tiny suit: gray pants, white shirt, black jacket. And then it hit me: he looked like my father in the dashing outfits he wore when he was young. The moment I had that thought, the bird finished the song and literally darted off, in a streak of flight that seemed to begin on the branch and then just disappear into thin air.
It really made me smile.
And Maddy's comment and poem, which I found so moving:
Your words, beautifully written, of your dad's passing reminded me of this little poem by Kahil Gibran.
I have passed the mountain peak
and my soul is soaring in the firmament
of complete and unbounded
freedom;
I am in comfort,
I am in peace.
Yesterday was the first time in a year that my mom has been able to visit us here at November Hill. She came with my teenaged nephew, who is on spring break, and we had an entire day to just hang out.
We walked out to the front field so that she could meet Redford, who promptly darted into the thicket of trees and peeped out at the new friends, while Rafer Johnson had his nose in their pockets, but gently, as he is the best ambassador of donkeys there is.
In a minute, Redford decided it was just too hard to miss out on all the attention, so he walked over and stuck his nose into the action.
The horses all said hello, and the pony showed off his grazing muzzle, and even laid down and rolled, grazed with it from the prone position, and then got up and shook the pollen off his painted self.
It was a nice illustration for all of us of adaptation to new things, and how what starts out difficult can transform to being just fine.
I also wanted to pull a couple of things from the previous post's comments.
My anecdote from the weekend:
Sometime over the weekend I was standing at the kitchen window wondering how my dad is doing where he is now, and I thought "if you're doing okay, send me a sign via a bird in the backyard."
I waited for a few minutes and nothing happened, and I figured he was busy or else he just didn't like the parameters of my request! And I forgot about it.
Yesterday I was sitting here working on something and I kept hearing the most beautiful bird song that sounded like it was right inside the laundry room door. At first I thought it might be coming from upstairs and somehow was echoing oddly down here.
But it kept on, and I got up to go check it out. When I got to the laundry room door, I glimpsed a tiny gray and white and black finch, so tiny I couldn't believe it was making such vibrant birdsong.
I opened the door and stepped out onto the deck, and instead of flying away, the finch hopped onto the branch inches away from my face, and looking straight at me, burst into a 15-20 second song that was absolutely stunning.
The little bird looked like he was all decked out in a tiny suit: gray pants, white shirt, black jacket. And then it hit me: he looked like my father in the dashing outfits he wore when he was young. The moment I had that thought, the bird finished the song and literally darted off, in a streak of flight that seemed to begin on the branch and then just disappear into thin air.
It really made me smile.
And Maddy's comment and poem, which I found so moving:
Your words, beautifully written, of your dad's passing reminded me of this little poem by Kahil Gibran.
I have passed the mountain peak
and my soul is soaring in the firmament
of complete and unbounded
freedom;
I am in comfort,
I am in peace.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
taking a quiet moment
Yesterday, after a year-long illness spent at home under the care of my mother and an absolutely amazing team from Hospice, my father passed away. He was in his own bed, in his own room, surrounded by his wife, children, brother, and the Hospice Chaplain.
Even though we had been saying goodbye to him for most of this past year, yesterday was harder than any of us expected. His death was peaceful, he was not in pain, and he knew we were there. But he, like his father before him, really did not want to go, and he had to find his peace with that as he left us.
We reassured him that it was okay to go, that he would be met by a pack of dogs: his boyhood dog Shadow, who waited for him to come home from school every day and then amazingly knew the day he came home from the Korean War and was waiting by the train track when he crossed it, Pongo our Dalmatian, Pepper the poodle who found us and stayed, Tika the Siberian Husky, Oliver the smart-as-a-whip pound puppy, and Buddy the white German Shepherd. My brother reminded him that he would see his father and mother, and more friends and family members who preceded him in death. He seemed to ease at the thought.
Sometime I might try to write down some of the many memories I have. We sat in the room after he left us yesterday, telling stories of our memories of him, breaking down in fits and starts as we needed to, and finding comfort in the haven of our parents' home.
His entire Hospice team was there, making sure things were taken care of so that we could do what we needed to as a family, and in a wonderful moment of serendipity, when the cremation service came to get his body, his Hospice social worker saw I needed some distraction, and asked me about horses.
She let me ramble on for ten minutes and then suddenly I saw her name tag, made a connection, and realized she had married into the horse family who owned the stable where I learned to ride, bought my first horse, and years later, taught both my children to ride.
Amazingly, she knew all the school horses I had ridden, and knew my horse's dam very well. She knew the ponies my children learned to ride on. And she had married the one member of their family who facilitated, so many years ago, the most wonderful of all my riding memories - cantering around a small lake on a trail that we often rode, feeling as free as the wind, as though I had shifted into some other dimension of water and forest and horses.
As my father's body left his home, I was back on that magical ride, and hope that in some way his spirit was having the same feeling of freedom and magic in the ethers.
I was incredibly touched by the sharing of hugs and "I love you's" that passed between my mother and this team of women who have spent the past year supporting her, taking care of my father, and whose job it is to guide families through the death process.
I can't offer enough praise or enough thanks for these women. They do their job so well.
For now, I'm taking some time off from blogging, as I think I need to open up some time to process other things, to enjoy the spring weather on the backs of Keil Bay and Cody, to work on my books, and to spend some time with my mom, who has given up so much of her own freedom over the past year to make sure my dad was comfortable and safe and as happy as he could be.
When I left November Hill yesterday morning to go to my parents' house, knowing it would be a day we had all on some level been waiting for, I encountered a large snapping turtle stranded in the middle of the main road. He was muddy and I couldn't tell if he'd been hit, but there was a fair amount of traffic, including big rigs going too fast for anyone's good. I couldn't stop, but I called home and told my husband where the turtle was. When I hung up I started crying, feeling terrible for the turtle, feeling like it was some sort of sign but too complex for me to sort out in the moment.
My husband called back minutes later to assure me he had gone to rescue the turtle, who had NOT been hit, and had moved the turtle to safety in the woods on the other side of the road. In some odd way the turtle's rescue became a comfort for me all through the day and evening.
Until I get back to blogging, enjoy the spring, live well, and travel safely.
Even though we had been saying goodbye to him for most of this past year, yesterday was harder than any of us expected. His death was peaceful, he was not in pain, and he knew we were there. But he, like his father before him, really did not want to go, and he had to find his peace with that as he left us.
We reassured him that it was okay to go, that he would be met by a pack of dogs: his boyhood dog Shadow, who waited for him to come home from school every day and then amazingly knew the day he came home from the Korean War and was waiting by the train track when he crossed it, Pongo our Dalmatian, Pepper the poodle who found us and stayed, Tika the Siberian Husky, Oliver the smart-as-a-whip pound puppy, and Buddy the white German Shepherd. My brother reminded him that he would see his father and mother, and more friends and family members who preceded him in death. He seemed to ease at the thought.
Sometime I might try to write down some of the many memories I have. We sat in the room after he left us yesterday, telling stories of our memories of him, breaking down in fits and starts as we needed to, and finding comfort in the haven of our parents' home.
His entire Hospice team was there, making sure things were taken care of so that we could do what we needed to as a family, and in a wonderful moment of serendipity, when the cremation service came to get his body, his Hospice social worker saw I needed some distraction, and asked me about horses.
She let me ramble on for ten minutes and then suddenly I saw her name tag, made a connection, and realized she had married into the horse family who owned the stable where I learned to ride, bought my first horse, and years later, taught both my children to ride.
Amazingly, she knew all the school horses I had ridden, and knew my horse's dam very well. She knew the ponies my children learned to ride on. And she had married the one member of their family who facilitated, so many years ago, the most wonderful of all my riding memories - cantering around a small lake on a trail that we often rode, feeling as free as the wind, as though I had shifted into some other dimension of water and forest and horses.
As my father's body left his home, I was back on that magical ride, and hope that in some way his spirit was having the same feeling of freedom and magic in the ethers.
I was incredibly touched by the sharing of hugs and "I love you's" that passed between my mother and this team of women who have spent the past year supporting her, taking care of my father, and whose job it is to guide families through the death process.
I can't offer enough praise or enough thanks for these women. They do their job so well.
For now, I'm taking some time off from blogging, as I think I need to open up some time to process other things, to enjoy the spring weather on the backs of Keil Bay and Cody, to work on my books, and to spend some time with my mom, who has given up so much of her own freedom over the past year to make sure my dad was comfortable and safe and as happy as he could be.
When I left November Hill yesterday morning to go to my parents' house, knowing it would be a day we had all on some level been waiting for, I encountered a large snapping turtle stranded in the middle of the main road. He was muddy and I couldn't tell if he'd been hit, but there was a fair amount of traffic, including big rigs going too fast for anyone's good. I couldn't stop, but I called home and told my husband where the turtle was. When I hung up I started crying, feeling terrible for the turtle, feeling like it was some sort of sign but too complex for me to sort out in the moment.
My husband called back minutes later to assure me he had gone to rescue the turtle, who had NOT been hit, and had moved the turtle to safety in the woods on the other side of the road. In some odd way the turtle's rescue became a comfort for me all through the day and evening.
Until I get back to blogging, enjoy the spring, live well, and travel safely.
Friday, April 03, 2009
the celebration continues
Yesterday morning, with another threat of rain, I decided to again let the herd get their transition to green grass time earlier in the day instead of later. As you can imagine there was no grumbling about this change of routine.
They entered the front field in the order they finished their breakfast tubs, so the donkeys went in first, then Cody, and then Salina. When I let Keil Bay out he immediately became very possessive of the green, and went after the lovely black mare as though he were really going to be able to make her stop eating.
She kicked up both heels at him, flinging clods of dirt in his face, but even that didn't stop him. He flagged her again with his ears back, and Salina, 26 years old in March, stepped up into a lovely canter, kicked up her heels at him one more time, and proceeded to canter a big circle in the upper field, and in the process JUMPING a feed tub I had taken out there for the horses to lick clean!
Even with her arthritic knees, I have seen Salina do an extended trot that would probably get a score of 10 in a dressage test, pivot on a dime in both directions, do beautiful flying changes, and gallop as fast as the younger men in our herd, but until yesterday I have never seen her jump.
I went back into the barn to put on the pony's grazing muzzle, marveling that nothing could top the jumping mare, but when the pony came trotting out of the barn doing his own 10 trot, wearing his muzzle with what almost seemed like pride, I knew we were having a second day of pure celebration here.
It's pure pleasure seeing horses and donkeys so happy and exuberant. A spring tonic for sure.
They entered the front field in the order they finished their breakfast tubs, so the donkeys went in first, then Cody, and then Salina. When I let Keil Bay out he immediately became very possessive of the green, and went after the lovely black mare as though he were really going to be able to make her stop eating.
She kicked up both heels at him, flinging clods of dirt in his face, but even that didn't stop him. He flagged her again with his ears back, and Salina, 26 years old in March, stepped up into a lovely canter, kicked up her heels at him one more time, and proceeded to canter a big circle in the upper field, and in the process JUMPING a feed tub I had taken out there for the horses to lick clean!
Even with her arthritic knees, I have seen Salina do an extended trot that would probably get a score of 10 in a dressage test, pivot on a dime in both directions, do beautiful flying changes, and gallop as fast as the younger men in our herd, but until yesterday I have never seen her jump.
I went back into the barn to put on the pony's grazing muzzle, marveling that nothing could top the jumping mare, but when the pony came trotting out of the barn doing his own 10 trot, wearing his muzzle with what almost seemed like pride, I knew we were having a second day of pure celebration here.
It's pure pleasure seeing horses and donkeys so happy and exuberant. A spring tonic for sure.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
the best celebration of spring I've seen so far
This morning I decided that after breakfast the horses and donkeys would get their hour in the front field, since it's cloudy, threatening to rain, and the temperature remained pretty steady overnight, so presumably the sugars in the new grass weren't spiking.
My son went out to the end of the paddock to open the gate to the front field, and Cody had already gone out. When I let Keil Bay out of his stall, he stopped to check out Cody's empty feed tub, then looked out and realized the front field was OPEN!
You could see the expression on his face: wow! not only did I get my yummy breakfast I now get to go out to that amazing grass! It was clear this was a top-notch morning in the Big Bay's opinion.
I wish I had a video - he sprang into a lively canter down the paddock, slowed to a very suspension-filled trot at the gate to make sure he didn't bowl over my son, and then revved back into the canter as he passed through.
He did a big canter circle, kicked up his heels, and then came to a dead halt, head down to graze before the blink of an eye.
Keil Bay turns 20 this month, and you'd never know it seeing his enthusiasm for life.
My son went out to the end of the paddock to open the gate to the front field, and Cody had already gone out. When I let Keil Bay out of his stall, he stopped to check out Cody's empty feed tub, then looked out and realized the front field was OPEN!
You could see the expression on his face: wow! not only did I get my yummy breakfast I now get to go out to that amazing grass! It was clear this was a top-notch morning in the Big Bay's opinion.
I wish I had a video - he sprang into a lively canter down the paddock, slowed to a very suspension-filled trot at the gate to make sure he didn't bowl over my son, and then revved back into the canter as he passed through.
He did a big canter circle, kicked up his heels, and then came to a dead halt, head down to graze before the blink of an eye.
Keil Bay turns 20 this month, and you'd never know it seeing his enthusiasm for life.
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