a rare autumn day

My husband and I had the rare treat today of going off on an adventure together, as neither of our independent teenagers wanted to go. We set out just after noon and went to a local vineyard to pick muscadine grapes.

The vineyard is remarkably compact and easy to navigate, and there were five varieties to choose from. The moment we walked up the path from the parking area we smelled the grapes, and quickly learned that once you get into the vines themselves, ducking under into the shade is not only good protection from the sun, but the best way to find the harvest.

We picked nearly five pounds and paid just under $5 for them. We bought a bottle of Scuppernong wine and went on to a little town I've been wanting to explore. Interestingly, this rural town has a thriving general store, which has a grill that serves local meat and vegetables. We had lunch sitting in Adirondack chairs out front, waving away flies and watching the dissipation and formation of a few very small clouds in an otherwise cloudless blue sky.

On our way back toward home, we stopped off in hopes of picking up a big round bale of hay from our hay grower. He was out harrowing a field, but his wife walked us through their organic garden with colander and clippers in hand, and we brought home a bag of peppers, tomatoes, and okra.

We visited with the two beloved farm dogs and the elder-cat, met the pigs, who came running out to greet us, and proceeded to dig for grass roots, and then wandered over to the cabin where the eggs are kept. We picked out two dozen house eggs, and then talked awhile hoping M. would arrive to spear our hay bale.

We spent a little bit of time driving out to where his wife thought he might be, with directions to pull over and put the windows down so we might hear the tractor and track him down. We weren't able to find him, but it was delightful to take some extra time looking.

The truck smelled of muscadines and the kids hadn't called.

I ended the day with a glass of scuppernong wine in the barnyard, sitting with my son, surrounded by horses and donkeys and Dickens E. Wickens.

Rafer Johnson put his head over my shoulder and did his happy donkey snort. Dickens kneaded my thighs with his paws. Keil Bay stood behind me and grazed. And Salina blew soft mare breath onto my cheek as she stood looking out waiting for my husband to come home with the hay.

The full moon rose up over the trees and we fed evening hay in the moonlight.

I'm not sure it gets much better than this.

october

The last afternoon in September I let all the equines in from the front field and we gathered in the barnyard. They circled around the big hay bale to munch. Keil Bay helpfully spread it out so there was room for six.

I had red wine instead of white, and Dickens was warm in my lap until the sounds of a squirrel drew him to the woods' edge.

By six you could feel a chill to the air.

Last night it got down into the 40s and my daughter came in from her night ride shivering. I closed the windows and we slept with the quilt on the bed.


All things on earth point home in old October: sailors to sea, travellers to walls and fences, hunters to
field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken.

- Thomas Wolfe

daytime turn-out

This is our third day of daytime turn-out after the long hot summer. I've actually been closing them into the front field instead of giving them the option to wander in and out, mainly because it's been really nice and I want them out and moving and getting back into the swing of this routine.

You can imagine the two who love it the most. This morning the dog across the lane was barking and the guardians trotted down front and center to check it out:



The rest of the herd lounged in the shade and let the donkey patrol take care of the dog:



I was working on fire ant mounds, which seem to be popping up suddenly. You can see why it's important to buy food grade DE:



Yes, he ate it. I'd nearly finished my dusting, so there wasn't much left. Lest you think I've lost my mind, some people feed this to horses as parasite control. It won't hurt him, but it gave him a very white muzzle:



You can probably guess who had to see what was going on:



I turned around and Rafer Johnson and the Big Bay had found their own treasure - a succulent young honeysuckle vine:



The sheer number of the shots I took of this is proof of how cute they were:



And of course Rafer Johnson plays it to the hilt:



Then Keil Bay gets in the game:



It was hard to put the camera away and get back to chores. I stood in the field awhile and had my own daytime turn-out along with the herd. Between daytime turn-out and grinding flax twice a day, there's no doubt we're heading into autumn.

labyrinthine perfection

I discovered this weekend that the labyrinth path is in its best incarnation yet. I haven't been down there since early July, when I injured my back and stopped doing the wheelbarrow chore. And then I worried that without my vigilance the entire project had probably fizzled out.

Oh me of little faith.

I walked down on Saturday with a wheelbarrow of manure and when I got to the bottom of the woodland trail I was stunned. With delight!

The labyrinth path was soft green grass, and it is a true labyrinth now, with trees growing over my head high, goldenrod in full bloom, and a true sense of the mystery and allure of a labyrinth.

My husband expressed surprise at my surprise. He says he told me he had been mowing the path itself, and that it was looking good. Somehow I never quite "heard" this. But he was understating the beauty of that entire space.

I took some photos but because of all the green, you really can't see the path and how it winds down and curves out of sight, pulling you to walk on down and see where it goes.

Once you're in the path proper, it feels like you've left everything behind and are in a quiet, special place. Exactly what I wanted when I started it.

Not quite as frequently as the tide washing sand castles away, the labyrinth path space is periodically cleared due to power lines. So I can't fully control the way things grow down there. But for this autumn, this month, it's absolutely perfect.

does your horse have a job?

I was reading something earlier that made me want to ask: for those of you who live with horses, do they have "jobs"?

If so, how important is that job? What happens if the horse can no longer do it?

It occurred to me as I was reading that my definition of job is very fluid and flexible.

If a horse can't do its "job" for whatever reason, I just find something else it *can* do. Or maybe all my horses have a multitude of jobs, so if one can't be done, it's not such a big deal.

In my mind, simple companionship is a fine and respectable job. Companionship for me AND for the other horses.

I hear horses being referred to as "pasture puffs" a lot. Which intrigues me, because if we as humans can't work because of physical issues or age we certainly don't refer to ourselves that way.

But I guess society does tend to value people for how much they can earn, so from that angle it's a similar phenomenon.

I'm still pondering this.