Rafer's reminder: stop and smell the flowers!

An English proverb says:

If the first thing you hear in the morning is a donkey bray, make a wish and it will come true.


Now I know why life is better with donkeys!

front porch musings

Last night we had my husband's birthday dinner (Indian food, a favorite of 3 out of 4 of us here) on the front porch while the equines, all six of them, provided the background music: grass munching.

Several of the felines joined us, and I have not had many happier moments than we had yesterday evening, sitting with good food, white wine, excellent company, and the loving companionship of horses and donkeys and cats.

Kyra Corgi was inside with teen son, whose schedule is out of whack right now, and since he's the one not into Indian, we ate without him.

 We don't normally allow all six equines down in front at the same time, as there is the potential for a stampede back up to the barn, but they are so into the grass, and it was so quiet in the neighborhood, we allowed it.

There are pictures, but they are from my daughter's camera, which has raw data that needs converting to jpeg format (I think that's right!) - so as soon as I can get husband or daughter to send them to me, I'll post them.

Meanwhile, here is Dickens E. Wickens stretching toward the light.



It was shining brightly here yesterday evening.

waiting for the learning moments

I was going to write about yesterday evening, when we fenced off the front yard, as we often do about this time each year, so we can utilize horses to do some mowing for us while at the same time acclimating them to the growing brilliant green carpet of grass.

Keil Bay and Apache Moon took their turn first, while I did some pruning and kept them company. They worked their way from the top of the side yard all the way down to the very front edge, and I watched in the usual wonder at how expertly efficient Keil Bay is in grazing. He has it down to a fine art.

They neither one wanted to leave when their 15 minutes were up, so my husband marched up to the barn for halters and the dressage whip so I could do a little driving from behind. I didn't need the tapping of the whip; once the halter was on, I got Keil's attention off the grass and onto me, and we practiced walking, halting, my verbal invitation to return to grazing, my request for head up, and more walking. This was one of those moments that was perfect for reviewing basic leading manners.

The pony defied a couple of attempts to halter him, but once I had Keil Bay back up to the barn, he came trotting up the hill after us, looking like a movie star pony, head held high and body floating across the grass.

This morning my daughter and I were getting horses and donkeys ready for the day. They all seem to enjoy having fly masks on this time of year - those gnats and midges that go for the ears are out in full force. So Keil Bay, Cody, and the pony got their masks, and daughter went out to search for Salina's. When she came back she decided to put on Rafer Johnson's mask (his doesn't have ears, as the donkeys don't seem much bothered by bugs, but he likes the mask during the sunny days - I think of it as his sunglasses).

Redford never wanted his earless mask last year, just as he doesn't want any fly spray, so instead of forcing the issue, we simply offer, and when he says "no thank you" we let him be.

Much as learning to read in humans seems to be something that comes easily when the child is ready to learn, there seem to be moments when equines make learning leaps. Things that were scary suddenly seem fine, and if you're paying attention and make the most of these moments, you can save a lot of stress for both the equine and yourself.

This morning Redford was offered his fly mask, yet again, as he was many times last summer. Today he decided that even the sound of the velcro being undone was not scary, and that he'd take his mask just like everybody else in the barn. No fuss, no hard work. It was just as easy as if he'd been doing it his entire life.

There are lots of things that horses and donkeys need to learn to be what we consider "good citizens," but many of these skills are pushed not because they're absolutely necessary but because of our own human timetables that often make no sense.

Much like reading is pushed because of the agenda of the school systems and the need to get children "on the same page" at the same time.

I've advocated for a more laid back, individualized structure for children for my entire adult life, but since returning to the world of keeping horses I now find myself advocating for the same thing for them.

When we learn something when we're physically AND psychologically ready for it, the lesson is easier, and it sticks.

the nature of work

                                                                                                                                                                           

 For the past five days, my work space was the above, a double room at a mansion that offers writing retreats for the very lucky writers in our state, thanks to an organization and wonderful group of people who are committed to maintaining this historic home as well as the philosophy that artists need space and time to create.  

 Indeed, this trip provided that, and I came home happy and satisfied that I'd met my writing goals while there.

This morning I returned to my usual place of work, this messy desk, where I am surrounded by mail, seed packets, to do lists, books, stacks of paper in need of filing, and a few talismen that manage to keep me inspired despite the clutter: the feather of a crow that I found in my labyrinth path, two stones my writer friend Dawn brought me from Shakespeare's stomping grounds, a carved bird, a white fairy horse, and the stuffed magical pony Ryan that Dawn gave me for my birthday.

Although clutter on my desk is not my preferred way of being, most days I have to make the choice. Focus on household chores including decluttering, or spend time in my other main work space, the barn. Not much of a choice! I headed out and was immediately transported back into the world of horses, donkeys, and the morning routine that at this time of year involves quite a bit of labor.

Mixing and feeding breakfast tubs, getting stalls set up with hay and clean water, doing a light groom and tick check, fly masks, etc.

 The work I did in the lovely pristine room above for the past few days was its own kind of labor. Pulling together a book-length story that has been in my head for many years now, needing to get the first draft out so I can move on to the different task of editing and polishing, is a job, although one I happen to love very much. The last two days I struggled a bit with the idea of ending. Not the ending itself - that was there all along, and accessible. What I battled was the work of ending something that has been ongoing for what feels like a very long time. I finally did it yesterday before lunch, and when I read the final chapter out loud to Dawn in the early evening, I started crying as I tried to read the last two paragraphs.

It's been awhile since I wrote the last page of the first draft of a novel. I'd forgotten how emotional I get when I do it. In the end, Dawn had to take my laptop and read that last bit out loud FOR me. And the work of writing, the labor of it, the shift from novel-in-progress to complete draft, was done.

Once it was read out loud, it was fine. There's a reason writing a book is often compared to giving birth.

This morning I came back to the more physical labor of keeping horses. As I scrubbed buckets and mixed feed tubs and stuffed hay nets, I realized that the beauty of my writing retreat is actually the same beauty of my daily life. Both involve meaningful work, and work that has meaning, and even when there are rough days where things don't exactly flow, underneath the bumps and struggles there is the deep sense that what I'm doing makes me happy, and matters on some level.

My friend Dawn wrote a beautiful post this weekend, which you can read HERE.

Something about what she wrote made me think about art and work and the value of how we choose to spend our time. And the value of how we VIEW the way we choose to spend our time.

If I were in charge of everything, career counselors and guidance counselors would teach students of all ages not only how to find meaningful work, but the skill of finding meaning in our work, because we need both skills in our lives.

Today I'm grateful for the work I have in front of me, and that all of it has the potential to give me joy and satisfaction, whether it be writing a page that sings, or treating a mare's tick bite so carefully and gently she lifts her tail and stretches her neck in appreciation. Editing pages and finding the silver threads along the way, or rinsing beet pulp until the water runs clear.

kairos

My time on retreat has been special - outside regular time, almost as if I've left daylight saving time, eastern standard time, and entered magical writing time. It's always special down here, but this trip seems particularly potent.

The first full day I was given the name of an editor for my book by a random visitor to the mansion, a perfect poem arrived in my Writer's Almanac daily email, and I found myself being incredibly productive writing-wise, instantly upon arriving. No decompression time, no transition between regular life and writing retreat. Just. Writing. Now.

Yesterday I had a major breakthrough connecting something I'd just written to the earlier chapters of the book.

Today I am working on the final two chapters, in that magical space where the entirety of what's left to write is hanging fully formed in front of me. I'm the funnel, and all I have to do is make sure I keep myself in place so the words can filter down.

This morning a dove landed on the iron rail outside my bedroom window, directly facing me as I typed. It called out two times, looking into my eyes, and then flew away.

This afternoon there's a concert downstairs, so the music of violins and piano and other stringed instruments will be floating through the various wings and hallways of the mansion. I'm trying to time it so I write the last chapter during the concert. I like the idea of finishing this pony novel with music.

Tonight we'll read pages out loud and tomorrow I'll be in the wonderful position of tying up the loose ends I've discovered in the ms. When I get home I'll let it sit for a week and then dive into editing.

Sometimes when I'm here time goes too quickly, but this trip it's being perfect. I'm so in awe of things lining up this way.