summer's end, some speed bumps, and Wendell Berry

After a writing weekend that got canceled at the last minute,  I proceeded on my own and worked like a maniac. I didn't set foot in the barn from Friday afternoon until this morning.  I was eager to get out there today, but discovered we seem to be running our very own vet clinic this week.

Keil Bay got a small cut above his eye last week that is not getting infected, but keeps re-opening because of where it is and the fact that his facial muscles keep it moving.

Rafer Johnson is off on his right hind. No swelling, no obvious signs of anything, just tenderness on that foot. It's better - definitely not getting worse - but of course we have to keep our eyes on him.

Now Salina is off on her left hind. Seems to be hoof tenderness as opposed to joint or muscular issues. Abscess? Don't know yet. She too seems fine otherwise but is just taking it slowly around the barn and barnyard.

My mind is spinning with possibilities and diagnoses and remedies and the usual big question: is it time to call the vet?

My typical reaction to equine offness in any form or fashion is an immediate increase in stress. I feel out of control, I want to know exactly what's going on, and yet I am never comfortable with a huge veterinary intervention that tends to rule many things out before ruling anything in.

So this morning I did my own assessments of each issue and have plans for each of them in terms of what I can do myself and when it will be time to get the vet out. The weird thing is, the instant I get out there and start looking and checking and doing my equine nursing care routine, they all seem to get immediately better.  Sometimes I wonder if my not being out at the barn for a weekend is what gets these things rolling in the first place.

I also spun out initially to a morbid sort of place that in an odd way helps me settle down when dealing with unknowns and equines. I reminded myself that no animal here will ever have to suffer, that they all have good, rich lives, and that if the worst thing comes to pass, it will be sad and hard, but it won't be the end of the world. Death is part of life. When we live with animals, we take on the responsibility to help when things get to a point of no return, or to a point where quality of life must be assessed and acted upon. Reminding myself of this usually brings tears to my eyes, but then it brings me a sense of peace - and from that place I can march on and do what needs to be done.

At that point, this morning, I asked Salina if we are nearing a difficult decision. She flat out ignored me, which I think means no, we aren't. I walked out to the pondering bench and decided to just sit down and relax for a few minutes. Rafer came out and stood with me. He put his full weight on his right hind, used his left hind to scratch his nose, and then looked at me as if to say, "See? I'm okay."

I reminded myself that I wake up many mornings with little aches and pains, most of which work themselves out as I begin the day. Sometimes I end the day with little aches and pains, most of which heal with rest and a bit of time. Horses get those too. As do donkeys. And it's been a long, hot, very itchy and buggy summer for all of us.

With Salina in the barn whinnying her usual "where are my donkey boys?" and Rafer Johnson standing with me, alert and happy,  I looked up to the sky, through the leaves of the big oak, and saw many small dark objects in the dripping down of a different set of leaves. The wild muscadines are ready to eat. So I stood up and helped myself to as many as I could reach. I wait for these each year, as I have since I was very young, and today I savored the taste of the first in this end of summer season.

Each year now when I eat them I'm reminded of my most favorite Wendell Berry poem. (and my favorite poem, in general):
 

The Wild Geese

Horseback on Sunday morning,

harvest over, we taste persimmon

and wild grape, sharp sweet

of summer's end. In time's maze

over fall fields, we name names

that went west from here, names

that rest on graves. We open

a persimmon seed to find the tree

that stands in promise,

pale, in the seed's marrow.

Geese appear high over us,

pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,

as in love or sleep, holds

them to their way, clear,

in the ancient faith: what we need

is here. And we pray, not

for new earth or heaven, but to be

quiet in heart, and in eye

clear. What we need is here.

Wendell Berry

 Indeed.

walking in their hoofprints

This morning when I went out to feed and do barn chores, I was quickly dripping sweat even though the temperature was not all that terrible. I didn't think much about it, but then noted that the horses were banging at their back doors ready to come in, even after they'd eaten breakfast. (I fed and then turned them back out to the paddock so I could get their stalls tidy and set up with hay.)

My daughter groomed and put fly spray on legs, and by that time I was sweating and getting itchy. I don't know why this summer is being so itchy, but I've heard other people say they're itching, their dogs are itching, and their horses are itching. I decided to mix up a bucket of a very mild vinegar rinse so we could wipe down faces, figuring it would likely feel good to them. They welcomed the extra attention, except for Keil Bay, who likes to stick his head up in the air. When he lowered it I found a small cut above his right eye, which meant I needed to get the wound ointment out. He allowed that with no problem - he was probably waving his head around in the first place to get me to notice the cut!

Finally we had everyone's stall set up and they couldn't wait to get inside in the shelter of the barn with fans, hay, and clean water. I headed out to do some paddock mucking. It was very humid. I figured out pretty quickly that if I just moved more slowly I wouldn't sweat as much, so I was literally taking a few steps, mucking a little, moving the wheelbarrow, stopping to look at the sky, mucking a little more.

The tulip poplars tend to leaf out very early in the spring, and they begin to lose their leaves much sooner than the other trees do, and as I stood in the paddock a tulip poplar leaf wafted down right in front of my face. For a moment I was astounded by the fact that the leaf seemed to be defying gravity, and then I realized it wasn't a leaf - it was a butterfly that looked exactly like a yellowing, browning leaf. The instant I realized it was a butterfly, it fluttered up and away, as if once I had gotten the message, the butterfly's job was done.

I made my way to the end of the paddock and out to the front field. I'm doing daily fire ant patrol right now, and I went around to the mounds I'd treated with DE yesterday and stirred the ants up again so more would come out and get into the powder.

Even in the shade of the trees, it was hot, muggy, and I was being dive-bombed by giant biting flies. I went all the way down the hill and to the front fence, around the perimeter, and back up again. By the time I was back at the barn I felt like I was going to simply melt or pass out. It was no wonder the horses and donkeys wanted in - being out today, even to just stand and do nothing, was work.

Sometimes I think we forget that there's always one easy way to see what's going on with our animals. Put ourselves in their footprints for a little bit. Turn off our churning brains, the cell phones so many of us carry around, and just let ourselves be in our bodies, feeling what we feel, imagining what they are feeling. It takes a few minutes, like today, when I took the extra time to muck and check ant mounds, to feel the effects of the heat. Sometimes we're in such a hurry we never actually get the full effect of something as simple as the weather.

And I wonder about things like loud radios in barns, and stalls that haven't been cleaned and smell of ammonia. All the things we don't really notice as we go in and out, not living the life they live, not stopping to feel what they might feel when they don't have the option to change it.

Today, if I was hot and sweating and literally feeling like dropping, I know for sure it felt worse to my horses. They are bigger, with hair covering their bodies. They can't easily escape the horrid biting flies, closing them out completely with doors and windows. The one way to get away from the big flies is to outrun them, but who wants to exert that much energy in this swelter?

I was happy we have shelter to offer them, and although I know many people (some members of my own family) think I go overboard sometimes with the animals I live with, I'm glad to do what needs to be done to make these extreme days (right now it's heat, but in the winter, it's cold biting rain and sometimes ice they need shelter from) more comfortable for them. Especially the seniors, who seem to appreciate the little things as much as the big ones.

It's why I sometimes sit down in the stall so I can smell what they smell, why I stop and just listen, and smell, and let the elements sink in for a few minutes. It doesn't take much time. It means a lot to them.

a tale of two corgis

A quick note to say that today seemed to mark a milestone. Bear and Kyra have been getting along famously, but suddenly they seem to be forming a pair. I came in from the barn and for the first time in over a year, was greeted by not one but two corgis running up the path toward me. It swept me back in a flash to all the times Chase and Kyra did that, and made me miss Chase but at the same time made me love having Bear with us now.

After their baths this afternoon, they both went outside together to dry in the sun, roll in the grass, and then came in ready for dinner.

And just now I came out of the bathroom to find two Corgi bodies stretched out sleeping on Kyra's comforter. Of course I tried to take a photo and of course the moment I aimed the camera, they both came running to me.

Bear is still so young and so adorable - but he's also able to sleep outside the crate already, sometimes lets himself out through the dog door now (and back in again), is learning to heel and sit, and right now is chewing his bone instead of the furniture!

I think Kyra feels like things are back to a new normal. Chase will never be replaced, but finally, she's got another Corgi in the house, and I think she was ready.

Interestingly, the cats have forgotten their old battles with Moomintroll and he with them. They seem to be a united feline front - especially the sisters and Moomin, who are being spotted three to a sofa several times a day since Bear arrived.

another week is getting away from me

I realized this morning that I generally take August off from blogging - it seems to be a busy time and the days roll past before I can even blink.

All the years of getting ready for school to start, whether it be grade school, high school, or college, have imprinted me with the idea that August is a time for preparing, for organizing, for getting ready for the autumn season.

This year I am finding myself organizing all over the house and in the barn, trying to maintain the pastures, which are probably the most verdant and in need of management than they have been the entire time we've lived here, and incorporating a new pup into the family. (he is sleeping by my feet on Kyra's folded comforter and just did a little yip in his sleep - either he's dreaming or he knows I'm writing about him!)

Every time I finish one little project something else shoves front and center.

Prioritization isn't really working for me right now - everything on my plate feels important and satisfying, and I don't WANT to put anything at the bottom of the list.

This is one of those things that qualifies as a "good problem" to have.

I'm not going to go on one of my "official hiatuses" here, but if you come to visit and there is no new post, think of the calendar as one of those water slide things people set up in the yard. It was the beginning of the week and I was going to post, but hit that slick surface of things to do and wheeeeee! it's the end of the week and time to walk back to the top of the slide and take another turn for the weekend.

And enjoy the end of summer. I think many of us are more than ready for the fall this year.

the week got away from me, and a farmers' market serendipity

It seems like it was Monday and then zip - now it's Friday already. I'm not sure why the days flew by this week, but we've had another hot spell (that is being broken somewhat as I type by a very isolated and very sudden downpour) and keeping animals and people comfortable in the heat while also incorporating a new pup into the family has kept us busy.

A very fun thing happened today. I was at the farmer's market, and a new vendor was there with a table spread with absolutely gorgeous cutting and cheese boards, all made from many different kinds of wood that has fallen or died on his farm. The boards were all made of 12 or so strips/stripes of wood, creating lovely patterns and shades of color.

As I tend to do at the market, I stopped to talk and ask him about his work. I was amazed that the boards were only $25 - $35. each. He pulled out a portfolio and began to flip through the pages, showing me various things he's made. He was most proud of his workshop floor, which is truly a work of art. It made me think to ask him about my feed/tack room floor project, which has never gotten off the ground because I had in mind a specific thing - old, wide planks - that would need to be located before I could even think about installing them.

So I asked him if he knew of any sources for that kind of wood.

He thought for a moment and then said, "What you need is some poplar."

My ears perked up. "You mean like tulip poplar?"

"Exactly."

I proceeded to tell him about the huge tulip poplar in our front field that has been debarked by a herd of sap-loving horses. It's standing tall, but is definitely dead and we have been talking about taking it down at the end of the summer.

He got very excited, and told me he can give me local sources for taking down the tree and also a local sawmill that will cut the planks. He also said he'd love to have some of the leftover if we have any.

This is one of those serendipities that makes me want to jump up and down. I had the idea for the wide planks, but couldn't find the exact right wood or source. But to use a tree from our own property that has died is absolutely perfect. And how cool is it that the tree the horses were obsessed with to the point of killing it ends up as the floor to their feed room? There's a certain poetry to the way they debarked it that would be neat to photograph before we take it down and hang that in the feed room above the wood plank floor.

I'll have to price the cost of the sawmill, but hopefully it will be affordable. A different kind of farmers' market treasure this week - but a very special one.