Ever
since the first day we drove into our driveway and saw the view above
(without the fog though!), I have felt like November Hill, as we later
named our little farm, is HOME. As I just typed that line, movement
outside my window pulled my attention to the front field and there was
Keil Bay marching up the hill, followed by Apache Moon, followed by
Cody. The three of them in a line, in full stride, at that moment, is
the perfect example of why November Hill, on a daily basis, feels like a
living, breathing presence in my life. The horses are the life's blood
of November Hill. Things seem to connect here, and I feel like the
entire farm is in sync with me.
Yesterday we woke up to
Salina lying flat beneath the barn shelter, and it was obvious she had
been struggling to get up. She was surrounded by her herd, who I think
were protecting her at that point. She had created a sort of hole, in
which she was tipped back a bit too far, and close enough to the wall of
the barn that she couldn't roll over and get up the opposite way.
After
a couple of tries to get her up we called the vet, who was contacting
someone who has a small crane that can be used to help get a horse up.
My husband decided to turn her to see if the change in angle might
help.
Initially it didn't seem to. I wondered if we were
looking at That Time. But then Redford brayed and Salina whinnied back,
and her whinny was strong and clear and I felt like she just needed some
help. I decided to go in the barn and start my normal morning routine -
to do the things I do in the barn that one does in one's home. I turned
on the fans, started gathering the feed tubs, and began to measure the
various feedstuffs into the tubs.
Salina suddenly went
into action and my brave husband stood behind her and supported her as
she heaved up and got her footing. He continued supporting her until she
was steady. And she walked through the open gate and into the barn
aisle just like she does every morning. As smart as she is, she walked
on through and into the barnyard, keeping moving, getting her legs
back.
We did a few things we thought would help - had
given her a dose of Banamine already, but offered her a handful of oats
in water to get some fluid in, which she took. Then some wet hay. She
ate a bit of that but preferred the grass in the barnyard, which was the
right choice. She slowly walked around the entire perimeter of the
barnyard, nibbling and stretching and moving.
Within a few
minutes she had dropped manure, and within an hour, urinated. We slowly
started seeing all the signs one wants to see after a horse has been
down and is now back up again.
Throughout this ordeal, I
was extremely stressed but mostly calm. What helps me in these moments
is the sense of place that exists here, the feeling that the view of the
farm, as above, represents not just a still photo of the place we sleep
at night, but the face of a complex, living, breathing, full of life
character who holds, as in the cupped palms of safe hands, all of us who
live here.
Home.
Through the course of the
year November Hill offers me many moments of discovery. On Monday I
found an unfinished arrowhead in the dirt paddock. I suddenly felt a
connection to someone who lived here many years ago, living a different
kind of life but perhaps attached to the land and nature the same way I
am.
Yesterday in the middle of the turmoil I looked up and
saw a lone dove perched on the very top of the dead but still standing
tulip poplar at the top of the front field. I had seen the dove on
Monday when I found the arrowhead and wondered which one of the couple
the dove was - male or female - and what had happened to the other one.
It was a sad moment but then I wondered if it might be a young dove, not
yet paired up, looking for his/her partner in life. An ending or a
beginning - I had no way of knowing which.
When I saw the lone dove at the top of the tree, I
immediately thought of Lonesome Dove, a favorite book, a saga, and
somehow it felt comforting. We all live our own sagas. What was
happening with Salina was one page in the bigger story, and that helped
me know that we would get through it one way or another. An ending, or a
beginning.
On my way to the feed store yesterday I felt some anxiety
as I neared the end of our driveway. I didn't want to leave, but needed
supplies. Just as I neared the road, a reddish-orange bird landed on
the fence to my right. I slowed to get a closer look, thinking it was a
cardinal, but it wasn't. It actually looked like a variation of a mini
toucan. I've never seen such a bird before, but it felt special, like
the bird had come from a distant land to give me a message. It felt
hopeful, so I drove on.
I saw the bird again yesterday
afternoon, in the back field, where it once again landed on the fence
and watched me for a few moments before taking flight again.
The
first day we visited November Hill and in fact made the offer to buy
it, my children found an empty turtle shell in the back field. Last week
I saw what is probably the grandchild of that turtle, making its way
down to the fenceline, in no hurry at all. I picked it up and gazed into
its copper eyes and the turtle gazed back. I put it down and off it
went, continuing the journey.
It occurs to me that
November Hill is a place, and our home, but it's also the home for many
other creatures. We feel safe here and we all exist together, all on our
separate, but interconnected, journeys.
Salina is the
heartbeat of November Hill. She keeps her eye on everything, much like I
do, and with the two of us we don't miss much around here.
I've
been thinking of a blanket of warm healing energy surrounding her, and
thinking of heart, and fire, and the heart of a home, and the hearth of a
home.
And the photo my husband left on my desktop recently and how it represents all of that and so much more.
I was going to take a break from the internet after Memorial Day weekend. I tend to need a few hiatuses a year from the online world to get myself centered and grounded in the real world.
I'm going to start the time off today, with this post, and focus for awhile on the earth and fire, the water and the fog, and the life blood of my home - the horses and the donkeys and the teenagers and the cats and Corgis and a brave husband who is willing to stand behind a 1200+ pound mare and hold her up with all his might.
If anything too wonderful for words comes up, I'll pop back in and post, but for now, until later this summer, I'm going to be out at the barn, or writing, or spending time with this November Hill crew. Keep an eye out for new titles from November Hill Press. There are two very close to publication right now.
Travel well, stay safe, until the next post!
ADDENDUM:
Just had to pop in and add that yesterday one of the signature November Hill box turtles was discovered trying to get into our garage door, parked there like a little car. Husband brought it up to show me and it was tight inside its shell, but I asked him to come out and he opened his shell the tiniest crack and let me see his eyes, then as I talked more, he came all the way out - head, then neck, finally legs fully extended and then he went into fast walk mode in my hands! We relocated him to the back field hoping he had relayed his message and was ready to get on with his regular turtle travels.
Salina is doing well - turning out with the geldings for several hours each evening before coming back to her paddocks with the donkeys for the rest of the nights. Scrapes are healing, swelling is gone, and we are getting ready to extend her grass paddock to allow more room to graze. For now I'm not comfortable with her having access to the barn shelter in the early mornings - fortunately we have a number of options to explore to find what works well for her.
