first of the forties

A quick note on Salina: 

Every day when I go out to her grave site I see TWO ribs very slightly exposed. There is absolutely no indication that any critter is doing this, and every day I am covering the ribs up again, the past two days with quite a large amount of compost. It feels very much like she is reiterating her message to me.

In another bit of synchronicity I read in Clarissa Pinkola Estes' Women Who Run With The Wolves that the crescent moon is associated with Kwan Yin. Salina's white star was actually a crescent moon, and Kwan Yin, among other things, is known as the goddess of compassion and motherhood. I think of Kwan Yin as a loving, protective, nurturing presence, and it totally fits with everything I know of Salina. She is bringing me such gifts, even now that she is gone.

In other news, our weather forecast predicts a low of 48 on Saturday night, with much cooler daytime temps to go along with that. I am beyond happy.

Yesterday I gave Keil Bay a long bath to get him ready (and to make him happy - it was a hot day). On my way in I grabbed his saddle and pad so I could clean them up, and when he saw me coming down the barn aisle with them he snorted in horror - NO WAY - it's 90 degrees, middle of the day, and horse flies are dive-bombing out there! I assured him I was just getting ready for the forties to come.

Today the saddle is cleaned and oiled, ready to go. The sheepskin pad has been washed, double-rinsed, and is already dry and fluffy, like new. I've taken his bridle apart and cleaned every centimeter. All I have to do now is clean the stirrup leathers and my boots. 

And daughter and I have been working out at the gym three times a week so I've been getting my body geared up for riding again too.

With a combined age of 78, Keil Bay and I will get back to some riding this week. Considering he didn't bat an eye when I passed with his bridle in hand, I think he's ready. :)

symbol of the soul

This morning was the day that I stopped spreading stall pickings in bare spots and started back wheeling them down to the grandmother compost pile. The path carries me past Salina's grave and I said hello to her as I walked by. I spent a little time down the back path, just looking and thinking about what needs doing down there, and about how beautiful it is, even in our year or so of neglect. 

I think what I love best about forest is its ability to rejuvenate and cover over and fill in. After we lost the trees there to lightning I felt the empty space tremendously. But already other trees are growing in that space. I feel protected and sheltered when I stand beneath that canopy. And also connected to many creatures: the deer, the foxes, even the spiders that build their webs across the path.

Coming back up the hill and nearing Salina's grave from the other direction, I spotted something white. I thought it was a clump of lime - after we mounded her body we applied a layer of lime and did so again a week after her death. It rained the day after we applied the second layer and some of the lime clumped and is still there in a few spots.

Closer inspection revealed that I was not seeing a clump of lime. The rain had formed a concave area in the top of the mound and what I had seen was actually one of Salina's ribs, bleached perfect and white by the sun. I was not repelled; in fact the instant I realized what it was I reached and touched it, feeling the curve and remembering the curve of her flank, the feel of her ribs underneath the flesh. I rubbed the curve the same way I would have had she been standing there.

It struck me how symbolic the rib bone is. How wonderful a gift to see that part of her gleaming white in the sun coming through the trees. I took some of the compost at the base of her grave and moved it up top, filling in the concave area and covering the rib with the sweet black dirt.

Just now I googled "symbolism of the rib" and the first thing I read was this:

"Thousands of years ago, our Creator had a divine thought: to give to man a "help-meet." Our God knew that man could not do the job by himself. He needed someone else to help meet humanity's needs--and God's.

This brilliant innovation was woman.

The book of Genesis tells us that she was created out of one of man's ribs (Genesis 2:21-22). I believe this was a strategic idea in order for woman to have her rightful place in this world. God did not choose a piece of Adam's head, so that woman would be over him; nor did He select a piece from Adam's foot, so that he would step on her. Rather, our loving Creator chose man's rib, so that woman was taken from his side--to be his equal...from under his arm--to be protected by him...and from near his heart--to be loved by him."

Although spiritual, I am not a religious person. But I couldn't help but think when I read the above passage that if you replace the word woman with horse you come very close to how I felt about Salina. She was my help-meet. She was brilliant. And every day I had with her I knew how equal she was to me - I felt the responsibility of protecting her, keeping her near my heart, and loving her. And I think she felt the same things toward me.

Reading on in my search for information, I followed links and ended up on a page about the symbolism of Eve. And found this quote, which I think says it all about my experiences with Salina since her death:

"Abdu'l-Bahá describes Eve as a symbol of the soul and as containing divine mysteries."

sisters at heart

I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.
-Emily Brontë

Am thinking of times spent cantering fast around Lake Johnson, back when there was nothing out there but the lake and the woods and the path and a few other horse-crazy girls and the horses, who knew their way and took good care of us so we could, for that hour, be like the wind.

This morning I posted the above on my Facebook page. A few minutes later, my friend and wonderful author Elaine Neil Orr (I highly recommend her memoir and her novel) commented:

I wish I had been with you. But I was half-savage and hardy swimming in an African river. We are sisters at heart.

I read the comment and wandered into the bathroom to brush my teeth. The phrase sisters at heart was resonating deeply with me. I felt like I was in the moment a Sister At Heart. Visceral, in the flesh. Suddenly I found myself standing at the kitchen sink, leaning over with the toothbrush still in my mouth, looking out at the scene above.

Behind the fence I saw a dark equine head beneath the oak tree. Close by I could see the swishing tails of the donkeys, Rafer and Redford. 

For about 15 seconds I was looking out at the beloved Salina and her two trusty donkey boys. I have seen that scene so many times. I was filled with peace and contentment and then my heart leaped. I remembered - Salina left us in May. Her grave is in the upper right of the picture above, beyond the barnyard, along the path by the arena.

And yet I had just "seen" her standing, ears pricked, looking at the kitchen window as she did so many times during her years with us.

When I blinked and looked again, it was of course the pony standing there. In the picture you can see his white. Not black, as Salina was.

And then I realized again I was standing at the kitchen sink, brushing my teeth, something I never do. Something had walked me to the place where I was to have what felt like a visitation. Salina was here again, just long enough for my heart to open and my eyes to fill with tears.

Long enough to perfectly define the phrase sisters in spirit.

And it all started, of course, with my memory this morning of riding by the lake, riding like the wind.

I never rode Salina like the wind. By the time she came into my life her knees were creaky and my own body was fully into middle age. We connected a different way - we drew together as mothers and wounded healers, bound by our huge need to keep our herd safe. Always alert to anything that might affect it.

This morning she reminded me she's still here, still looking out with her wise eye and her ears pricked. Sister at heart. Salina.
 

midsummer on November Hill

My husband and daughter both asked me why I hadn't written anything here in so long, and I realized they were right.

2012 was a rough year in many ways, and although 2013 seemed a heck of a lot better, it has gotten hard again since May. My energy level feels really low lately and although I celebrate the things that happen each day on November Hill, I haven't been able to write much about them. This summer has been full of rain, green (the greenest the fields have been in years thanks to my overseeding and all the natural watering), adolescent cats enjoying their first butterfly season, and watching a herd re-configure after the loss of a very opinionated boss mare.

They have worn a path to her grave. I see them, mostly individually, walking out there and standing to look at it, the same way I myself do, and I talk to her. I feel sure they are talking to her too.

After the initial grieving, Rafer Johnson took over Salina's watchful eye. He seemed anxious to make sure he noticed everything because she wasn't here to do it. Gradually he's let go of that and although he still seems a little grumpy to me, I think he's okay.

Redford is much much spookier than he was before she left. He has always been a bit more horse-like in his behavior than Rafer. After his gelding he got more skittish, but that had stabilized. Since Salina left Redford is much more suspicious of new people and will skitter away if anyone makes a sudden move.

Keil Bay and Cody have become even closer than they were before.

The biggest change is in the pony. I'm not sure why, but he has gotten so much sweeter since May. He's created some rituals with me around breakfast tubs, and seems more relaxed in general. He and Salina always had some words for one another - the pony tends to push the boundaries and she never let him do it. But he kept trying. He seems to be letting go of that behavior.

I haven't ridden a horse since a few weeks before Salina died. Somehow riding has gotten caught up with the idea that it will be the first time since she left. I can't quite imagine riding past her grave site, which is almost directly behind the A in our arena.

We've had a lot of rain this summer and the usual heat, but the worst thing are the gnats, which I don't think I've ever really noticed as much as I have this summer. At times they cloud around my eyes (cloud is too big a word for the number that annoy me, but I can't think of a lesser word that still captures the sensation) and I am just not willing to get out there and ride knowing both me and Keil Bay will be besieged.

But, more than that, I dread the thought of riding past Salina that first time.

On Saturday Keil Bay shoved past me to leave his side of the barn and go to the near side. He rarely does that, though my husband said he'd done it to him earlier that same day. So I got his halter and lead rope and the dressage whip and we went into the arena together.

He seemed almost relieved to be asked to do something. We didn't even make it halfway down the long side before he was trotting beside me, showing his willingness to move. He can, of course, easily keep up with me with his huge walk, and he had to collect his trot to stay with me at my big walk - and it was mid-day, so hot and miserable in the arena. But even so, he was eager and he seemed happy that I was asking and tapping and connecting.

Without even realizing what was coming, we walked past Salina. Keil and I both had a reaction as we passed her grave. I held in my breath and he turned his head and looked at her, and we kept walking together. "Okay," I said to him. "Now that's over with."

I unhooked the lead rope and he stayed with me, walking, trotting, turning, circling, backing. He was good. At the end we stopped by the gate and I cleaned his hooves. And he hasn't been pushy since.

I hope to get back in the saddle soon.

Meanwhile, it's the summer my firstborn heads off to college, and that is bringing up a lot of firsts. It's going to be sad the first day I go out to do morning chores and realize he is not here. He has homeschooled his entire life, and I've never used child care, so for 18+ years he has been in the middle of most of my days. It's going to be an adjustment.

I realized this weekend that we're rolling toward the end of July now, and August will fly by because of all the things on the calendar. It won't be long before the gnats are gone, the air is cooler, and my favorite season will be here again.

I'm not sure how this "first fall" will be - first since Salina left, first since son went to college. I have a lot of book stuff waiting to be done, so if I'm lucky, it will all whirl together into a return to my usual energy level.

I hope everyone is having a good summer - if not, you can join me in looking forward to fall!

"a total misunderstanding of the rules" says the Danish Equestrian Federation

Oh dear- it was all a "total misunderstanding" - now, everyone BUT the professional media can "photograph until you drop" at the upcoming Ecco FEI European Championships. Although this press release by the Danish Equestrian Federation (thanks to Epona TV for translating) has already disappeared from their site. Make no mistake, though, Ecco AND the Danish Eq. Fed. still support riding horses with heads cranked to their chests. It's just that certain professional media aren't allowed to photo/video them doing it. Go forth spectators and take photographs, film the riders, film the horses - and enjoy posting the evidence anywhere you like - the Fair Use law says you can do so.

The irony of their statement - a total misunderstanding of the rules - is killing me. 

 READ HERE for Epona TV's take.