Yesterday in the barn aisle Keil Bay and I were standing and enjoying the cold breeze that blew through, finally some relief from the hot muggy air we've had for the past week.
That's for us, I told him. We have a cool spell, then another few days in the 80s, and THEN, it's cooling way down and maybe this time that's it. We're going to ride, Big Bay. It's you and me in the arena getting back in shape.
He turned and looked at me and then went into the deepest, most perfect downward dog, horse version, that I've ever seen, and when he finished he extended one hind leg out behind him in a perfect stretch.
Exactly.
And point taken! I need to work on some yoga stretches too so I'll be as ready as he is when the saddle goes on.
billie hinton’s camera-obscura:
life and lessons on November Hill Farm
Friday, October 13, 2017
Thursday, October 12, 2017
What happened when I stopped trying to do Everything
A few months ago my husband and I decided to hire someone to come once every other week to help us get the fenceline on two sides of the farm clear for the fencing that will be done in November. Through a serendipitous referral we found the exact right person to do this job, and quickly realized that a number of my projects could be expedited with his help. He started coming one day a week and then two days a week.
What happened next?
The nightmare of honeysuckle, wild muscadine, and trumpet vine living under our front porch was dug out and cleared out of the beds around the porch.
The beds were cleared and prepped for planting.
The farm was weedeated on a regular basis.
The mowing was done.
The fenceline, a total thicket of poison ivy and other invasive things, was cleared.
The pastures were cleared of fallen sticks and weed patches.
The very back wooded area is about 2/3 clear now, with stacks of firewood and kindling waiting for the woodstove if it ever gets cold this year.
A month ago we decided to have someone come help me with cleaning inside the house once every other week.
Every room but the master bath has now been deep cleaned and kept that way.
For years I've said I can do three things in a day. Barn, house, family. Ride, family, house. Pasture, family, house. Family, writing, house. The bottom line is that family, which includes the 11 animals we currently live with, is always going to be one of three. That is as it should be. But what it meant was I never got to everything, because there are really 5 things that matter to me: family, write, ride, house, barn/pasture/farm. So I was forever juggling it all, making bits of progress, then losing it again as other things piled up.
Now what happens is a couple of amazing people do one of the things while I do the others, and at least some of the time, I see projects getting done much more quickly than they otherwise would.
I'm an introvert at heart so some of the time I go through a half hour of stress about having someone here, but once that passes I appreciate the help and am grateful that at this point in our lives we can afford to make the choice to put some resources toward getting it.
Yesterday while the downstairs was being managed by someone other than me, I sat in my garret and reduced three piles of paperwork to nothing, checked about 6 things off my to do list, and prepared the sleeping set-up to accommodate having the attic AC/heat unit inspected and two rooms painted. It's amazing what I can get done when the pressure of trying to do it all is removed.
The message beneath all this is not about hiring people to help, although that is part of it. At its core, the message is about me allowing for the fact that I can let go of my own desire to Get Everything Done. It's something I have worked on for years but hiring people to help has not only helped get some needed work done, it's shifted my mobile, to use an analogy I often use with clients. When we change something, just one thing, it shifts everything else around. So often we think we have to make huge changes to see a difference in our lives, our relationships, our selves. But many times just making one change results in a whole new way of being. Like a mobile hanging in a room. If you touch just one part, the whole things shifts.
And that is what I've done.
What happened next?
The nightmare of honeysuckle, wild muscadine, and trumpet vine living under our front porch was dug out and cleared out of the beds around the porch.
The beds were cleared and prepped for planting.
The farm was weedeated on a regular basis.
The mowing was done.
The fenceline, a total thicket of poison ivy and other invasive things, was cleared.
The pastures were cleared of fallen sticks and weed patches.
The very back wooded area is about 2/3 clear now, with stacks of firewood and kindling waiting for the woodstove if it ever gets cold this year.
A month ago we decided to have someone come help me with cleaning inside the house once every other week.
Every room but the master bath has now been deep cleaned and kept that way.
For years I've said I can do three things in a day. Barn, house, family. Ride, family, house. Pasture, family, house. Family, writing, house. The bottom line is that family, which includes the 11 animals we currently live with, is always going to be one of three. That is as it should be. But what it meant was I never got to everything, because there are really 5 things that matter to me: family, write, ride, house, barn/pasture/farm. So I was forever juggling it all, making bits of progress, then losing it again as other things piled up.
Now what happens is a couple of amazing people do one of the things while I do the others, and at least some of the time, I see projects getting done much more quickly than they otherwise would.
I'm an introvert at heart so some of the time I go through a half hour of stress about having someone here, but once that passes I appreciate the help and am grateful that at this point in our lives we can afford to make the choice to put some resources toward getting it.
Yesterday while the downstairs was being managed by someone other than me, I sat in my garret and reduced three piles of paperwork to nothing, checked about 6 things off my to do list, and prepared the sleeping set-up to accommodate having the attic AC/heat unit inspected and two rooms painted. It's amazing what I can get done when the pressure of trying to do it all is removed.
The message beneath all this is not about hiring people to help, although that is part of it. At its core, the message is about me allowing for the fact that I can let go of my own desire to Get Everything Done. It's something I have worked on for years but hiring people to help has not only helped get some needed work done, it's shifted my mobile, to use an analogy I often use with clients. When we change something, just one thing, it shifts everything else around. So often we think we have to make huge changes to see a difference in our lives, our relationships, our selves. But many times just making one change results in a whole new way of being. Like a mobile hanging in a room. If you touch just one part, the whole things shifts.
And that is what I've done.
Wednesday, October 11, 2017
Rain mandala
Finally, some rain on November Hill. I put in a rain gauge in the flat upper bed and measured .6 inches on Saturday, .5 inches on Sunday, a trace on Monday, and more yesterday that I need to check.
We need even more but it's nice to have some each day instead of a deluge all at once.
I noticed a batch of huge rusty-colored mushrooms in the back this morning. I'm sure some things are popping up with the ground staying damp for so many days now with not much sunshine.
The birdbath created an interesting mandala when I emptied it yesterday so I took a photo. May we all get the water we need to sustain our needs. I'm thinking too of California and the wildfires and hoping the winds die down, rain falls, and the fires are soon under control. It's been an intense late summer and early fall with hurricanes, earthquakes, and wildfires.
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
Horses and humans, meeting in the middle
Last night in the barn I was cleaning feed tubs and waiting for husband to bring out the dinner buckets. Keil Bay thought I was getting ready to feed, so he joined me at the feed room door, but when I just stood there, rubbing his neck, he nudged me, a big (some would say rude) nudge with his muzzle.
I stepped back to catch my balance, made a little shriek sound, and the Big Bay's eyes went wide and a sliver of white showed. He raised his head. I collected myself. Then, just as suddenly, I relaxed and breathed out in a sigh. He lowered his head and made a soft snort.
Keil Bay and I know one another well enough that this kind of communication happens all the time. He got overly excited about dinner, I misread his appearance at the doorway, I offered affection, he wanted food, he expressed himself, I reacted, he reacted. Then we both breathed and relaxed and grounded ourselves together. I think if you simmer the essence of horse and human communication down to its most basic, this is what you have.
I kept thinking about it, though it's not a new idea to me, nor to most people who spend time with horses and spend more time pondering how this relationship works.
Horses are large compared to humans and their instincts tend toward flight in moments of fear, boldness in times of play, and what to a horse is a simple nudge asking for movement, can be a rough shove to a smaller human. A shriek quite normal in volume as a reaction of surprise by a female human is incredibly loud to a horse.
This could have gone another way if Keil didn't know me and I didn't know Keil. Years of living together have taught us a few things.
Horses bolt and flee when things get scary, sometimes they rear and spin. Humans grip on tight and fold forward into a modified fetal position. Humans usually tense up, horses do too but their tension is released by their motion, if allowed.
Put the human who grips on tight and folds forward into a ball of hard muscle on a horse trying to get away from something scary and you have a recipe for disaster.
For humans to coexist peacefully with horses we have to engage in a mutual training down of our natural instincts. We teach the horse not to bolt, not to run away, to keep his hooves on the ground, to spin only when we ask him to. We teach ourselves to sit up straight, to resist the urge to grip on tight with hands and legs, to let our seats go deep instead of forward, to relax our bodies into the horses' forward motion. It's almost never an equal endeavor.
A young horse with less training usually needs a more experienced human and vice versa. Personalities play a role, and for the human, a basic philosophy about how we treat "others" plays a role as well.
I think the best horse people meet their horses in the middle. They listen to the horses to learn how to give at the right moments, in ways that are safe for both, in consistent patterns of behavior that build trust.
The image I have is of a human and a horse walking into an open space, an arena, or a field, and both working in unison to control instincts and join forces. A well-known Rumi poem came to mind, but I'd never considered it in the context of humans and horses. I think it fits pretty well.
Out Beyond Ideas
I stepped back to catch my balance, made a little shriek sound, and the Big Bay's eyes went wide and a sliver of white showed. He raised his head. I collected myself. Then, just as suddenly, I relaxed and breathed out in a sigh. He lowered his head and made a soft snort.
Keil Bay and I know one another well enough that this kind of communication happens all the time. He got overly excited about dinner, I misread his appearance at the doorway, I offered affection, he wanted food, he expressed himself, I reacted, he reacted. Then we both breathed and relaxed and grounded ourselves together. I think if you simmer the essence of horse and human communication down to its most basic, this is what you have.
I kept thinking about it, though it's not a new idea to me, nor to most people who spend time with horses and spend more time pondering how this relationship works.
Horses are large compared to humans and their instincts tend toward flight in moments of fear, boldness in times of play, and what to a horse is a simple nudge asking for movement, can be a rough shove to a smaller human. A shriek quite normal in volume as a reaction of surprise by a female human is incredibly loud to a horse.
This could have gone another way if Keil didn't know me and I didn't know Keil. Years of living together have taught us a few things.
Horses bolt and flee when things get scary, sometimes they rear and spin. Humans grip on tight and fold forward into a modified fetal position. Humans usually tense up, horses do too but their tension is released by their motion, if allowed.
Put the human who grips on tight and folds forward into a ball of hard muscle on a horse trying to get away from something scary and you have a recipe for disaster.
For humans to coexist peacefully with horses we have to engage in a mutual training down of our natural instincts. We teach the horse not to bolt, not to run away, to keep his hooves on the ground, to spin only when we ask him to. We teach ourselves to sit up straight, to resist the urge to grip on tight with hands and legs, to let our seats go deep instead of forward, to relax our bodies into the horses' forward motion. It's almost never an equal endeavor.
A young horse with less training usually needs a more experienced human and vice versa. Personalities play a role, and for the human, a basic philosophy about how we treat "others" plays a role as well.
I think the best horse people meet their horses in the middle. They listen to the horses to learn how to give at the right moments, in ways that are safe for both, in consistent patterns of behavior that build trust.
The image I have is of a human and a horse walking into an open space, an arena, or a field, and both working in unison to control instincts and join forces. A well-known Rumi poem came to mind, but I'd never considered it in the context of humans and horses. I think it fits pretty well.
Out Beyond Ideas
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense
there is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense
Monday, October 09, 2017
Corgi tales
Baloo is getting so big now, and although he looks like an adult he is still very much a puppy and seems to be going through a teething phase right now as he has been going through the yak milk chews faster and has also had a few chewing mishaps.
In a 3-day period he chewed up my checkbook that cat knocked to the floor, chewed up a paperback novel that fell off the sofa arm (my fault for leaving it there), and in an odd accident, while chewing on the handle to the bottom drawer of a chest of drawers I have in our dining room, learned how to open the drawer.
The first day he just chewed the handle and I sprayed it with a no-chew concoction. That night he opened the drawer and removed everything in it and spread it all over the living room floor. The drawer contains a huge number of intricately braided ropes and lanyards and other things made by my son when he was younger. Some of the patterns of braiding and the knots are works of art, and some are connected to carved wooden handles he also made. I put it all back, used the air can as a firm NO, and hoped that was the end of it.
The second night he opened the drawer and took it all out again. I heard him and sprayed the air can again and put all the stuff back again.
Today, the third day, before leaving the house for awhile, I piled all his chewies and toys and bones in a big pile in the middle of the dining/living rooms and resprayed the concoction on the drawer handle.
When I got home he had opened the drawer yet again, removed all the ropes and handles, and spread them out almost like he was admiring them. They weren't torn up, or chewed, simply spread out all across the floor.
I have removed them all from the drawer now and figure I'll just leave it empty for awhile, but I can't even express how funny it was to see him figure this out and proceed to take all these treasures out three days in a row and lay them out like he had, indeed, discovered his very own treasure.
The expression on Bear's face - I had nothing to do with this - was also priceless!
In a 3-day period he chewed up my checkbook that cat knocked to the floor, chewed up a paperback novel that fell off the sofa arm (my fault for leaving it there), and in an odd accident, while chewing on the handle to the bottom drawer of a chest of drawers I have in our dining room, learned how to open the drawer.
The first day he just chewed the handle and I sprayed it with a no-chew concoction. That night he opened the drawer and removed everything in it and spread it all over the living room floor. The drawer contains a huge number of intricately braided ropes and lanyards and other things made by my son when he was younger. Some of the patterns of braiding and the knots are works of art, and some are connected to carved wooden handles he also made. I put it all back, used the air can as a firm NO, and hoped that was the end of it.
The second night he opened the drawer and took it all out again. I heard him and sprayed the air can again and put all the stuff back again.
Today, the third day, before leaving the house for awhile, I piled all his chewies and toys and bones in a big pile in the middle of the dining/living rooms and resprayed the concoction on the drawer handle.
When I got home he had opened the drawer yet again, removed all the ropes and handles, and spread them out almost like he was admiring them. They weren't torn up, or chewed, simply spread out all across the floor.
I have removed them all from the drawer now and figure I'll just leave it empty for awhile, but I can't even express how funny it was to see him figure this out and proceed to take all these treasures out three days in a row and lay them out like he had, indeed, discovered his very own treasure.
The expression on Bear's face - I had nothing to do with this - was also priceless!
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