The Old Saint-King, Keil Bay

 I saw this someplace this past week online and saved it as it made me think both of Keil Bay and an idea to note how much he remains with us. A wood-cut plaque of his profile on the tack room door where he will continue his reign as herd and human guardian, which he very much already is in spirit. 

My week has been very busy but today, the day I marked as the beginning of a slow slide into winter, I find myself thinking of him and shedding more tears. The quiet times are when I feel him most, and he is leading me to that calm place he always offered in his presence. 

Yesterday in the final day of my EMDR training and in the final processing I did as a client, I was working on a very early memory in which I was 3-4 years old and in the hospital for a procedure. My mom was handing me over to a nurse and I was terrified at being left there. As that single image from memory that carried the most fear was in my mind and I was doing the eye-movement desensitization protocol with my group partner as therapist - note that this was virtual training online - a rainbow of virtual balloons began to flow upward on the big screen of my desktop computer. In that moment I felt the joy of synchronicity and then the very potent pain and fear of the memory. I completed the eye movement set and in the check in with the therapist, noted the joy and the pain, and there were very powerful tears related to the memory, then more eye movements. As I came back to the check in moments, and reported that the pain had lifted, the balloons sprang up again and floated up on my screen. No one involved could figure out how this happened, as neither of us were touching our computers and we were in a secure break-out room on the platform. 

I say all this because in that moment I had the thought that it was Keil Bay who had done it, and I share that because it illustrates just how much I love him and how much he gave over the many years he has been with us. He was a powerful and giving soul and it’s easy to attribute amazing synchronicities to him now. 

I’m happy to say that I completed the 50-hour EMDR basic training last night and we had a wonderful graduation ceremony. It completely makes sense to me that Keil Bay has woven himself into this new journey with a new to me and powerful way of treating trauma. I will think of him every time I do this work with clients, and as I move forward with a year of work toward certification. 

November Hill farm journal, 196

 I was on writing retreat Wednesday through Monday and came home to a very full week, which I’m still in the midst of. Yesterday I finished my client work week and today I begin part two of the second three full days of EMDR training. Starting on Sunday I will happily enter what I’m going to call the slow ride into winter. I’m ready to hunker down a bit and putter and just feel all the feelings from this busy, and also sad, fall season.

I have put the flower arrangement our vets sent us in the window to dry and it’s continuing to be very beautiful and offers a visual reminder of how things that were beautiful in life can remain so after death. Keil Bay is never far from my spirit and it has occurred to me more than once that the bay horse who used to accompany me everywhere I went as a young girl is now very much still present, but instead of being unnamed, I know exactly who he is. Thank you, Big Bay, for continuing to share my journey. 

Writing retreat time was very good, though it took me two days to break through the crust of - not exactly resistance but more like a crust of inertia due to having been so in need of time away. Once that happened I was able to get into the writing again and worked on the novel (as opposed to the TV pilot) and I gave myself permission to leap far ahead in the story and write to the end. Sometimes this is what is needed to get rolling and it worked very well. 

Another part of writing retreat time when shared with other writers is reading one’s work out loud, and I was able to read the first half of another TV pilot I wanted to get some feedback on. And to hear a wonderful stage play read to me by my long-time writing friend D. 

It was good, creative, healing time and I’m grateful for it.

November Hill is turning colors this week and I can’t help but feel Keil Bay is reveling along with me as this happens. The herd remains in a state of processing. Almost every morning they can be found by Keil’s grave, and I think they’re drawn to him during the night when horses tend to cluster closely together. They do seem to me to be a bit depressed, though I’ve seen the donkeys play together a few times and also Cody and Little Man playing their tag game over the fence. I hope they find their playfulness again when enough time has passed. 

On Sunday I plan to complete the garage clean out so the Subaru can go back in. It’s very close to being done and so much has gotten donated and passed on. It’s good to feel some clearing in that way.

I don’t think I mentioned here that we made an offer on a farm the week before Keil Bay passed. The estate for the property accepted another offer due to our need to close in the new year, and this was the one place we’d really connected with, so it was a bit of a loss, though very quickly forgotten when we had the real and deep loss of Keil Bay passing. Right now there isn’t anything appealing on the market and I think we all feel like being here until we find the exact right place is the exact right place for us to be. Sometimes things work out in ways we don’t even know about, and sometimes never do, and I trust the process of synchronicity to set things in motion when the time is right. 

This morning this peace lily is opening wide against the autumn landscape outside and bringing me much peace.

November Hill farm journal, 195

 I’ve put off writing this because it joins the many things I’m calling “the firsts” - the first time I’ve gone to our barn since 2005 and not seen Keil Bay’s handsome face, the first time I’ve fed tubs and not heard his musical whinny, the first time I’ve made up supplement jars with his not in the line, the first time I’ve mucked without his manure droppings being there, on and on and on. And the first November Hill farm journal without him here in body.

This all sounds very sad, and it is, and some of these things bring tears, a few things bring little fits of sobbing, but one very happy thing is that I feel peace when I think of him. I have been to his grave daily and when I do the goodnight mantra (good night, you Kings of Chatham, you Princes of November Hill) I add (and goodnight Keil Bay, King of Everything, and Salina the Queen). I feel him around us, as I have always felt Salina, but I also have very clear visual images in my mind of Keil galloping with his buddies, the ones he lived with when I first met him, Brio, and Joker, and then later Maverick. I see the collection of his neck and its curve as he coils up to then uncoil in a big, playful forward burst of motion. And I feel okay then about him not being here in his elegant, athletic body.

One thing I haven’t shared here is that I am doing EMDR (eye movement desensitization and reprocessing) training this month and next month and will be moving on into the certification training in 2024. After years of referring out clients I felt needed EMDR, I decided it was time to add it to my own repertoire of modalities. So many people have trauma in my current practice, and with virtual therapy now the norm, it’s harder to know people to refer them to. 

Part of my training is to experience EMDR myself, and one of the core memories I worked with in two sessions was one in which my kitten was physically taken away from me (and kept) by an adult male neighbor and his teenaged son. I was 3-4 years old. I have discussed that memory in my own therapy previously, but when I reprocessed it using EMDR, I immediately felt the results in my experiences in the present day. I now see clearly how that early memory has impacted my experience of caring for and protecting my animal family.  I have dreaded for years Keil Bay’s passing because I knew it would be difficult beyond imagination. It has been hard, it has been sad, but thanks to EMDR it has not been devastating. 

My experience has been that I’m feeling the grief without the weight of that past memory pushing it into a much more intense level of emotion and powerlessness. 

At this point EMDR is being used to treat many issues, not just PTSD and trauma. I can now highly recommend it as a modality, and wanted to say that here. If you’re considering treatment, go to Emdria.org and look for certified clinicians for the best results. 

It’s fall on November Hill and it’s fitting that Keil Bay left us during this season, since this season is when we first came to our little farm. His grave is being slowly covered by falling oak and hickory leaves, and by acorns, and I’m sure he is happy about that. 

The herd continues to process this loss. Little Man and Rafer are actively seeking comfort from us. Cody seems a little distant and a little angry, but he allows comfort. Redford was the most distressed and it has taken him longer to process this. He is starting to get to his normal self but since he offered his constant companionship both two years ago when Keil went through his initial EPM bout and again recently, I think he is taking this hard. We’re offering Redford special attention and he is slowly moving through his own process. 

One other thing that has happened is I have opened up to the idea of riding again. Yesterday I got out my helmet and tried it on, and am actively thinking of working Cody and Little Man back into light riding time in case my grandson wants to ride. I haven’t ridden since Keil got EPM two years ago and retired, and I haven’t wanted to, I think because he has been my partner since he came to us and I just didn’t want to ride any other horse while he was here. We’ll see how this goes moving forward. 

The biggest thing I’m feeling right now is peace and relief that Keil Bay is no longer at risk of falling, that each day I wake up knowing he’s okay. That his life was long and it was good. That his passing was full of love and many peppermints. And that the bond we have will never be broken. His presence and his spirit are with me forever. That’s a lot, and what a gift from him to me. 

Grateful for our amazing vet practice, 3H Equine

 Yesterday I had a call from our local floral shop that they had attempted a delivery but due to our gated entrance, could not leave it, and we could either pick it up or they would redeliver today.

This morning I got a call saying it was on the way so I made sure to get out to the gate and got this:

We’ve been fortunate to have 3H as our vets for close to 20 years, and have always appreciated their excellent and compassionate care, both wellness and emergency. They helped when Rafer Johnson broke his leg, they helped with various and sundry horse emergencies over the years, helped when Salina was ready to pass, and most recently, helped us shepherd Keil Bay easily and with great care and compassion, to that special place beloved animal family members go. 

This display of kindness to us after that night means the world, and I have thanked them today twice. Once before I got the flowers and again after. We are so, so fortunate to have them on our team. 

Horses Are Light And Air And Wind And Sky

 (For Keil Bay, 1989-2023)

Horses Are Light And Air And Wind And Sky

Are guardians who gallop alongside cars, always with you, always there. They are winged creatures, though their wings are invisible, carrying you away from things and also toward things. 

Horses hold space and energy, read minds, siphon insights that may otherwise be elusive. They move in rhythms that match pulses, heartbeats, breath, the alternating skip you do as a child, the way your brain processes neural impulses. 

A horse comes to you when you need him, carries you past a mirror which reflects your best self, lays his muzzle on your shoulder, lifts a 70-pound bale of hay in your path in his teeth and tosses it aside. A horse comes to you from dream time, from child time, from the time before you knew what time even was.

Horses sing and scream and snort, gaze without blinking into the deepest part of your eye, smell, and sometimes lick, your hands. A horse listens when you whisper, better than a therapist at detecting the things you do not say.

Horses find the girls who need them. Horses tell the truth and keep their promises. Horses surround you and lift you off the ground to keep you with them. Herd mind. Herd hooves drum-beating time.

Sometimes when you stand beside a horse’s shoulder, hand on wither, hand on barrel, he turns and curls you into the space between his head and heart, a small circle of protection, impenetrable circle of safety. 

When you dream about a horse you’re not dreaming, you are galloping through another galaxy, exploring deep space, tracing neural networks, resetting your vagus nerve. 

When a horse leaves, you send a piece of you with her, and she leaves a piece of her with you. The conversation you started never stops. The partnership you forged never flags. Sometimes you see her galloping the perimeter of the farm, keeping time intact, opening windows into other places, other ways of being, places not yet named.

When you ride a horse you carry that forever in the skin of your calves, feet hanging weightless, a lifted back bearing you across boundaries of time and space, faster than you think you can go, to a place you came from but don’t remember until he takes you there again.

-Billie Hinton