kairos

kairos: a time in between, a moment of undetermined period of time in which something special happens

Yesterday, after dinner, I went out and opened up two of the gates that lead into our small backyard. I had already given the equines free access to the barnyard, and had several "escape hatches" opened up so they could all mill around safely from barn aisle to hay to water, a break from the heat and the routine wherever they could find it.

I needed to water the garden, and the back yard, recently mowed, is already growing, so my idea was to let the horses and donkeys help out while I worked with the hose.

Cody and the donkeys came in first, then Keil Bay. Salina made her way in last, and the pony was in the arena being ridden, so he had to wait. It was nearing dusk, and very peaceful, with the water flowing and the horses pulling grass. Every now and then their teeth would pull just right and the grass would squeak.

I lost the regular passage of time, referred to by the Greeks as chronos, and found myself in that special place where it seems like I've slipped through to some other way of being. I was in the midst of the pinwheel of garden beds, with the hose dragged around the corners, watering. The pony was on one side of me, Redford behind me, Cody behind me, and Salina on the other side. I hadn't noticed the configuration or the crowding that was happening, but suddenly in that very still moment I felt a sense of ... not panic, but a sort of worried alertness, and when I turned around, Cody was standing still but looking like he was feeling very trapped - by the beds, the fence, the pony, and Salina. Without thinking I stepped toward the pony and moved him around the pinwheel, out of the logjam, at the same time thinking to Salina that she must stay put and allow Cody to be in her space until things were clear for him to move.

This was a rare and special moment when I felt like I had joined the herd mind. I wasn't functioning as the alpha or boss mare, but more as a coordinator of space, insuring that no one got trapped, no boundaries got crossed, there were no accidents, and their lovely grazing time with me didn't have to come to an end.

Salina stood patiently, not flagging her head, not even moving an ear. Cody waited, trusting that I was working on clearing a path for him. The pony moved, hoof by hoof, and Redford went underneath the low-lying butterfly bush branches so he wouldn't be in the way. It was one of those moments when there was no time to think. I just felt what the herd felt, acted, and in a few moments all was okay. I suspect this kind of thing goes on all the time in a herd, but I am not often right in the midst of it, and so very open to feeling those finely-tuned and silent communications that happen between horses.

As it got dark, both my children, teenagers now, came out to help with feeding dinner tubs. We got our own routine going, our communications louder than the herd-speak of earlier, and it reminded me how loud we humans can be - not only with our voices and fairly constant talking, but in our gestures and demeanors. I was reminded again of how effective it is when working with and training horses to actively try the quieter approach. A softer touch, even the thought of a touch, often works so much better than the loud request, or worse, the demand.

It was fully dark by now, and I was refilling a water trough beneath the night shade of the big oak. My son and daughter were silhouetted in the light of the barn, talking over one of the stall doors. Because of the water running, and the tree frogs and cicadas, I couldn't hear what they were saying. It was a moment in time, seeing them speak as teenagers, almost as if I were seeing a moment from the future.

They let the horses out one by one. Cody sauntered past, heading through the spilled pool of light from the arena, fully strided and gleaming as he made his way to the back field. The donkeys followed, side by side, like body guards preceding their queen. After a moment Salina came out. She wasn't sure which field they were in - we just rotated from front to back, and I had both gates open earlier in the day. She stopped in the patch of arena light and looked from front field to back. Her blind side was to me, and even though there is no eye there, and the light filled the empty socket as she turned in my direction, it seemed she could see. She still blinks on that empty side, and I could see the blinking muscles moving and working as she turned back and forth.

One of the donkeys snorted and she nickered, then moved into a big beautiful walk to join them. There was no trace of arthritis as she moved.

Keil Bay came by doing his huge and swinging panther walk. The pony came last, having waited in hopes of dinner tubs to clean. Each one passed by me, walking through the shadows, through the pool of light, and then literally faded to black as they neared the gate at the far end of the paddock. After they passed through the gate, I could hear the snorts and movements as they entered the blackness of the back field.

I don't think you can always find kairos, but when you stop thinking and doing and simply be, it finds you.

the garden of earthly delights

 

I've been trying this week to keep up with the garden more closely than I had been - these very hot days dry everything out very quickly. Since I took the squash, cucumber, and zucchini plants out, I noticed immediately that the remaining squash bugs migrated to what I thought were my watermelon mounds. 

Score one for the squash bugs - they knew exactly what they were doing. I must have gotten my seedlings mixed up, because the watermelons are not watermelons! I now have a yellow squash mound and a zucchini mound!

So it's back to doing battle with the squash bugs. We'll keep them at bay as much as possible, but I think we've had our share of yellow squash and zucchini anyway, so if these mounds start getting inundated with bugs, I'll take them out as well.

And lesson learned about seedlings: have the beds ready so the seedlings can go in the minute they're ready. I lost a number of things because I ran out of space and waited too long to transplant. (and didn't pay as much attention to those seedlings in tiny containers as I should have)

Right now, as I wait for the basil and the tomatoes to come fully into harvest, the sunflowers are keeping me happy and entertained.

There is something about sunflowers that brings a big smile to my face no matter what.

 

Even the new ones not yet blooming are stunning. I can't get enough of them. 

 

When selecting tomato seeds early in the spring, I decided to plant German Johnsons in honor of my dad. When I was growing up, I accompanied him on his annual spring search for German Johnson seedlings to plant in his small but very well-maintained garden. He always loved the German Johnsons, and during the last 15 years or so of his life, the variety became more and more difficult to find. One year we went to the farmer's market together and he patiently asked grower after grower if they had German Johnsons. We didn't find any that year, and I don't think he ever found them again before he stopped his gardening.

I found this about the variety:

GERMAN JOHNSON PINK is a North Carolina heirloom tomato notable for having been one of the four parents of the famous Mortgage Lifter tomato. If you want to be able to brag about your tomatoes, German Johnson Pink is a variety to grow as the hardy plants produce huge pinkish red beefsteak type tomatoes that weigh 1.5 pounds or more. Their flesh is very thick and has few seeds. The fruits have an excellent flavor and are outstanding for slicing, but may also be used for canning. Good disease resistance and very productive despite the large size of the fruit. The indeterminate vines will grow very tall and bear fruit all summer long. Mine each require triple staking because of the weight of the fruit and the large vines. This variety has consistantly ranked high in the tomato tastes held each year at Thomas Jefferson's preserved estate Monticello.

I started everything from seed this year, and when I saw the German Johnson seed, I snapped it up. So far these vines are doing well, and the first tomato is starting to pink up now, and it's huge. The moment it's ripe, I'll pick it and have tomato sandwiches in honor of my father. He'd be proud of the harvest, but would probably shake his head at my gardening practices - no formal staking, planting very close together, random watering and in some ways benign neglect.

We all have our gardening styles and my personal theory is that I want to feed our family, I don't mind sharing with wildlife, and I have so many other things to do in a day I can't really be a slave to the garden. So... I'll take messy vines and some bugs, and we'll eat what we get, which so far has been more than enough.

One thing I wish is that he could have access to our November Hill compost - I think he'd enjoy growing his summer garden with the gift from our horses and donkeys.

This German Johnson is for you, Dad! 

 

It's slated to cool down to the mid 80s on Wednesday, so once it does, I'll be planting more seed in the space now cleared. More dragon tongue beans, and whatever I have left. I lost my eggplant, so will try to get more of those going, and I'm going to try a catnip mound to see what the five fearless felines do with it.  The feed store has row cover material by the yard, so I'll use that to get the seedlings going and test out how it works with keeping bugs away!

the big bay blend, and some jumping position critiques

I realized one day this week that my favorite Trader Joe's coffee has special meaning around here - when I glanced at the container and saw "Bay Blend" of course I thought of the Big Bay! I think Trader Joe's should rethink the design for this particular blend - can't you just see a photo of Keil Bay galloping up our hill? Rich and full of flavor indeed!

On another note entirely, the below is NOT the Big Bay. And although I'm impressed with the horse and the height of the jump, the rider's position is possibly the worst I've ever seen considering this is apparently a top, winning rider.

Not naming names, and in any case, it's not a name I recognized when I ran into the photo online earlier today. But what ever happened to a balanced seat over jumps?

Could I do any better? I don't know. I wasn't taught to jump that way, when I was younger and actually taking decent-sized jumps. Whether I could stay on today is one issue, but I feel fairly confident in saying that my hands would never go where those hands are. I don't *think* my legs would go that far back, either, but that's a harder call since I haven't jumped anything of consequence in so many years. 

So I'm critiquing from the safety of my computer chair. Can't believe that is what a winning rider looks like, though. Wow.

 

I looked for some photos of what I consider balanced seat jumping and found these old cavalry riders. Note the difference - legs, hands, overall balance and being one with the horse in a way that allows the horse to best take the jump.

   

J reminded me of Kathy Kusner and this photo she has pointed me to before wrt jumping position. What a gorgeous jump, and notice the rein, which is not at all tight or restraining. Something to emulate. (in my dreams, at this stage of my life)

anthropomorphism and horses

Over and over again, I read and hear horse people saying, "I don't want to anthropomorphize, but..."  Or it's used as a cautionary statement, "You shouldn't anthropomorphize your horse."

What IS anthropomorphism anyway? And why shouldn't we do it?

One definition from dictionary.com defines anthropomorphism this way:

The attributing of human characteristics and purposes to inanimate objects, animals, plants, or other natural phenomena, or to God. To describe a rushing river as “angry” is to anthropomorphize it.

On some level I agree that we shouldn't make a habit of attributing human characteristics to anything other than humans. However, the case for not anthropomorphizing our horses has become a way to say they don't have human characteristics, therefore they don't think with logic. They don't feel emotion. They don't share affection. They can't truly bond.

My frustration with this mindset is that we assume all those characteristics are human in the first place! How presumptious!


Back in 1927, Pavlov wrote that animals should be viewed "without any need to resort to fantastic speculations as to the existence of any possible subjective states." 


That makes it really easy to subject them to both experiments and a kind of treatment in training and caretaking that we wouldn't dare apply to our children or other family members.  Yet this approach is all too common in horse training the world over.

That kind of training works, but at what cost? If we merely observe and seek to shape a behavior without also looking at underlying emotion, we discount an entire layer of a horse's state of being. 


Darwin wrote:


Even insects play together, as has been described by that excellent observer, P. Huber, who saw ants chasing and pretending to bite each other, like so many puppies.

Many of us who live with horses see on a daily basis the complex emotional responses they are capable of: playfulness, affection, annoyance, anger, loneliness, fear, compassion. The list goes on. 

Why then are we discouraged from saying: my horse loves me, or my horse misses his buddy, or my horse is afraid of the umbrella?


Probably so we can feel okay about selling the horse when he gets too old to ride, or too expensive to keep, or his buddy gets too old or too expensive, or so we can feel just fine about shoving the umbrella in the horse's face against his will in the name of de-spooking him, all the while considering that any movement away from us, self-appointed herd leader, is disobedience.


Do I sound frustrated? I am. I've been reading anecdotes of horse people saying I don't play with my horses, as if doing so might make them less 'professional.'


And that when helping a young horse learn about fly spray, you put him on a halter and lead line and never stop spraying until he stops moving, because god forbid you reward him for his fear.


To eschew anthropomorphism allows us to also eschew empathy, and to do things in the name of training we would never do if we had to consider the emotional impact of our methods.


Frans de Waal wrote:

To endow animals with human emotions has long been a scientific taboo. But if we do not, we risk missing something fundamental, about both animals and us.

So yes, the next time someone suggests I'm anthropomorphizing Keil Bay, or Rafer Johnson, YES, I will say, ABSOLUTELY.

Because every time I open my mind to the reality that these equines are thinking, being, loving, intentional creatures, I allow the beauty of real relationship to blossom and flower.

My life, and theirs, is richer for it.

equine ice lollies

The frozen yogurt I am enjoying today got me thinking, and I did some online searching. I've adapted a recipe I found which looks like it might be a nice, cool treat for the horses and donkeys on a hot summer day. I'll report when I try this out, or if anyone tries it first, let us know!

1 cup carrot juice
1/2 cup apple juice
carrot shreds
apple diced into small cubes


Mix the above and put in the container of choice. Ice cube trays, paper cups (you can peel them off for serving), or popsicle molds would all work. Slice a few carrots into uniform stick-like pieces (matching length to your containers) and use them for the popsicle sticks!

Freeze and serve.