The Brave and Happy Life (a reposting from 2009)

 

It’s definitely autumn on November Hill! 

The old blog post I’m sharing below got a lot of hits yesterday for some reason and I when I went back to re-read it, was charmed by my old routine with our herd of six. I remember so well the Hanoverian chorus during feeding time, which involved Keil Bay and Salina whinnying back and forth across the barn aisle, Little Man’s addition to this music, and Cody scraping his teeth along the stall wall, all while the donkeys made squeaky hinge sounds. 

Somewhere I have a video/audio recording of this symphony and I need to find it. 

It’s quieter now in the barn, but Little Man, Cody, Rafer Johnson, and Redford still love the barnyard and hanging out during chores. Yesterday they were all out there while we trimmed hooves and all visited Keil Bay and Salina’s graves for a bit. 

Brave and happy life takes on new meanings now, but here’s the old post that made me smile when I read it this morning:

the brave and happy life

Happiness comes more from loving than being loved; and often when our affection seems wounded it is only our vanity bleeding. To love, and to be hurt often, and to love again -- this is the brave and happy life.

-J.E. Buchrose

The phrase "brave and happy life" sticks with me. I'm not sure what I have to say about it here, but it sounds like the kind of life I'd like to live.

This morning after equine breakfasts I put Salina, Rafer Johnson, and Redford into their stall and paddock area so I could have the barn aisle free for chores. It was a cool morning, but I'm still turning on the fans out of habit and I like having them on when I muck.

I've developed a routine of cleaning out Salina's stall first, while they're all eating (she eats in the middle stall, which I think of as the donkeys' stall, and the donkeys eat in the barn aisle) so that when she and the donkeys are done they can move into the clean stall with the paddock and I can have the barn aisle free to do the rest of my chores.

Usually I muck, clean out the hay manger, de-web with a damp broom, and then serve hay. 

After I move Salina and the donkeys over, I shift to the opposite side of the barn and start with whichever of the geldings finish first. As they finish up, I let them into their paddock and move on with the stalls. 

Cody generally gets moved out of his stall during the summer days so I try to get him set up first, with his stall door closed so he can lie down for a nap and munch his hay without needing to pay attention to his back door.

Periodically I let Keil Bay come into the barn aisle with me, with the barn doors open to the big barnyard so he can saunter in and out. I don't know why he loves this so much, but he takes great joy in grazing the barnyard, snacking on the round bale, and then marching into the barn aisle to check in with me. His comings and goings create a nice rhythm to the work, and when I'm done I can either tack him up and ride or groom/check his feet/etc. before letting him back into his stall/paddock.

The only bravery associated with the morning was the management of a black widow spider. Otherwise it was one more happy day with the horses. (and of course, the donkeys too!)

The Day Before The Anniversary of Keil Bay’s Passing

 Of course we have all been thinking of him, and he was with me yesterday on my way to massage, galloping alongside my car with the backdrop of fall colors behind him, all the yellows and oranges and reds of North Carolina trees. It is often how I think of him, his deep red bay color rich and distinct, with fall coloring behind him, and then winter coloring too. 

But then I think of him in all the seasons, all the months, all the days. He lived with me through so many years. 

Today my husband walked in with a chipping sparrow nest in his hand. We usually find them in the early spring, when the winds are blowing, but here this one was the day before the anniversary of Keil Bay’s passing. I was afraid to look at it because I dreaded the first one without his black tail hair woven in. But when I looked, there was ONE black hair, and as far as I’m concerned that is all the proof I need to know that Keil is still very much with us in spirit. 

All the seasons, all the years.

This evening I was driving and the trees were brilliant oranges and reds and yellows, and George Winston’s version of Pachelbel’s Canon came on my playlist. This is now Keil Bay’s song, and I felt him and saw him galloping alongside the car, with Salina, their red bay and deep black bodies muscled and elegant. I burst into tears and sobbed. I miss him so much, still, but I also feel him close so much of the time. 

He was and is the King. Love you, Big Handsome Bay. 

November Hill farm journal, 224

 

We are having really beautiful weather on November Hill, with days ranging from the 60s into upper 70s and nights in the low-mid 40s. And no rain for a couple of weeks, which is kind of nice but probably not something we want to go on for too much longer.

This millipede curled up in the night and I happened upon him one morning. The symmetry is so pleasing to the eye, and the tiny legs look like embroidery thread to me. 

We have leaves falling and fall plants still in bloom. Three pumpkins on the driveway ledge. A new native plant bed in progress as I move volunteers from odd spaces. The herd is happy and on day-time turn-out now. 

The honey bees are moving toward their winter mode, but still have plenty of forage and days warm enough to go get it. 

The North Carolina Botanical Garden opened up a virtual session for one of the core classes I need to complete my advanced native plant studies certificate program, but I missed the registration and it filled instantly. I did get on the waiting list though and just learned I’ve been moved into the class, so yay! I’m happy to have this class to focus on in November. 

I am doing some weeding each day, some barn and horse time each day, and trying to get back to my daily yoga here at home. This past weekend was my writing weekend via Zoom and it energized me to moving forward with a submission and led me back into one of the novels-in-progress. 

Time with family, precious grandchildren, and a season away from the very hard summer are all welcome this week as I move toward my mother’s 92nd birthday and to the one year anniversary of Keil Bay’s passing. 

It’s a tender week but I feel strong. Though I did something to my lower back last week and it’s on again, off again aching. It just occurred to me that the lower back is my base of support. It is understandably tired from holding up so much emotion through a season of pain and horror at what humans are capable of when not self-aware and not mentally stable. 

I haven’t talked about it here but my mom has dementia and part of the difficulty of the summer was not being able to talk to her about what was going on. And not having Keil Bay physically present was also hard. I think the focus of fall this year is honoring the sense of loss of my own personal supports during a time when I needed them. And also honoring my ability to keep going even without them being there for me the way I was used to. And to take care of my very tired back! Yoga with Adriene here I come!

When I look at the millipede, I see a long vulnerable body curled up tight, stronger and safer in its form. I’ll be doing my own version of that curling up when I need to, and thinking how we can be both safe and tightly furled while also symmetrical and beautiful. 

Northern Lights On November Hill

 Of course this is happening in October, is all I can say. 

An Upcoming Anniversary: the Big Handsome Bay

 I didn’t realize when I last posted that this is October, the one-year anniversary month of Keil Bay’s passing. It hit me later that day, after I put up the photo of him and felt him close. His passing was on October 24th, and I am sure I’ll mark the day with another writing, but the memories from his passing and even more from his life with me are very close and strong right now. 

The idea that it has been an entire year since he passed seems wrong somehow. It feels in my mind and in my body and in my heart like it was only a couple of months ago. 

I took this photo a few days ago of one of my favorite autumn plantings in the native pollinator bed closest to the barn. The night Keil Bay passed, my husband gathered these flowers and laid them over the Big Bay, and I don’t think I’ll ever look at this combination of colors and textures again without seeing them on his gorgeous red bay coat. 

His spirit has been with me this entire year, for months and months he was always close, and gradually through the year he sometimes seems further away, like maybe he’s off with good friends: Brio, Maverick, Lily, Salina, and more I do not know. I have summoned him to help me during hard times this late spring and summer, and he’s been right there. 

Often he and Salina are on either side of me, brilliant black and red bay guardians, and now I smile rather than cry when I feel their presence. 

It’s notable to me that although I talk to both Keil and Salina at their gravesites, I mostly feel their spirits up high or on either side of me. They are not resting so much as they are moving with me, and moving in open air and open spaces. It’s the rippling of muscle I remember most, the feel of movement beneath the saddle, the tossing of heads and curving of powerful necks as they shift into their big trots, as they coil to burst forward into gallops. 

October is one of my two favorite months of the year, the opening to my favorite season. Keil’s passing during October was one of the hardest losses of my life, but remembering him, even remembering the occasion of his final breath, is one of the clearest feelings of love I have ever had. 

I know some of you reading here get this because of your own equine friends. I know some might wonder how this could be such a milestone. I don’t really know how to express it other than what I’ve said. Though there is a tribute I wrote to Keil Bay shortly after he passed that is out on submission right now and when it gets accepted somewhere and published, I’ll share it. It’s magical and it captures everything I felt about that night. When I read it to myself I feel the magic of Keil Bay woven into each line. 

Meanwhile, OCTOBER. I am celebrating the beauty of this very special month.