billie hinton’s camera-obscura:
life and lessons on November Hill Farm
Grateful this year for the very late autumn colors, my husband, my children, and my grandchildren, a Thanksgiving together with all of them and our dogs, cats, and equines on November Hill. My place, my home, my anchor in this difficult year.
May we all move safely forward to the winter solstice and beyond.
My husband took this aerial photo of our Sweet Bay Bald this weekend and I immediately see the figure of a horse, which made me think, wow, we can mow the walking path in the shape of Keil Bay!
Perfect time of year to be thinking about it, since it will get mowed completely in early spring and then as the spring natives come in, we can shift the new walking path to any shape we want to.
Something to think about through this coming season.
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:
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.
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.
