in which the Big Bay and I get back to work

The weather finally cooled down last week and looked like it might stay that way, so the Big Bay and I decided we would get back to work now so that we'll be back in shape when the really nice autumn weather hits.

We started on Monday morning. Just walking, but it was nice walking, and I think we both enjoyed being back to work together in the arena.

Tuesday we did more walking but added some time and energy to the mix.

Wednesday my daughter rode Cody and we opened the arena gate to the back field and did some riding in back, up to the paddock, on through to the front field, back to the arena, etc. Keil woke up fast and then decided he didn't want to go further down the front field than the top half. He did a little balking and we worked through that, circling around and adding a few feet further down the hill a couple of times and then ended on that cooperative note. I realized later that what I might have done was just hop off, hand walk him down to the log jump at the bottom of the hill, mount up down there, and then ride up and down again. I might just do that to begin with one day and see if we can just forego the power struggle altogether a few times.

Thursday was a day off.

Friday I took the clippers with me when I mounted up and we warmed up and then did some trimming of tree limbs. It's a job Keil Bay seems to love doing - and it's the perfect way to ensure that I don't get smacked in the face when riding him. For much of the trim time, I was standing in the stirrups with both arms above my head, cutting branches and letting them fall to the side and behind us. Keil Bay stood like a soldier and took one step forward, back, sideways, etc. as I asked. There aren't a lot of horses I would trust to do that on at this point in my life, but Keil is definitely one of them!

We had a lot of assistance getting the oak branches studded with young acorns up - two donkey lads were quite happy to drag the branches around and nibble on leaves.

After the tree trimming Keil and I added in the first bit of trot work we've done since the end of June. It was not great, but we had to get the kinks out, and at least we made a start on it.

This morning I went out thinking we would walk and add some time to the trot work. Keil had a funky strip of frog tissue that I had wondered about yesterday - so I had husband take a look and we decided it needed to be trimmed off. I don't think I've mentioned that husband is now trimming the donkey hooves under the supervision of our trimmer, and is also working on the pony. So between the two of us we're learning a lot more and getting more confident about these little hoof care decisions.

I think it was a good one - the warm up and walk were much better today than yesterday, and I let Keil Bay do his "loose rein lead" - he could go anywhere he wanted but the walk had to be big and rhythmic. He again chose a huge figure 8 across the entire arena, but then, interestingly, chose to do a number of 10-15 meter circles to the left, which is at the moment his stiffer side. I wondered out loud if he was working something out in his shoulder. Sure enough, when we hit the trot time, Keil Bay turned on the power mode immediately. Right rein was still better in terms of bend but left was pretty good too!

And in some strange stroke of who knows what, I suddenly seem to have gotten back the ability to do that little "spring" thing when mounting that I did when young and haven't been able to do since I started back riding as an adult. It might disappear tomorrow, but for two days in a row I have done it, and loved the feeling of springing into the saddle. (I should be clear - this is still from the mounting block, not from the ground!)

Anyway, we're having good rides this week, loving the weather, courageously battling dive-bombing horseflies together, and really hoping that by the time we get a real fall day we are in shape enough to do some cantering.

Hope everyone is getting some relief from the long, hot summer of 2012!

the Big Bay's many colored days

Last week Keil Bay had a rare bad day, and as it was happening I kept thinking about Dr. Seuss' book called My Many Colored Days. There's a page that reads like this:

On Bright Red Days how good it feels
to be a horse and kick my heels!

It was hot, Keil Bay had a yeasty frog, and I made the big mistake of taking him out for a bath but choosing to do a hoof scrub first. It is true. Horseflies were dive-bombing, Keil Bay was sweaty and itchy, and I had the hose and the bucket of soapy water all set up. But I picked up his feet and did a hoof scrub first. He handled the first one, but by the second hoof, right hind, he was not amused. He allowed me to finish that hind hoof, and when I let go, he slammed it down, lifted the other hind, and kicked out in anger. How like Keil Bay to express his anger but in a way that clearly did not endanger me. Nevertheless, I smacked his rump with the flat of my hand.

We finished up with no more outbursts, not from me, not from Keil Bay.

We're both ready for cooler weather, clearly.

Today we got it, and I did a quick grooming, fed him half his breakfast tub, tacked up, and we had the first ride we've had in about 6 weeks. It was glorious. Everything felt perfect. We walked, did a little shoulder-in, turns on forehand and haunches, and a little backing. I had the same feeling I had last winter when it felt like we had made a leap forward. The aids were quiet and soft and so was the ride.

As we got started, the doe and her twin fawns showed up in the forest near A. Keil let me know they were there, and we tracked them as we rode and they made their way down the fence line to the back field. We stopped and watched the fawns scampering, and then continued on our ride.

When we were done, Keil licked and chewed, happy to get the other half of his breakfast. I had a good ride and did not break a sweat! I am SO happy to be entering this time of year. The horses are happy too, with nights in the 50s and at least the promise of the demise of the dive-bombing horseflies. Salina cantered up the front field hill a few days ago, and even though it was probably to escape a horsefly, I am relieved she is feeling so good.

This afternoon I went back to the barn and took a little bottle of bubbles with me. I blew and blew and the donkeys and Keil Bay and Cody were all completely enchanted with the fact that suddenly the woman was shooting magical disappearing balls out of her mouth. Keil leaned his head over the stall door and put his nose out to me, wanting the bubbles to land on him. Eyes wide with curiosity. For a few minutes I turned into some kind of fairy princess and he was completely absorbed. It was easy to see the yearling Keil Bay in his eyes.

In our many colored days, this one had a brilliant blue sky, dark purple muscadines, and the brightest red bay in the big wide world, all here on November Hill.

the November Hill twins

My amazing nature photographer daughter captured these wonderful photographs of the twin fawns that were born on November Hill this year. They have made many appearances with their mom all over the property, and they seem extremely interested in not only us but the equines. The donkeys are equally intrigued and if they see the twins in the forest, will walk up to the fence and gaze at them.

 

If you've read my essay about how November Hill Press got started, you know already that my decision to start the press came after two really amazing experiences I had with the deer herd that lives here. If you've been reading here for awhile you might also know the story of the first day we came to look at the farm - we saw twin fawns in the back field, and I knew this was our home.

The deer gave me the November Hill Press logo, which I love because it perfectly captures the spirit of November Hill farm and press, and the way I feel about my writing. 

 

2012 has been a tough year in a lot of different ways, so seeing this new generation of twins has been especially meaningful for me this spring and summer. Sometimes when we need a sign, we get one. 

It tickles me that the fawns love the wild muscadines as much as I do - and we're all fortunate because this year's grape harvest is bountiful and within easy reach for both deer and humans.

Thanks to my daughter for her quiet demeanor and photographic skill. She always gets the best shots!

quiet in heart, and in eye clear, take 2

This was one of my first posts on camera-obscura, and I was thinking about it today and decided to repost:

the wise eye of zen-master Keil Bay, with quiet-hearted Salina in the background.. a horseback ride in our back field, picking wild grapes from vines hung low, the persimmon tree down the lane, geese honking overhead, and this poem, which came to reside on my little altar last autumn when we moved here, and has this year come true:


The Wild Geese

Horseback on Sunday morning,
harvest over, we taste persimmon
and wild grape, sharp sweet
of summer's end. In time's maze
over fall fields, we name names
that went west from here, names
that rest on graves. We open
a persimmon seed to find the tree
that stands in promise,
pale, in the seed's marrow.
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear,
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye
clear. What we need is here.

Wendell Berry


I do so love this poem. This year, right now, I see signs that this long, hot, difficult summer are coming to an end. Salina is shedding, some leaves are changing color while others turn brown and fall, squirrels are starting to gather the first acorns. This week the wild muscadines are coming to ripeness and although in many ways this summer season has been bleak and hard, we have had much rain and the garden has been bountiful. Now we are having the finest crop of wild muscadines I've ever seen since living here on November Hill. I can stand beneath the vines and eat until I'm full. I'm finding them everywhere, even in the arena, lying on the ground.

We have twin fawns living with us this year, a gray fox, a hoot owl close by, and it occurs to me that things do seem to find a balance. When one part of life feels chaotic and out of control, other parts exhibit abundance.

Today I look at that wise eye of the Big Bay and feel very lucky that I still have the chance to look into it. I rejoice that the quiet-hearted Salina is still here, whinnying and grazing and keeping her wise eye on everything.

Tonight as dusk fell I was in the back field, looking up toward the barn, which was fully lit and shining with golden light. Cody was by the hay tent with Rafer Johnson, Salina and Redford were in the front field, Keil Bay was in the grass paddock, and the pony, whose Apache Moon was in fact hanging low in the sky overhead, was taking advantage of all the open gates to meander between all the members of his herd.

Behind the barn the windows of our house shone gold as well. I stopped mucking to look and soak all this treasure in, seeing it all at once because I had stepped back far enough to take it all in.

Quiet in heart, and in eye clear.

What we need is here.

The Healing Power of the Herd

Yesterday afternoon late Salina must have decided to take a nap in her stall. She's doing this more now, and has had a number of lie-downs from which she had no trouble getting up again. Keil Bay was with her on the barnyard/grass paddock side of the barn, along with the donkeys, and they had grazed and fanned and eaten hay and meandered around most of the day together.

But when daughter went out to feed Salina her third meal of the day, she found the grand old mare lying down, a bit sweaty, unable to get up. By a stroke of luck my husband was home and he went out and basically picked Salina up enough that she could get her hind legs engaged to stand.

She was of course a bit stiff, but she was able to walk out to the oak tree to get hosed off. She had a number of scrapes in all the places on her side that get pressure when a horse struggles to get up. Fortunately it was on the opposite side of the body than her very close to healing hip point pressure wound.

Aside from the stiffness, my main concern was her eye. She was down with good eye to the ground and it had gotten some bedding debris in it.

So there were a number of things to do, none of which she really wanted to be done.

Once she was hosed and assessed, had dropped manure, and was steady on her feet, we gave her her feed tub, which has a lot of good stuff in it including a good bit of water. She ate voraciously, and that was a good sign. A little while later she peed. In these moments all the basic signs of normal functioning are little triumphs, eliciting audible sighs of relief from us.

Because she's on Previcox, and yesterday was her double dose day, we didn't want to give Banamine. I got out the Arnica and the Symphytum and alternated doses. I syringe the homeopathic remedies in a base of distilled water, in a tiny syringe, so she is used to that, doesn't mind the syringe, and knows there is no taste.

My husband helped and then took over the eye rinsing. Some things Salina likes me to do, others she prefers my husband. We try to find what she prefers and honor her preferences. We went at the rinsing in spurts - in the barnyard where she could move and see her herd, and gave her breaks to let the eye do its own work to clear itself.

All of this transpired in about 45 minutes' time, and then Salina went to the gate to the front field and demanded to be let out with the rest of the herd. I was thinking NO WAY at the same time my husband opened the gate and let her walk through. And then I had the clear thought: if this ends up being the end, I want her to be with her herd, not locked in a stall or by the barn away from them.

We went with her down the hill. She took careful steps, stopped periodically, but where she ended up was all the way down in front by Keil Bay. It was prime horsefly time so we made sure she didn't get dive-bombed. She grazed, she rolled her eye around, she blinked, she kept up with Keil as he moved across the field grazing.

We sat on the log jump and comforted the donkeys, who always seem to want our reassurance when anything is off with Salina.

I watched her improve with each step. She spent about an hour with the herd and then she and the donkeys were ready to walk back up and go back to their grass paddock.

She has some new scrapes along her side. The eye is clear now and getting super-duper antibiotic ointment. Last night the donkeys left the barn after dinner tubs and Salina went into high gear, walking the barn aisle with her over-striding Hanoverian walk that we don't see all that much anymore. She pivoted at the end of the barn aisle and marched back to the other end. It was a display that I suspect had something to do with letting us know she is okay. Sore, scraped up, but essentially sound.

Right now we're in the very visceral place of looking at each day as it comes and trying to make sure we see both the small focused things, like the scrapes and the eye, along with the big picture - Salina's mood, demeanor, and quality of life.

It's hard seeing the scrapes, it's difficult seeing her one good eye have anything at all wrong. In normal moments she moves slowly, with some stiffness. But how do you obsess over those things when you see a beautiful black mare, 29 years old, who whinnies for her meals, eats with gusto, adores being bathed and groomed, wants to be with her herd, and looks like she's in a Hanoverian inspection when she strides out?

Salina needs the herd to heal herself and I need the herd to heal my own innate desire to manage, control, and prevent all mishaps. In this part of our journey with Salina, I'm learning how to take each moment in its own sweet time, be there for her, sometimes persuade her that yes, we do need to do this bit of care for you, but more than I thought would be the case, I am learning to stand back and allow her to do what horses do best when they are given the choice: keep her place in the herd. Let the herd do its healing.