Mud City

Once a year I tumble
Leading or feeding my mission
Boot sucking mud
Stops my stride
Landing me flat on my side

My horses never falter
My task gets finished
But I walk a bit faster
Moaning demeaned

Seems the layers of mud
Proclaim their victory
Humbled, Humility
Score one for the earth

Spicy Etta

It is always a delight to walk up to my home in the barn because of my travel through the pasture where some of my horses live.

Right now there is the Spicy Etta, the youngest of my weanlings at three months. She is short and stout, quick to rear or whirl and kick out as she keeps the bigger, bruising boys from pushing her around. Ever confident, she oftentimes sidles up to a horse four times her size to nuzzle his withers and invites a vigorous nuzzle in return. Even in her youngest hours she would walk straight and strong, ears and eyes focused forward, the instinct of fleeing with fear far away in a distant past.

If I am not mindful I could take it for granted and her confidence would not be shared with me.

Little Things Mean A Lot (or Quit while you're ahead)

I have my three weanlings stalled in the barn and last night beforeIi went to bed (in the barn!), I picked up a halter and "played" with all of them.

On the last colt, Emmett ~the Bert bred colt~ I was delighted but surprised when he tucked and reached his nose into the halter that I held out for him.

I haven't fooled much with this group of colts, and last week this same fella had slipped over to another pasture in search of his dam. It took me quite awhile to bring him out of there: he was singularly focused on his dam. Eventually (and without a big Rodeo) my persistent consistence finally reached his brain and then it was only a few minutes before we moved together from the pasture.

So last night I didn't know what to expect (probably a good state of mind for all of life!) but when I lifted my lead hand up while I stood by his side, Emmett brought his head around to me with grace and full face, his soft eyes questioning me. I raised my other hand toward his hip and with a deep reach under himself, this little weanling slide around with elegance and smoothness.

When these little things are so beautiful, the immense significance overwhelms me and I think to myself- "Omigosh, get out of here before you ruin it!"

Sunset

There are times when only a picture will do

Weaning Time at Fairfax Farm

It's that time of year again, the kids are on their own.
This is a confident groups of colts, they can see and sidle up to their dams but can't suckle. They have the run of the place and last evening they were all catching a breeze in the aisle-way of the barn, their little heads sticking out watching their dams. Except for one mare who has histrionics, the farm is pretty peaceful. Most of the time this is the shot I see (and a comforting shot it is...).

I live in the barn. Literally. I have a small room with a bath inside the barn, right next to a double stall, which, of course, has a window in it so I can look at whichever horse is in there. And, just in case that is not enough viewing, I have installed video monitors in all the stalls so I can watch at a moment's notice.

This set up is, in fact, for my mares when they foal. I can view them surreptitiously without disturbing them (who wants to be peered at when in labor?).

More on that later, but right now, I 'll give you a taste of the daily quench...

This morning it was still dark out when I carried my (HUGE) bucket of feed out to the back pasture and called up the horses. There are 14 in this pasture, ranging from 5 months to 28 years. In the gray light the herd appeared on the horizon, my ears were filled with the thunder of their hooves as they galloped toward me. There were a few stragglers stretching toward the rear of the herd, and the sound of their hooves became louder and distinct as they bore down on me.

I felt a catch in my throat as I stood immobile and let this moment envelope me. What a life!