My daughter, the ADULT.

Here's a self-portrait Selina took on her birthday.  She's so sassy and slightly awkward and… kind of amazing.  

Yesterday was my first born child's birthday.  She is TWENTY-ONE.  She's a young lady.  She's a woman of her own.  She's creative and funny and sometimes she's a forgetful spazz but she's always good hearted and kind.

Legally, she's been an adult for three years already.  She's been legally allowed to drink alcohol for two years, although it's just not her thing, and she got through two years of college without anybody talking her into drinking.  She's pretty good at using her stubbornness for good rather than evil.

She gave me a ride to my group therapy class (I mean, that's a good thing for a young person to do, right?  Take mom in for mental health help?) and then she got her passport photos taken, which of course made her look sweaty and tired and slightly ill, even though she wasn't any of those things.  It's like magic.  After she came to get me, we went to the Samsonite outlet and picked out her new suitcase.  Next week I'll have enough money to pay for it.  The saleswoman remembered us from her 19th birthday gift two years ago.  Same routine: stick a label with her name on it and set it aside until we come back.  This is just one more reason why I like that small city.

Then we went to Complacent Joe's for lunch.  It used to Crabby Joe's, but they just did a huge renovation, so it's all slick sports bar with "luxury" finishes that will probably look like crap in five years.  All of the sarcastic signs about good food and bad service are gone.  There are a few snarky notes in the menu but that's it.  Of course we laughed about this.  We ate our lunch while working up bits about how Crabby Joe made enough money that he's just not grumpy anymore.  And then we split a chocolate cake.

I absolutely love this person.  She is someone I choose to spend time with, and how convenient that she's my kid!

I've been needing a lot of help, and she's been a life saver.  She never complains about doing my barn chores if I'm not well.  She helps out with the garden.  I couldn't do it without her and my ol man.  Meanwhile she's been working away on her professional website, getting ready to present her art to the world, and run a business.  Oh, and also working part time at the church camp.  And cleaning the house.  And watching her favourite YouTube people do funny things.  And taking photos and cuddling the dog.

Today, she drove her brother to work and then took the Jetta for an oil change.  They will split the bill because they share the car and they are both, y'know, adults.  A few hours later, she's off to the other city, the bigger one, with all of her passport papers signed and ready to go.

She hugged the pug once more, sprawled on the foot of my bed, then flung her hair over her shoulder and grinned and said something like, "look at me, all ADULTY, driving around getting my stuff together like an ADULT!"

That's my kid.  Wow.

And then my husband said, "You are getting a pony."

You know how sometimes despite all the best logical reasons to NOT do something, it feels completely right?

You know how you've got over a hundred bucks outstanding on that vet bill, about 200 hay bales that aren't paid for, and a credit card debt for a new saddle, and you've decided to be a responsible adult and not spend any more money, but then you do anyways… because it was what you had to do?

Well I just did that.  

And I'm not even calling him my Bad Idea Pony because… he's not a bad idea.  He's good.  He's just a good little guy.  And also because of this face!!!!

I will admit that for purely logical purposes, he may not have been a bad idea but probably a kind of dumb idea.  I was looking for a pony between 12hh and 13 hh, so something small but big enough for me to ride.  I need to keep these guys tuned up and keep an eye on potential bad habits developing.  (Y'know, because I'm all perfeshnul and I'm such a great rider, I never accidentally train bad habits into a horse.  That was sarcasm.)  This pony is all of 11hh.  His back is at waist level to me.  And I'm not quite 5'1".  He is a very small pony.  I fired off the email a couple weeks ago and then wondered what the heck I was thinking.  I looked at the ad five times a day and saw clearly what I was thinking: a happy looking pony with a little girl on his back in an arena.  One child on the pony's back with another child leading him.  Child leading pony while kid in the saddle throws her arms in the air in pure exuberance.  Pony in little english saddle with ribbons on his reins.  Cute pony in field.  Child riding pony in field.  

When I talked to the owners, I felt like I was auditioning for the position of pony's new owner.  I'm totally on board with that.  They wanted a good home for him with other horse friends, kids to play with him, a field to run in.  I wanted them to feel like this would be a worthy home for him.  

We went to see him on a Saturday evening.  He trotted up to the fence.  Stood like a little gentleman when she slipped the halter onto his head.  Walked into the barn nicely.  Stuck out his muzzle for me to pat him.  Did I need anything else?  Nope.  I was pretty much sold. 

He is not perfect.  His top line is not good, mostly because he has a broken crest.  The top edge of his neck flops over to one side.  It still wasn't enough to turn me off.  The family had gotten him like that three years ago and it doesn't cause him pain and sure doesn't slow him down any.  The danger is that this condition often goes along with an old case of founder.  He was likely obese at one point in his life, and the crest drooped after the weight loss, and if you've got an obese pony, you've probably got founder.  He'd been perfectly healthy under their ownership and he is currently a perfect fit weight.  He wouldn't be the first foundered pony I've had in my life.  

The rest of him is so darn pretty.  And I figure if he was physically perfect, he'd have been way out of my price range.  I can overlook flaws.  I myself am deeply flawed in many ways.  

It's been a week and a half, and Parker is very much a part of my little herd.  Phoenix is cool with his new little buddy and Copper looooooves him.  

I love him too.  

I haven't put him in lessons yet, mostly because I'm still working on rigging up a saddle for him.  Those latigo straps need to be shortened. I kept most of the stuff I had for my small ponies waaaay back in my childhood, but some of it disappeared over the years.  We tried the harness on him.  It fits, but needs major repairs.  (Well it's probably 100 years old; it was my dad's harness when he was a kid!!!) Today I put one of my smaller saddles on him, which is juuuust a little too big, and sat on my pony.  Just sat there.  It's been about 25 years since I sat on a pony this small.  Parker pulled a small amount of ponytude on me, which I fully expected, since he's been here long enough to know it was the time of day when they go out to pasture.  He stood there and flipped his cute little head around a few times, but I straightened him out, patted his neck, and stepped down.  Like literally just stepped down.  I won't be riding him much.  I'm about 10 lbs heavier than what he can safely carry.  He later walked beside me out to the field like a well behaved adult and held still for me to take off his halter.  

He's adorable.

I haven't been in great shape this year.  Total honesty… the devil of depression has been stalking me, and outrunning it is very tiring. Did I need another critter here?  Another horse to take care of?  Worry about?  No.  My two Appaloosas fulfill me and give me so much joy.  I can't totally explain why this teensy equine means so much to me.  He's just a good soul.  Business wise, yes, he's excellent for small kids.  Phoenix is too.  I put my smallest kids on my biggest horse.  Well, now I've got two good lead line horses.  This pony will work for a living and from what I can see so far, he will enjoy it too.  

The evening I first met Parker, I fretted all the way home in the car.  So many reasons to not get this pony.  They had offered to bring him to me, no charge, the next Monday.  We don't have a trailer, and besides, the Honeybadger is parked on the barn bank waiting for a brake job.  Isn't that crazy - $500 for a pony instead of brakes.  Stupid.  But they offered to bring him to us.  John reached for my hand as we drove home and said, "I'm going to the bank. You are getting a pony."

(Are you kind of misty eyed right now?  It's okay, I am too.)

Welcome to the Old Homestead, Parker!

Wait… OH MY GOSH YOU GUYS I HAVE A PONY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Goodbye to Larry - he wasn't JUST a barn cat.

Guard cat Larry.  Trespassers will be caught and purred at.  

Our little buddy Larry has died.  He was badly hurt yesterday.  I usually can take care of injuries at home, but this looked like more than I could handle. The problem wasn't just severe wounds to his hind legs though.  His left hind leg was broken in several places as well as dislocated.  He was in a lot of pain and unable to walk.

We love our animals and don't want them to suffer.  The decision was made to euthanize him.  He very quietly died and was no longer in pain.

Many people who believe that cats should not be allowed to wander outside.  They have a point; it's a dangerous world out there.  Bigger animals can hurt them, which is probably what happened to Larry.  Cats can be hit by cars.  They can pick up diseases.

BUT.  Our barn cats have such a great life.  They are free to go where they please, and do what comes naturally to them.  They get to be cats.  They have a warm place to curl up in winter, sunshine in summer.  Trees to climb, rodents to catch.

Larry the kitten, 2008

Larry and Moe have had an exceptionally happy life because they get all the benefits of being free cats, but also healthy human contact.  Best of both worlds.  We make sure they have something to eat, rabies shots, and medical attention.  They have repaid us over and over with purring and companionship.  Very few barn cats can have a life like this.  My father couldn't afford to send cats to the vet back in the day, not when there were so many. That would have been ridiculous.

Soaking up the winter sun in some nice warm hay

I wish Larry hadn't come to the end of his life because he was hurt so badly, but in my opinion, it's the chance we take in exchange for everything he enjoyed.  And I'm just so grateful that we found him in time to give him a break from his pain and end his suffering.

Haven't we been lucky to have such wonderful cats to share our barn with?  They're not "JUST" barn cats.  They're our rodent control team, greeting committee, and good little friends.

The Brothers

Moe is okay.  Who knows whether he realizes his brother is gone.  So far he's hanging around in his usual napping spot, insisting on being petted whenever I'm in the barn.  He will have to soak up all the attention now!

Most recent picture of Larry and Moe, this summer.  

I will miss Larry very much.  We all will.  He'd walk across the yard to come get a pet, he joined us when we ate outside (and we persistently told him we wasn't welcome to actually eat with us) and I can't tell you how many times I taught a riding lesson with Larry sprawled across my arms.  He'd let me know when he was hurt and needed help.  He let me fix him up.  He insisted that I take time out of my day for a few slow minutes of cat time.

Moe will make sure I get my cat time.  As long as we have Moe, we will be smothered with friendly affection and loud purring. I'll have to check email in the barn so Moe can take over my lap and bump his little wet nose under my chin.  He'll take care of me and I'll take care of him.

DANGIT AVRIL -- The Wedding Edition

I got a text from my Pal Al today saying, "see your twin got married on the weekend"

To which I responded, "Yeah on my anniversary!  Didn't I tell you she always steals my ideas !!!"

At least in this wedding she isn't wearing a white dress with white cowboy boots, and carry white roses with three little red roses stuck in there.  Way to get your own ideas Avril, finally, geez (eye roll.)  In a bold statement of her dedication to always looking like she got smacked with the Mall Goth Stick (I'm pretty sure that's a real thing) she got married in all black, including the black lipstick around her eyes.

They both look slightly smacked -- maybe the flash was too bright.

Actually I think this is kind of fun!  I love black.  It is very formal and classy and looks good on everybody.  Can't go wrong.  

But people, listen.  This is serious.  The Chavril anniversary will from here on be the same as the Heidi and Jethro anniversary.  And they must be just as thick skulled and forgetful as we are because they basically chose the date for the same reasons we did, which are...

1. This is the date on which they started dating
2. this way they will always remember their anniversary date - it's so easy!

And of course, we can all fool ourselves into thinking that our wedding anniversary is A NATIONAL HOLIDAY EVERYBODY CELEBRATE OUR ETERNAL LOVE WITH RED AND WHITE FLAGS AND FIREWORKS WHOOOOOO HOO!!!

Well I'm happy for those crazy kids. They're one of those "forehead slap couples"; at first it's stunning but then it's stunningly obvious.  I've become fond of the Chavril and I hope this sticks together. July 1st has been a good date for us, and we've been at the very least acknowledging it with a "Hey still glad I married ya" for TWENTY TWO YEARS! I honestly hope theirs is a long and happy marriage, filled with all a good marriage has to offer: love, acceptance, productive arguments resulting in understandings, compromises on which way the shoes should be placed on the rug inside the door, where the best place is to locate the swingset in the backyard, and which guitar take is best for that particular song.  And that a horse is the best guy to hang around with if not with the husband.  Oh wait I guess they don't have that problem.  Unless Chad decides his recording studio in a barn needs a horse.  Seriously his studio was a horse barn.    I want that.  And then another little barn for the actual horses.  

But I digress.

So she's short and has been known to dress weird and now got married the same day I did.  I am constantly alternating my opinion of her between "she is so cute" and "she is so irritating" which is likely very similar to what many people think of me!  

If she starts wearing cut off "Farm Girl Brand" shorts with red topped socks and old purple roper boots then we will KNOW she's been spying on me...

An Adjustment To The Herd

So I'm back down to two horses.  Two speckled freckled horses.  

No more beautiful shiny red horse.  

On Saturday afternoon, Oakie left with her new owner, who is also one of her first owners, and they will have a great life together.  I feel relieved now.  I miss Oakie, there's definitely a blank space where her presence used to be, but I know this is right.  We are adjusting.  It's been four days and the trauma has subsided.

Phoenix spent all of Saturday afternoon frantically running around the corral, whinnying like I've never heard him before, calling her.  He looked over the gate where the trailer left.  He stalked the fence line looking for her.  Back and forth, into the pasture, into the corral. He'd stop at the spot where Oakie's hooves left our dirt and went into the trailer, sniff the ground, and let out a heartbreaking whinny.  

By night time, he was down to searching only once every hour or so.  Selina said she still heard him during the night, through her open bedroom window.  

The funny thing is, and I predicted this, Copper isn't traumatized.  

She whinnied a little at first, but it seemed more like, "it's time to make noise because our friend left, but really I'm just doing this because he is so I guess I'm supposed to."  

Then she headed out to graze, lifting her head occasionally to watch Phoenix in his distraught state.  

Call me crazy, but I am convinced she looked a little smug.

She's the only girl again.  

No more pecking - order battles.  No more competition, no more girly hissy fits.  The mares didn't hate each other, but they didn't particularly like each other.  So really this arrangement works out quite well for Copper.  

On Saturday night, the kids saw Copper get down in roll where the horse trailer had been.  (Take that, Frenemy.)  

It's been four days, and other than being more attached to Copper than usual, Phoenix is okay again.  Copper is like she's always been, only less on guard. 

We're adjusting.

On Friday, Selina and I took Oakie for one last ride through the pasture.  

We admired her.  We soaked up her glossy shiny red coat, her elegant neck and beautiful face, her nice Quarter Horse hip, those dapples that shine in the sun, and we just know she's going to be the prettiest horse on the trail, with her pretty young owner.

Then we stood beside her with the reins clutched in my fist and had a little cry.  

And then I was okay.  

Because it's right.

It's a pretty darn good feeling, y'know, that you've done the right thing.  

Amateur Cat Vet

Larry gave up and settled the side of his face against my hand, and the gauze pad soaked with epsom salts.  He wasn't purring but he accepted my help. With my free hand I slowly rubbed under his chin as I whispered to him.  Good boy, good kitty.  We'll get you fixed up.  You'll be okay.  You're such a good patient.  What does the other guy look like, eh?

He looked a little puffy last night when I did the chores.  I saw a bit of blood on the side of his face,  a bloody streak on one ear, and a big tuft of loose hair on his back. "You've been scrapping, eh little dude?"  I gave him a quick check, didn't find anything gaping open or broken, and left him on his perch on the biggest saddle, where he licked his wounds.

This happens to barn cats.  When the snow melts, the feline wanderers set off looking for new girlfriends and trouble always follows them.  They fight.  They come away with some degree of damage.  Usually they get themselves over it.

Larry the Barn Cat

But this morning the whole side of his little cat face was swollen; his eye was almost closed.

Lucky for Larry, Heidi here has a whole cabinet full of first aid supplies in the tack room.  I poured some water into an old margarine tub, shook some epsom salts into it, gave it a stir with the tip of my finger and tucked three gauze pads into the pocket of my coveralls.  I set the water on one of the chairs over by the windows.  The cat, all curled in a ball, was lifted carefully and carried over to the windows.

He wasn't crazy about having his tattered ear bathed but he put up with it.  I didn't expect him to be okay with having his face messed with in his condition but I had to try.  Three times I dipped a pad into the salty water and held it to his swollen eye.  Each time he made a less feeble attempt to leave and each time I held him that way longer.  He sank into my hands like he was giving up.  I don't like it when cats act like they're giving up.  I dabbed at the corner of his eye and took some yuck away.  I held him away from me and got the best look at him I could without my glasses.  I could have convinced myself the swelling was down already.  I could see a tiny puncture mark on the bridge of his nose now.  And his eye was open more than it had been when I picked him up.

He's still got an eyeball.  That's good.

Doctoring done, he tried to wiggle away.  I ran my hand over his back.  Easy little yella fella.  Have a cuddle.  No need to run away, see, everything's fine.   I carried him over to the saddle rack, where I set him down like he was made out of glass.  That's when the purring started, a roar of gratitude.  I had to stand there for a few minutes while he turned himself around to get the maximum attention, rubbing the good side of his face against my chin, nibbling my fingertips, batting a paw on my cheek if I leaned away from him.

I rubbed the back of his neck one more time and left to clean up the barnyard.  When I came back to put away the wheelbarrow and forks, Larry was curled up again on the saddle, and his brother Moe had just jumped up to get comfy on the saddle in front.  He stepped right over Larry to get there.  Larry's ribs rose and fell as he snoozed.

That exquisite realization that a band you love has created your New Favourite Record. (And you wonder how they read your mind.)

SOUNDGARDEN DROPPED THEIR NEW ALBUM LAST WEEK.  

I bought it that day.  It's been in the CD player ever since.  I've switched it between cars and played it in the house.  It's been all "King Animal," all the time, for a week.  I'm like a kid with a Disney video.  "Again.  Again.  Again."  Memorizing, hearing something different each time.  Loving it.


I've been so excited about this, I had the release date in the iGadget calendar.  I mean, this is HUGE in my world. Some of their songs are personal anthems of mine.   I've loved this band for twenty years, and they broke up, and I dealt with it because at least they had the sense to call it quits before the suckage set in and I appreciate that!  When they toured last summer, it was like a dream come true.  Then hearing that there would be new music! Could I be so lucky?

Now, when you get that hyped, you have to be prepared for a letdown. What if...!

Well Soundgarden never lets me down.

nme.com

This rocks like I fully expected it to.  It's got all the grit and messed up time signatures and stunning vocals and clever lyrics. It's everything that makes them unique. It's current though; they did not cover Badmotorfinger here, they picked up where they left off, bringing with them over a decade's worth of growth and experience.

As a bonus, the packaging is gorgeous - snow and skulls and sunshine, lilies and frosted leaves and teeth.  Beautiful.  Or maybe I'm weird.  Nah, it's beautiful.

(I'm pretty much stealing these images off the net so in compensation, please go to Josh Graham's website, Suspended In Light.  Fantastic, spooky surreal, worth checking out!)

Here's the thing that is knocking me out about this record: I didn't even know how much I NEEDED it.

(I'm going to copy lyrics out of the booklet without permission so in compensation please go to the official Soundgarden website.) (Order the box set, accidentally get a size small T shirt, and send it to me!)

(Also, I'm not spacing these lines the right way - looks much more cohesive in the booklet. The words and visuals works so well together.)

I'm well into my 40s now and as much as I look around and think this is not where I expected/ planned/ dreamed we would be after two decades of hard work and sacrifice, I remind myself to put it into perspective.

an excerpt from HALFWAY THERE (music & lyrics by Chris Cornell)

And how far 
is halfway there?
I didn't see you 
on the trail
did almost
become good enough?
Should a good life be so hard won?
Is that what our dreams have become?

Have you got a car?
Somewhere to sleep?
Someone who loves you?
Something to eat?
I would say you're doing better than most
though maybe not as well as some


So there we are.

I'm middle aged.  I'm halfway there. So, thank you Chris Cornell for summing it up.




One of the beautiful experiences of music is the way each of us take what we need from it.
Soundgarden's music has always felt wild and dark and rural to me. I'm sure I'm influenced by knowing that they're from the Pacific North West, the land of trees and clouds and plaid.  I love that stuff.  I mean, come on, the video for Rusty Cage involves dogs, forest, an old truck and a shack.  Yep. I can relate.




Here's a verse and chorus from a song that damn near breaks my heart. It's in minor and has all kinds of imagery that reminds me of being lost in the metaphorical spooky forest.

(Ben Shepherd explains.  Sort of.)

TAREE (music by Ben Shepherd, Lyrics by Chris Cornell)

Though I can't put my hands on you
I can feel you now
In the bones and the blood flowing
needles on the ground
In the ether I sail to you
floating on the fumes
Run aground on the shore for you
Simple wreckage

Taree walk out and raise the road
To my tilted shadow
I only know I've made it home
When I drown
in your ghost light




It makes me think how much I miss my husband.  We're apart during the week.  Somehow this song comforts me.







And then there's this, beautiful haunting song that has almost made me weep a couple times, just from the way it reminds me of the fragility and harshness that makes up life and death.  It makes perfect sense that this song grabs me.  I was the kid with a collection of small skulls hidden away in the barn. I've never found them.  Probably got destroyed when the back half of the barn was demolished.  I also have the dried carcass of a hummingbird I pried out from beside the VW emblem in the grille of the car.   Is that weird?  Or sad?  Blackly humourous?  I can't tell.  I just feel.



BONES OF BIRDS (music & lyrics by Chris Cornell)

Time is my friend
Til it ain't and runs out
and that is all that I have
Til it's gone
Try to build a home
Bones of birds
singing in the cold
and fall to earth
Hey, sometimes she won't cry
When the smallest one is drowned
Too weak to survive
Probably... maybe 
Try to look out
through a hole in a bag
circle above
looking down
bird of prey
Try to build a home
bones of birds 
singing in the cold
and fall to earth
Hey, sometimes she won't cry
when the smallest one is drowned
Too weak to survive
probably... maybe.

(Matt Cameron and Chris Cornell discuss the song.)

And then there's this.

Which just flat out rocks.  In a weird time signature.

Things to note about this last commentary video:
-Matt Cameron is wearing a gingham shirt.  Heck I have that same shirt in pink.
-He is not aging.
-The beginning of this video, with the music and the backlit wind machine smoke machine photo shoot?  SWOON.  I am such a loser.  They don't even have their musical instruments and I'm all, "AHMAHGAWD AH LOOOOOVE YOOOOOO" because I am a complete drooling moron when it comes to musicians.
-seriously.  Chris Cornell.
-no really.  Even his speaking voice.  
-honestly, I'm just saying.


I have to stop working on this blog post before I get sucked into a youtube time warp vortex of interviews and live performances and anything else I can find.  My daughter lost a few days like that when Muse dropped their new album in October.  It was all "The 2nd Law" all the time.  She was like a kid with a favourite video.  Again.  Again.  Again.  Because that's what it's like around here with our favourite bands.

They're back and I'm so happy to have them back.

The Choices We Make Don't Always Seem Very Smart.

If we were smart, we would not be living in the country.

We'd have stayed closer to Jethro's work.  We'd have kept the house we had.  If we were smart, we'd be city people.  At the very least, bedroom community subdivision people, like we were for 13 years.  We would never dream of building a recording studio in a barn if we were smart.

If I was smart, I would have gotten an actual job.  If I was smart, I'd have worked my way into earning a paycheque that could support our family.

If we were smart, we wouldn't have horses.  They are big creatures that eat hundreds and hundreds of dollars worth of hay, and need vet care and hoof trims.  They need acres of land to graze on and large buildings to house them in bad weather.  Owning horses is not a financially wise thing to do.  It's kind of dumb, really, from a money standpoint.

If I was smart, I would realize that teaching riding lessons with those horses is not likely to support the kind of property needed to keep the horses on, and I would have not chosen that path.  A smart way to handle that would have been to pay someone else for the privilege of riding their horse, and let that person pay for the vet and the land and the feed and tack.  

If I was really smart I'd just content myself with a few pretty pictures of horses on my walls, and sigh with envy when other people tell me about their horses, and I'd convince myself that horses are for the lucky few who are very rich and very lucky, but not for me.  

If I had any brains at all, I would understand that writing fiction is a terrible way to make a living, and that the odds of even getting to the place that I could think about earning anything from it is so far fetched that there's really no point even trying, and I'd just write a short story here and there and hide the printout under my bed or let it sit in silence in my computer.  Or if I was really smart, I'd just realize that I should stop.  Find another way to get the words and pictures and voices out of my head.  Crush them down.

Stop wanting that feeling of squeezing a story out of my brain.  Stop needing to search for the perfect word.

Stop craving the warmth of a horse's velvety smooth neck, stop thinking about the satisfaction of working in partnership with such a free spirited and sensitive and intelligent animal, stop needing to soak in their beauty with my eyes.  

If I was smart, I could look out the window of the house I live in and calmly remark on the neighbour's flowerbeds.  Be okay with how close the other houses are.  Be okay with not being able to see a stretch of horizon with no houses on it.

But I'm not smart.  We're not smart.

I mean, if he was smart, he might not stay in a business making a product (recorded music) that most people don't feel the need to pay for (and how does an industry stay functional if it can't profit from what it makes?)  If he was smart he'd be a plumber or an electrician or a truck driver.

We're not smart because we've chosen to keep going, despite the ridiculous odds stacked against us.  We've chosen to fight our way through and stick with it because he's one of the best and he loves it and it's what he does.  

I'm doing what I'm good at.  I'm good at teaching people how to ride horses.  I love it.  I'm getting better at it.  But.  We're not smart, because owning a horse in this century isn't smart, it's considered a luxury, even if it keeps a person sane and happy and peaceful.  

Writing isn't just not smart, it's kinda silly and frivolous.  Who needs it, right?  Will anybody be willing to pay for words a year from now?  

I'm not smart.

I keep writing.  I keep booking riding lessons, and feeling like a million bucks when they hand over their $35.  

He keeps pushing the record button, tuning flat notes, asking for one more take, glowing from the inside out when he coaxes a brilliant performance out of a musician, when he's satisfied with a mix.  

Is it SMART to protect creativity?  Is it SMART to be honest to yourself?

If SMART means being safe and secure, doing the thing with the least risk,  then no, we're not smart.  

We're flaky dreamers who try to magic everything into being okay.

But if SMART means doing what we're good at, doing what we love and what we feel we're meant to do,  maybe we're smarter than we realize. Maybe we can choose to get other people who are good at bookkeeping to do that for us, so we can get paid to do our thing.  If we're smart we'll realize that living in the city can be just as expensive as living in the country but in different ways.  And know that smart people figure out how to manage what they earn and what they spend and what they keep.

If we're smart we'll work at getting smarter and getting help with the stuff we're not good at, and making the best of this.

This is the deal people: We're doing what we do.  We've made some dumb choices, a few good ones, and a few that didn't feel like choices at all.  We have managed to hold onto each other, our family, and a few shreds of sanity.  

These are our choices, whether or not they're right for anybody else.... regardless of what's considered the smart thing to do.  This is what we've chosen.  

  

It's not that I'm on a mission to convert English riders to Western, it's just that....

...when they come over to my place to try Western riding, they like it and they come back!

I am careful not to speak disrespectfully of English riding.  I do respect it. When done right, it's an art form, full of tradition and elegance.  Done wrong - and yes, it can be done wrong - it's a mess of tight reins and grippy knees and snobbery all wrapped neatly in the guise of propriety.

Western riding at its worst is all flapping arms and jerking reins, horse heads flipped up sky high with mouths open to get away from ridiculously harsh bits, and yee-haw and yahoo.

At it's best however, Western is just as much of an art and science. (In fact in my opinion, even more so.)  Western horses learn to collect themselves without constant contact on the reins.  They can be sped up or slowed in each gait, steered with one hand, and move sideways, back, and pivot in circles.  They move along with the lightest cue possible. They can stop with a lift of the reins and a shift of the rider's weight.

Around here in my neck of the woods, English is more common.  This isn't really cowboy country.  Generally, if people want their kids to learn how to ride, they look up a local reputable stable and sign up for lessons - and the majority of the stables are exclusively English.  Then, there are a handful of rural families who keep a few horses and have western saddles to put on them.  Some of those are heaving the saddles onto the horses and hanging on for dear life; others are actually riding western.  There is good and bad in both disciplines.

I believe that good riding is good riding, no matter what tack you're using or what you're wearing.

The fundamentals are the same!  Sit up straight, get your legs under you, use those legs to move the horse.  Soft hands; don't pull on the horse's mouth.

I love English riders.  They have beautiful posture and great balance.  They have a hard time at first with long stirrups and loose reins, but my job is to help them get comfortable and really use their seat and weight.  It's a whole new world.

Above all, people learning how to ride their horses fairly and kindly - and enjoying their horses - that's really what it's all about. (I love my job so much!)

On our 21st anniversary, a song by a very wise man: "All Is Fair" by Big Wreck

So few songs depict the reality of staying married.  It's not all romance... any two people living together will have difficulties.  But it's worth it.  Once the intensity of falling in love wears off, the real depth happens.  It's truly amazing.  


I'm kind of guessing at the lyrics here, because they're not printed in the CD booklet, but Ian Thornley is such a great singer the words are clear enough to understand. I'd like to thank him for getting it and writing a rock song that tells it like it is.  


From the album ALBATROSS, by Big Wreck, "All Is Fair."  Check out the site; this is one of the best records of 2012 so far.  




We settle into another day
Of bickering and complaints
We both know I'm not perfect
But neither of us are saints

And by the way
Where were you last night when I called? 

Well it always starts out simple
In innocence in love
And before you know it's back and forth
Calling each other's bluff

And by the way
Where were you last night when I called?

All is fair in love and war
But you can't compare the two anymore
We gotta make a home
It's best to say
We both know there's 
No one else 
to blame

Oh I've seen it all around me
As it happens every day
Lawyers, courts and settlements
And going your own way

I've gotta say
I wouldn't trade this for the world

So we're
Trying to raise a tiny tribe
Something of our own
We're sacrificing everything
We get no more time alone

I've gotta say
I wouldn't trade this for the world

All is fair in love and war
But you can't compare the two
Anymore
We're driving one another
Up the wall
We both know there's
No one else
My baby, it's just you and me


All is fair in love and war
But you can't compare the two anymore
We gotta make our home
It's best to say
We both know there's 
No one else 

The Young Lady

My first born child is 18 now.  

She used to trot to school and whinny at her teacher.

Now she can drive.

She is well on her way into a promising career in photography.  She's gigging, she's set up for college in the fall, and she's getting to know other people in the photography biz.  

All week she's been on assignment for a music festival, which means she is doing specifically what she plans to do to make a living: taking pictures of musicians!

I am bursting.  

I can't even tell you.

Just overflowing.

AWWWW! She's just so cute.

Our tiny Appaloosa mare is eleven years old, and we still think of her as "the baby." 

We have had her since she was a gawky little yearling, I was the first person on her back, and my kids have grown up with her.  

Well... they grew up... she got to 14hh, just tall enough to be eligible for registration as an Appaloosa horse.  All 900 lbs of her.  

I am not good at judging a horse's conformation, especially any of mine.  I am too love blind.  I know Copper has a biggish head, which is funny because she wears the small size halter, but other than that, I look at her every day and melt.  I love her short, muscular body, her teacup sized hooves, her little brown ears.

The last couple years have been hard.  Some health issues took her out of work; what horse wants to have her cinch tightened, or even have a saddle on her back, if her belly hurts? We've got her all healed up, and I'm slowly getting her back. Not being ridden means not getting as much attention, which is not good for a horse.  And I've missed her!  She's a neat little horse to ride.  And she's the only one I don't use a step ladder to mount up!

Here she is wearing a saddle again.  Looks pretty okay with the whole thing eh? Nothing new here, it's been done.  

No problem.  

Y'know, she kind of reminds me of a little donkey in this picture.  In a very cute way.  

I treat her like a horse, not a puppy or a kitten.  That's how it has to be.  

But...

Oh my gosh, that pink muzzle!

If you keep that horse long enough, he'll either die of old age or you'll have to make The Hard Decision

My Pal Al had to have his sweet old stud horse put down this week.

He'd only had him for about seven years, but it was long enough to become very attached.  But the Old Stud was the kind of horse who was very easy to love.  Most people did not even know that he was a stallion because he was so mellow and well-behaved. *

Pal Al has owned a grand total of three horses in his life.  He's a city boy, and didn't get his first horse until adulthood- basically the opposite of my upbringing.  His first horse (now buried in our backyard, beside the freshly dug grave for the Old Stud**) was a QH gelding who taught him so much.  That horse was the kind that patiently carried his rider to horse shows and trail rides and lessons with trainers.  Now Pal Al has one gelding left, who sadly has not quite bonded with his person.  Which is nobody's fault but just goes to show that sometimes a partnership works and sometimes doesn't.

This guy has had not one but two wonderful relationships with an equine partner.

It doesn't make their passing any easier.

With his first horse, the good ol QH, it was quickly established that this horse was a keeper.  Even after the QH was not being ridden anymore, there was never any question as to this horse's future.  He'd be with his owner for life.

And inevitably, when you keep a horse for the rest of his life, you will be facing his death.

The problem is that horses rarely die of old age anymore.  (***)  When horses were beasts of burden, they didn't live to be old.  They were either worked to death or sent off the the fur farm.  Few people could afford the luxury of keeping a retiree out in the back field.  I don't know what's a worse fate - drop dead on the job, fur farm, or wasting away in a field, ignored.  But these days horses are not tractors and we're allowed to love them and take good care of them and keep them long after they're not useful anymore.  We have great nutrition and vet care.  They live long.  Sometimes they live so long they don't die on their own.  We have to make The Hard Decision and it's the most kind thing we can do.

My first pony was considerate enough to just quietly die in her sleep.  All I had to do was cry my 15 year old heart out.

It does not get easier.  I've had to put a few horses down.  I don't regret it.  I did the right thing.

I have three horses in the corral right now whom I have no intention of selling.  They're all keepers.  I plan to enjoy them thoroughly and give them a good life, work with them, have fun with them, and do all I can to keep them healthy and fit and content.  And I'm well aware that this means saying a final goodbye years down the road.

I'll take it.  I'll face that, if it means I get to live with those horses.  It is absolutely worth it.

Pal Al is grieving and there have been many tears shed out here at the Ol Homestead.  But I keep telling him, that old stallion got another seven years of retirement that he may not have enjoyed, because Pal Al bought him from an auction full of meat buyers.  Lucky horse.

And lucky man for having had the experience of having those horses in his life.






* I do think it's quite possible for a stallion to be well-behaved.  Having testosterone is no excuse for being a jerk.  It's all about what you expect of him, and it's a lot more work keeping a stallion in line but it can be done.  I've seen it.  And this old feller was exceptionally sweet.

** There are two horse graves on this property.  Neither are ours.  I've never buried a horse.  And that's an interesting practical discussion for another day, not today.

*** How do we dispose of horses now compared to the old days?  How are they better off?  Again, another discussion for another day.


***&*&*&^%%^^*****  I am now going to go outside and have some fun with my horses!