Barnmaven

And the women are scarce

 

How's that bawdy line go?  Montana, where the men are men, the women are scarce and the sheep are...

I couldn't presume why women are scarce in Montana, but in my neck of the woods its likely because they're out riding their horses.

Ayers Road, Sunday afternoon:

An outstanding ride, excellent company.  I need more weekends like that.

 

Equus

What Cowgirls do on the weekends

Saturday morning we loaded up and headed down the road a ways and across the river to a bomb-proofing clinic at one of the local arenas.bomb

Contrary to how it sounds, this is not an event where we endeavor to get our horses to calmly stand still during explosions by subjecting them to hand grenades and cannons, although from the reactions of some of the participants it might as well have been.

You can quote me on this:  There is no such thing as a bombproof horse.  Unless he's blind, deaf and cemented in place, most horses have at least one thing they will spook at or at the very least react to.  There are horses that accept most everything you throw at 'em, who you could trust to carry a toddler around on them safely - but  they are all capable of getting frightened by something new, even the most level-headed of them.  If they weren't born like calm, cool cats, the best way to get them there is - you guessed it - to throw everything at 'em.  Rinse, wash, repeat.

When we got to where the clinic was being held the fun had already started.  Right behind the fence line where the trailers lined up there was a pen with a great big black and white sow in it.  More than one horse decided to break loose and head south when they got a gander at her.  Unlike cows, who tend to be more curious than frightened of new things, horses tend to react with a great deal of self-preservation.  Until they've determined (or been convinced) that something isn't going to kill and eat them, they'll just assume otherwise and vacate the premises with haste.  Also?  (And this is anecdotal so feel free to Snopes me on it) Pigs supposedly smell very similar to bears.

Fortunately Bugsy Boy wasn'tt all too concerned about the pig.  The llama and the sheep, on the other hand, had him snorting and jumping around until the llama was kind enough to touch noses with him through the field wire.  After that, Bugs was all, hey, I don't know how to get in there with you but would you mind sharing some of that hay?

The entire facility was covered with various obstacles - bridges, gates, tarps, water obstacles.  There were obstacles set up inside the covered arena, and obstacles set out on the grounds as well.  Did you know that a water obstacle inside the barn is not the same as a water obstacle outside in the daylight?  No?  Just ask Bugs, who successfully (after a lot of coaxing and the help of a buddy horse) walked through the water inside the barn but not once set foot in the outside water.  Those plastic ducks looked pretty threatening to me too, come to think of it.  Sometimes you measure success by your proximity to the desired result. 

He did great on the tilty bridge and the "car wash" (a frame made of PVC pipes with streamers and pool noodles hanging off it).  Once he figured out he could put his head down and the streamers wouldn't touch his ears he didn't mind it a bit.  He did not like going through the obstacle where a whole bunch of plastic bottles and jugs were strewn on the ground inside of a square made of wooden poles.  The first time his foot crunched on one I thought I was going to have to pull my hat out of the rafters.  By the sixth or seventh time through it, though, he was a lot calmer.

We also successfully negotiated the Black Tarp of Death, which a couple of years ago was what I referred to as his "kryptonite."   When he put his head down, sniffed it and walked right over it I had to turn around and do it a few more times just to convince myself I hadn't dreamed it or maybe was on the wrong horse.  I was sure the tilting bridge would unnerve him but he handled it like a pro.

By afternoon we had put in a good three or four hours and both of us were ready to go home, Bugs to have a nice roll and me to have a nice hot shower.  It was a really good day, seeing old friends and making new ones. 

A lot about improving your riding and helping your horse learn is about the miles you put into them.  Except for rare cases, the spookiest of horses can be gotten used to a variety of things.  I like to expose my horse to everything I can, it just makes him safer for me on the trail - and that makes the trail a lot more fun for both of us.

 

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The adventure years

Finding my speed

Waiter, There's a Horse in my Lasagna

Photo Credit:  Suzanne Plunkett/Reuters 

SG and I were chatting a little about the big scandal happening over in Europe, where it appears food manufacturing plants in Ireland and the UK have been adding horsemeat to products which are supposed to contain beef or pork.  Horse DNA has been showing up in testing on supposed beef and pork products both on the shelf and in restaurants across Europe.  Burger King, Tesco, Aldi, Nestle’, Birds Eye and Sodexo, among other, have all been impacted by the fraud. 

Some officials have raised health concerns about whether the horsemeat could contain phenylbutazone (Bute), a commonly used equine pain reliever that isn’t approved for human consumptions.  Others suggest there is a risk to consumers from Equine Infectious Anemia, which in and of itself isn’t dangerous to humans, but according to officials might be indicative of other health issues with the animal and point to poor sanitation and handling at the factory, which could indicate the presence of other, worse contaminants.  Personally, I think these impacts would be negligible at best, since it would impossible for Bute to be present in concentrated in a horse in large enough amounts to actually cause harm to a person.  Now the sanitation issue could be plausible threat, since a factory that is slipping horsemeat into their beef and pork products could conceivably be cutting costs by skimping on their plant sanitation or faking test results as well.  Still, no outbreaks have been reported (yet) of infectious diseases being transmitted by the affected products.

Aside from the visceral reaction of “OMIGOD WE DON’T EAT HORSES, THAT’S GROSS,” I think the bigger issue is how the prepackaged food industry either directly or indirectly manages to blur the lines of information about where our food comes from and what it is composed of.  We’re not made to eat all these chemical additives and highly processed foods.  We aren’t mean to have a bigt helping of gluten or corn filler in our staple products.  We aren’t meant to eat bread that can be squished down to a nugget the size of an eraser and has been processed to the point that you need extra helpings of fiber just to get it to pass through your intestines. 

When most of our food is produced by subsidiaries of giant corporations much becomes invisible to the consumer, unless the consumer is willing to spend a lot of time researching who owns who and who produces what.  Boycotting anything on principle these days pretty much means you just can’t shop anymore. Anyhwere.  A couple of months ago when some companies which I’d always assumed were just great little producers of organic foods showed up on a list of companies opposing a measure in California to identify GMO products on food labels.  Turns out those companies were subsidiaries of larger corporations which had a vested interest in hiding the origins of many of their food products. 

The horsemeat scandal is just the current frosting on the cupcake of how the giant business of producing all of our food in factories is for the most part pretty bad for our health and probably our planet, but so long as its good for the company bottom line, who gives a shit?

I personally would be horrified if I found out something I ate contained undisclosed horsemeat; but I’m realistic enough to know anything at all that I eat that was packaged in a big giant factory somewhere possibly – probably? – contains things that are even more objectionable than THAT.   And I probably think it tastes AWESOME too, because big companies are very good at taking advantage of the sense of taste that when we were still wandering around the forest in loincloths led us to eat the foods that were good for us and avoid those that would kill us. 

In our house we are always talking about food and about eating healthier.  SG’s doctor wants him to eat paleo; my personal food style is to try and eat more green things, more whole things and fewer processed things, but that sweet tooth of mine keeps tripping up on the Ho Ho’s.  I’m not a Whole Foods hipster, by any means.  I think it’s a shame that the foods that are pesticide and antibiotic free are also way more expensive and that most people can’t afford to buy them.  But for fuck’s sake, if we’re going to manufacture a situation where a large portion of the population can’t access fresh food, could we at least make the stuff they can afford less toxic for them?

If nothing else, the situation in Europe is just that much more incentive to buy things locally as much as possible and to always always read labels.   And if you go to London, DON’T GET A WHOPPER AT BURGER KING.  Gross.

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The adventure years

I was in the 8th grade when my mom turned forty.  A couple of years before, at the end of my 5thgrade year, we had moved out of the city to an island in Puget Sound.  On a small two and a half acre hobby farm Mom transformed from urbanite to country denizen, planting a garden, learning to haul her daughter around to horse shows and riding lessons, tending a flock of chickens and all the other sundry things that rural life involves.  The year she turned forty, Mom entered what I tend to think of as her "real" life -- now that my brother and I were less dependent, she had more time and energy to invest in the things she wanted to do. 

It started out with a daily walk and a few friends who were also interested in getting in better shape.  Before long she was race walking over 3 miles a day, entering 5K and then 10K events.  By the time I headed off to college what had begun as a daily walk had turned into overnight mountain hikes in the Olympics.  When my Mom was in her fifties she had better looking legs than most women a quarter of her age, and she had the stamina to match those muscles.

Since then she's slowed down some, but not much, not by most standards.  She takes Zumba classes a couple of times a week and when she's not Zumba-ing she goes for walks or works out to videos.

Thanks to my mom I've grown up with a terrific example of the benefits not only of exercise, but of taking the time to do what you enjoy. 

When I bought my midlife horses five years ago I think one of the last things I expected to ever be doing was to ride in a horse show again.  My years of circling a ring were a long time ago.  The last few years have been more about enjoying my horse, but what I've found is that enjoying my horse naturally leads me to wanting both my horse and I to grow in what we can do together. 

We progressed from general trail riding to mounted orienteering, then last summer we started working at cow sorting and re-learning how to ride english - and we started jumping.  Whenever I can I take my horse to clinics and events that I think will help both of us improve what we already know and find new things to try.  With the encouragement of a couple of my friends, this past weekend I entered my first horse show in almost thirty years. 

I didn't go with any pretense of thinking I'd win a bunch of ribbons.  For one, it was a schooling show, which is a much more relaxed environment than a straight-up show.  You can use training aids and you don't require formal show clothing.  Because Bugs had never been in a horse show environment I thought it would be a great learning experience for him - and it was.

I was so damn proud of that horse.  He's a big, energetic boy, very forward and all GO.  I usually have to wear him out a little bit before he can become smooth and relaxed.  Saturday was no exception, but we had a great judge and he was very generous with providing feedback and suggestions.  We entered eight classes - and came home with eight ribbons.  Even a first place ribbon, but I take no pride in winning the Novice Western Horse class with only three riders, one of them about seven years old on a Bashkir Curly horse named Peaches. 

I do take pride in how far my horse and I have come together.  He teaches me and I teach him, and together we are having great adventures.  I'm way closer to fifty than I am to forty anymore, but thanks to my Mom I know that I'm really just in the early part of my adventure years.  Mom knew it before I did -- there is no age limit on discovering something you love to do. 

Many of the women I encounter on the trail and at clinics and other events are my age and older.  Some have been riding their whole lives; some discovered riding after their kids grew up and are getting as much time in the saddle as they can.  One woman who I met at a clinic is in her 70's, still active and still riding.  I want to be that person -- the one where all the kids on the trail ride go home and tell their friends about:  There was this lady on the ride that was like 90 years old. 

When I pulled in to the horse show on Saturday morning, just me and my horse, I felt a little out of place.  I didn't know anyone there.  SG would be arriving later.  My friend Debbie was nowhere in sight.  I filled out my entry form, paid my fee, got my number and put the final grooming touches on my horse.  While I was standing outside waiting for my first class to be called, who should drive up but Mom. 

How apropos that the first person to show up and offer support at my first show since the late 1980's was the woman who taught me that life begins in your forties.

Thanks, Mom.  I love you so much.

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Girl things

Miles, time and diesel: Someone made a difference for me.

 

Well, HAY THERE!

(Haha, I crack myself up sometimes).

That's Bumi in the picture.  She's one of the guest horses I've had since March.  She's a real sweetheart and a very lovely horse to ride.  She very cooperatively walked around with her breakfast stuck on her face long enough for me to whip out my phone and capture a photo.

I know I've written about it before, but I am struck constantly by how much I owe where I'm at horse-wise to the loving support of other people.  My horse journey has been influenced so much by my parents and my husband, all of whom have willingly given up whole days to make sure my children were fed and cared for so I could go enjoy time on my horse.  My deepest gratitude is for my friend Michelle, who has unselfishly driven hundreds of extra miles over the last three years to pick up my horse and me for trail rides and clinics.  She's kept horses at her place for me, she's shared her doctoring skills and her advice, and most importantly she has shared her friendship. 

The love of horses, or "the sickness" as some call it, is somewhat indescribable.  When you have it, one of the things you simply need in order to feel truly happy, to be truly yourself,  is a horse in your life.   Its also a real luxury, because horses are expensive to feed and maintain, and if you don't live somewhere you can easily ride at home or have the money to find a good boarding facility nearby or don't have a truck and trailer, you can't really ride your horse much, and that sucks.  My relationship with my horses is as deep and as meaningful as it is with thanks to Michelle's willingness to sacrifice her time and diesel to make sure I got lots of rides in.  I owe most of the miles I put on my horse the last few years directly to her.

This year I was lucky enough to find a truck and trailer I could afford.  They're far from new, the trailer especially, but they have made it far more possible for me to just go and ride when I want to.  Michelle doesn't have to go 30 miles out of her way to collect me when there's a clinic or a trail ride the opposite direction from her place.  I can get my own hay when I need it and not pay extra to have it delivered.   It makes a huge difference for me, and this summer I've gotten to ride even more.

I have a couple of friends who don't yet have a way to haul their horses and pick up their hay.  I sincerely hope this doesn't come off as sounding preachy, but I have it in my mind that I have a responsibility to be a "Michelle" for others, to make it possible for them to enjoy their horses.   They are big shoes to fill, and I'm pretty sure I'm not as generous or gracious as Michelle, but I commit to making the effort.  Its worth it to see more horse people getting to do what they love, and having more friends to go on our trail rides with us. 

My friend Debbie gives riding lessons to kids for prices most trainers wouldn't dream of giving, because her mission is to get as many little girls to fall in love with horses as she can.  She does this not just to create the next generation of riders and keep the sport of riding alive, but because research shows us that by age 10, if a child doesn't have a passionate interest in something, they won't have something to keep them focused and on track during their teenage years.  A sport or hobby can mean the difference between graduating and maybe going to college vs. getting involved in drugs or getting pregnant.   Make riding lessons affordable and therefore putting horses within reach of more families is just her way of paying it forward.  The great feeling of watching little girls beaming with pleasure the first time they are able to canter or go over a jump, that's just the frosting.

I was cleaning stalls a couple of weeks ago and I heard feed sacks rattling.  I figured SG was just out throwing scratch to the chickens and he would eventually come and find me, but after a while I didn't hear anyone.  When I went to put the poop fork away, I found someone had left three bags of horse feed outside my feedroom door.  I had just been thinking that day about what supplies we needed and fretting about a lack of both time and finances.  Someone paid it forward, and it made my day. Hell, probably my month.

There are times we pay it forward and the people we help don't appreciate it or they take advantage of our kindness.  But we don't do this to get something in return from others; the return comes from within, from our own sense of being OK with who we are and what we do.  Intent is important.  I can't set expectations for how others will react or what they will potentially do in return for me, that only muddies the waters of my giving.  I struggle with this sometimes, but I know what's right for me and so I have to continue to strive for healthy thinking.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by this world.  Its easy to feel the weight of all the tension and fear from our crumbling economy, our bitter political rivalries, the horror of war and violence.   Focusing my attention on the things I can do rather than the problems I can't solve helps me feel somehow less frightened of the enormous challenges we all deal with.  Doing something positive helps take away the sting when one of my kids is having a tough day or I come home from work feeling defeated.  Maybe we can't change the whole world, but we can sure change something small for someone else today. 

How do you pay it forward?  What ways have other people paid it forward that made a difference for you?  Share your stories!

 

I don't even know where to start

I've been sick since a week ago Saturday and there seems to be no end in sight.  I don't know if its a cold or flu virus or just allergies working overtime and making my lungs and throat all nasty.  I think I have to go to the doctor if it continues much longer.  In the meantime, I've got a voice that's a combination between Brenda Vaccaro and a three-pack-a-day smoker.

Nothing terribly remarkable happened through most of last week, but then we got to Thursday and it got all lively around here.

The fun began when my adorable, darling son got a two day suspension from school for hitting someone.

Race Car man is the wunderkind of deciding what he wants to have happen and then doing whatever is necessary to achieve his goals.  He had a substitute teacher on Thursday, and although this sub has had reasonable success with him in the past, he decided he'd rather be at Grandma's playing with toys.  He started acting out in class, and whenever he was redirected he just upped the ante, to the point he had to be removed from the classroom.  After ending up in the office hecontinued to escalate.  The school is well aware that his preferred consequence is to get to go home from school, so we work together on keeping that as the DFL* option. When he realized he wasn't achieving his goal, he got physical.  Not only did he hit an adult, he stomped on her foot for good measure. 

Wish granted.  Off to Grandma's you go, son, do not pass GO and do not collect your two hundred bucks.

Its not exactly fun being the parent of the kid who's bullying and hitting others. 

I make a point of apologizing and I make sure I let the school know that I support their efforts to maintain order and discipline and to keep students and teachers safe.  I communicate to them the consequences I will be applying so that they know the behavior will be addressed.  I find that its important to reassure teachers and administrators that this child has active and involved parents and that this isn't a problem they are flying solo in dealing with.

And then I knuckle down and institute consequences for my kid.  Which means NO Skylanders, NO computer, NO TV.    He has to earn them back by making good choices with his behavior at home and at school. 

His mind doesn't yet process human interactions in a way that helps him understand that hitting is wrong.  He can grasp that its something we don't want him to do, but in his brain its only because we want to prevent him from getting his way.

It has been hard to watch his hysterical sobbing over losing his Skylanders.  But I need him to learn this lesson.  He can't be a successful adult if he just hauls off and clocks people who piss him off at work.  I want him to know that we all feel like doing that at times, but that just because we are frustrated doesn't mean we can hurt others. 

So Thursday was a definite low, with my Rocky wannabe and the associated not-fun of imposing consequences.  I tell you, though, sometimes its like the universe wants to make it up to you when things suck, because Saturday and Sunday were amazeballs.

Michelle and I went to a clinic with a new trainer we had heard about, and holy crap, you guys, what a great day it was.  I've found as I get older that I don't have as much confidence on my horse as when I was young.  I'm less inclined to push him hard and I'm far more cognizant of not wanting to get hurt.  If you want to improve at anything, though, you need to push past your comfort zone.  The right trainer is the one who wants to see you and your horse succeed, who can judge your skill level accurately and assess your deficiencies, then find ways to teach you what you need to know and ways to get you to do the things you're capable of but scared to try.  Tim is all of that and more, and it was such a blast to learn from him.  Totally worth the money and he probably should be charging more.  I will be going back to learn more as soon as possible.

Sunday, though, was the best day EVER.  Why, you ask?

MY HUSBAND CAME HOME.

If you hate the mushy junk, TURN YOUR EYES AWAY.  My house is full of the mushy junk.  The hugging, the hand holding, the smooching, the can't-get-enough-of-you, you smell just like I remembered and I thought I'd die missing the feel of your hand on the small of my back just like you're doing right now.  

The dogs are happy, the kids are happy, and I am over the moon.

He's home.

 

 

*dead fucking last

Grounding

I never sleep well on Sunday nights.  The person I am on the weekends and when I'm at home is who I really am.  Shedding that costume when I leave work is effortless.  Putting it back on Monday morning is like trying to squeeze into a dress that just doesn't fit quite right.  Its not painful or even uncomfortable, but you know that it just isn't "you."

I hauled my three pasture guests up to Michelle's on Saturday.  They're going on 12 acres of grass for the summer, which will be great for them.  All three are looking shiny and healthy and happy.  Such nice girls, really, and I look forward to going over and working with them some in the coming months.

I brought my boys back home, and good gracious does it feel nice to have them back.  I missed their faces, missed watching Bugs stick his head over the fence in order to provoke T-Bone and laugh at him when he gets in trouble for barking at the horses. 

Sunday was a gorgeous day, and I took full advantage to gain traction on the many projects that need doing in the yard and pasture.  I cut down and cut up one of the three junk trees, mowed, watered, and got about 3/4 of the chicken run fence done.  I let Bugs and Zenon into the "free" area between the barn and the front lot so they could "mow the grass" for me, and after I wore myself out physically, I took a break, took off my shoes and sat down in the grass with my horses and just hung out with them for a bit. 

I was reading some stuff lately about a thing called "earthing."  The theory, confirmed by research, is that human beings carry a positive charge.  Just walking barefoot for 20 or 30 minutes a day produces physiological changes in our bodies and connective tissue.  Earthing proponents claim that it reduces pain, helps us to fight off the effects of aging, and promotes a better spiritual connectedness to our environment and to other people. 

All I know is that the simple act of sitting barefoot on the ground, listening the the rythym of grass chewed and tails swishing gave me a small piece of time in which I felt truly at peace and and really at home in my own skin.  I needed it.  We all do, need to have time where we can relax and just be.

Work and life and troubles are always there waiting for my attention.  That doesn't mean I have to focus on them 24/7.

 

More cuteness than you can possibly handle

Michelle let Buck cover one mare this year, and she decided to drop her baby in the wee dark hours of Tuesday morning, after Monday night's thunderstorms had used up all their rage.

As soon as we could stuff dinner in our faces and get the animals stuffed full of dinner, we climbed in the truck and went to pay a visit to the shiny new filly, who has yet to be named.

Begging your pardon for the cruddy cell phone photo quality, meet the cutest damned thing EVER:

Look at that sweet little star on her face...and her dorsal stripe!  I'm guessing she'll be a buttermilk buckskin or a very light gray/silver grulla. 

Dinner!  Or Breakfast!  Or something!

 

Proud mama.

 

I'ze tired now.  You go 'way so's I can sleep.  ZZZZZZZZZ

Momma is a super sweet, balanced mare who is also stacked like a brick shithouse.  She's my very favorite type of quarter horse - deep in the chest, big in the hip, short back, wide forehead, big eyes, little ears.  Daddy is also the sire of my gelding Bugs, and he is a dark red buckskin.  I'm hoping she gets Buck's size and Momma's personality.  Except that means I'll never convince Michelle to sell her to me.

Baby horses are just about my favorite thing in the spring, closely followed by baby cows, baby ducks, chicks and...pretty much anything that's a baby.  Except maybe baby spiders, I'm pretty sure I don't like those.

The first one

It was a blue Chevy truck, standard cab.   It had cloth seats with a woven pattern that looked just like the blanket I put under my western saddle.  At 12 I was tall enough to easily reach the pedals and see over the steering wheel at the same time, but not strong enough to pick up and throw a bale of hay.  Dad took me out into our pasture and taught me how to go and stop and turn, and then when we helped various neighhbors with hay, I got to drive the truck while my brother had to help stack it. 

By the time I was 13 and 14 dad would sometimes let me drive the truck on the roads.   Most of our side roads didn't even have stripes on them, they were gravel and tar, compacted into hard shell by the combined weight of cars and trucks and tractors.  At least three or four of the roads on the island started out paved but ended as dirt shortly after you lefour main thruway.  Seven miles of island  to explore.  Seven miles of dirt roads and blackberry bushes and back pastures in my dad's big Chevy truck.

My dream car has never been a flashy convertible or a muscle-bound GTO or a shiny red minivan.  My dream car has always been a truck of my own.

My ex had one, briefly, a truck he couldn't afford for a job he couldn't keep.  It wasn't mine, and it wasn't much use.  It was shiny and had leather seats and a cover on the back and a carpeted bed so that you couldn't put much of anything in it.  It wasn't a truck in the sense of really being a truck.  It was a showpiece.  It could tow a trailer but I couldn't afford the kind of horse trailer that would do justice to a truck like that. I had a love/hate relationship with it.  It was fun to drive, but it was never going to be what I wanted and needed it to be.  It taunted me from the driveway every time I had to have someone deliver hay to me.  You ca-an't have me!  You ca-an't use me! 

Shut up, Useless, I would fire back.

In this life, a girl needs a truck of her own.  A truck that can haul hay and kids and fence posts, pull a horse trailer or a flatbed trailer.  A truck both useful and tough.  Pretty is as pretty does; this farm girl believes that there's nothing more useless than a truck that is so pretty and expensive that you can't do anything to it or with it.  Trucks are for working.

This -- THIS -- is a TRUCK.

MY truck.

She's old, she's tough, and she's perfect for me.