Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
Amazing Journey
I used to live in a city neighborhood and I used to live in a suburb. Now I live in a rural setting. The differences are dramatic, as well as subtle. The common element of each is, me. Obviously, I bring my perspective to each setting. The different environments influence me, yet I interpret each place through my personal filter.
As a human being, my filter is basically similar to all the other humans interpreting their environmental influences. I feel what everyone feels about each of the three habitats. As an individual, my perspective is not identical to all others, but specific to me. We can generalize about the hectic pace of crowded places and the mellowness of open land, but individuals have the capacity to find their own mellowness in a hectic environment, or excitement over all that is found in being alone and outdoors.
People have the ability to compartmentalize their lives, and as such will become isolated and detached from that which is less familiar. For most of my life, horses were a mere blip on my radar. I knew of people who were horse lovers, but I was not so inclined. I married a person who was interested in horses, but she was far from consumed with a focus on them, so the impact on me was negligible.
Now I have a close relationship with a herd of 4 horses. I have become another person in a huge group of people with strong interests in horses. I am new to this group, and I bring my unique perspective, but I expect that I appear to the rest of the world as just another horse lover. On the surface, that is accurate, but there is more depth to all of our stories and I am inspired to figure out what about mine I should be endeavoring to tell.
Some days my amazing journey leaves me speechless. Oftentimes, I simply write about what I do, putting one foot in front of the other and tending to daily chores. There is more to it, I know, and I have a sense it is percolating within me in preparation for being told.
I’m letting it simmer a bit, while continuing to embrace and savor the breadth and depth of my wild ride.
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Fond Remembering
Gary and me
Last night I had dinner with precious friends at Gary Larson’s house about 65 miles west of where I live. It is always so very worth the long drive to be present for these gatherings.
Gary and I were thinking along the same lines when we both marveled about having met each other on one of Jim Klobuchar’s annual June bike trips and soon after, traveled together on the trek in Nepal in 2009.
That trip was one of the reasons I had my long hair put into dreadlocks and it was the catalyst for my starting this blog. I’ve been posting every day ever since.
The dreadlocks, though I miss them in many ways, didn’t last as long.
David Piper took this shot of me overlooking Namche Bazaar
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Two Extremes
Our weather went from one extreme to another in the span of daylight hours. A snow event had been predicted to start around 3:00 a.m., but when we woke up at 6:00, there was no snow yet. Cyndie began to prepare to visit the exercise machines at her physical therapy office before work, but she hadn’t finished getting ready when the snow started falling with intensity.
That changed her plans and she skipped the exercise in order to head straight to work. The updated forecast now indicated we might get up to an inch, which I believed was a result of the delayed onset of precipitation. At the rate it was coming down, it seemed to me we were going to exceed that total.
I took a picture while Delilah and I were forging our way around the property through the storm.
As soon as it started to let up and the radar indicated there wasn’t much of substance still on the way, I started shoveling. The temperature was still below freezing, though barely, and the snow wasn’t holding a lot of moisture. As soon as I scraped the pavement, the sun —through the clouds— melted the dregs of snow remaining.
The area that I shoveled looked like it hadn’t been covered in white just moments before. That inspired me to want to get the rest of the driveway plowed, while there was still enough daylight to dry it off.
Little by little the clouds began to break apart. By the end of the day, it was all clear. Of course, in the winter, with all that clear sky and sunshine, it was getting colder, not warmer.
It was a day of two skies, …two extremely different skies.
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Bad Girl
First off, I’d like to admit that I am feeling at fault for failing to successfully train our dog, Delilah, to come when called, to stop barking on command, to treat our cat, Pequenita, with respect, and most importantly, to stay on our property. After months of confining her to a leash, hoping it might condition her to the boundaries we want her to respect, late last week I began to give her a few opportunities to be free of the leash when outside with me.
She did spectacularly well for two days. Yesterday, she failed miserably. As a result, all privileges have been revoked, effective immediately. The urge to follow natural instinct is strong with this one.
It’s not so much the fact that she strayed from our property, it’s that she distinctly snubbed me when doing it. She sure knows how to push my buttons. I was furious.
After I unclipped her leash, she walked with me for a few steps, then bolted ahead and made a mad dash and a left turn, ignoring my calls. When I caught up to where she had made that abrupt turn, I was able to spot her out in our neighbor’s field, sniffing around in the snow.
I called to her and she looked up at me, but then quickly returned to whatever scent on the ground was commanding her attention. When I tried again, she gave me a stare that spoke volumes. Then she turned and sprinted for the woods at the edge of the field.
It was that moment that felt the most disrespectful. I called and whistled to no avail. I got in my car and drove around the border of the woods. There was no sign of her, so I came back and went to work cleaning the paddocks. Delilah failed to reappear.
She had been gone two hours when I finally heard her barking at something near our front door. I was already back in the house having lunch by that point. I opened the door and called her in. To her credit, that time she came, probably because she was thirsty. I gave her the cold shoulder for the rest of the day.
At least her high intelligence helped her to recognize that I was unhappy with her. I have no idea if she understands why. Hopefully, she will get a clue when she realizes she is back to being on a leash again, every time we set foot outside the door.
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Hello March
Longer days of March are here again. Unfortunately, so is the dreaded hour shift of the clock that is Daylight Saving Time. It’s a stupid name. It doesn’t save a single morsel of time. A week from today we will be changing clocks in our location. Others might do it a different day, or may not do it at all. I would prefer we don’t change our clocks twice a year, but I don’t have much say in the decision.
The month of March also brings hockey and basketball tournaments, which I think are a delight. Historically, our high school basketball tournaments tend to coincide with some significant snowfall events, which adds an element of drama. Spring snow storms can be demoralizing for those who have been lulled into thinking we are done with such weather since warmer temperatures have returned.
This year, Cyndie and I have the added excitement of a getting away at the end of this month to spend a week with our dear friends, the Morales family in Guatemala. Not that we needed it, but Dunia sweetly provided a picture taken at their beach house yesterday, to help us mentally prepare for what is in store. I will provide a picture of our place for added perspective…
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I don’t think anything more needs be said about our motivation.
…But that never stopped me before.
As great as it will be to have new adventures in another place I have never been before, especially one that is free of any forecasts for snow storms, it is not the warm sunshine that I am feeling thrilled about enjoying. The ultimate treasure that I’m looking forward to is being able to see the faces and hear the voices and embrace the auras of Dunia and Marco, and their boys, Marco and Jose again.
I am overjoyed with the prospect of seeing their smiles and hearing their laughter as we once again share in the joys of discovering the wonder in everything that life holds for each of us. In the brief time since Cyndie and Dunia first met, we have grown connected like family. Being together with them is the prize I find myself relishing.
The sights and sounds of the warmer climate where they will be hosting us is secondary.
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Orange Hat
It’s a curiosity that lingers. I walk past it every day, often times not even noticing it. This morning, as I made my approach, it glowed brightly in the direct rays of the low morning sunshine. It is a blaze orange stocking cap. (That seems like a strange name for a knit cap, but “stocking” cap is the common lexicon in my head.)
It hangs on a branch in our neighbor’s woods just a few yards beyond the boundary of our property. The lower band appears to be a bit dirty, leading me to believe it had probably been on the ground for some time. One day it just appeared on the branch.
Why?
My first thought was that whoever found it probably hung it up conspicuously in case the person who lost it came looking. But who? I have never seen anyone in these woods. Not even during hunting season, though I don’t tend to walk back here so much during the hunt. It is private property, so only family or someone who was given access by the family would likely be hiking through these woods.
If someone found the hat, why wouldn’t they have just taken it back to the house so it could be returned to the person who lost it? This is not at a spot where someone (other than people hiking on our side of the fence) might just happen by and notice it. This is a long distance away and isolated from our neighbor’s house by a big hill.
Was it put there as a signal? A warning? I’ve contemplated multiple scenarios. None of my imaginings have made any difference. The hat continues to just hang there, blazing away.
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On Fatherhood
Each morning, after I have finished tending to the horse chores, Delilah and I go for a walk around the circumference of our property boundaries. Lately, I have noticed this time is becoming a particularly fruitful one for inspiration and insights.
Yesterday I was thinking about fatherhood. My children are both grown and living their own lives at this point, so I am well beyond the day-to-day responsibilities of raising them. We are now in a phase that I hadn’t really given any thought to: being a father to adult children.
It occurred to me that when I was the age that they are now, my father had been dead for about 4 years. I was 22 when my father died. I don’t have the benefit of having had a relationship with my dad while in my adult years that I can use to inform and guide my decisions as a father from this point forward.
I suppose that could be seen as a feature instead of a flaw, in some regards. However, I’m finding that not having had my father alive for most of my adult life has me now feeling somewhat unschooled about what comes next. I’m sure that the manual that comes with each kid would have provided answers for any questions I had from here on out, if it had been included at the time of delivery.
Thinking back, the only type of feedback I recall receiving from my father during the time our lives overlapped involved indirect grumpiness and griping. If it came at all, direct praise or reprimand was rare enough that I hold few recollections of them. He was not one to tell me he loved me. That level of connection needed to be assumed. We did the best we could with it.
I definitely love my kids and am able to tell them so, though doing it still doesn’t come naturally for me. At this point, I don’t really know how to say or do much more than that, from within the role of being their father. After they left the nest, they became more like friends for me than people whose lives I direct.
Luckily, they are great to have as friends. From here on out, when the time comes for something more than friendly advice from me, I’ll be winging it; hoping to be the father I would like to have had as an adult.
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Horse Talk
There aren’t a lot of people who gush over their dental care team, but I can’t help myself. I went for my regular 6-month check up and cleaning appointment yesterday and as always, had such a great experience that I wish I didn’t need to wait 6 more months for the next one.
Early in the exchange of pleasantries with the hygienist I was meeting for the first time, I revealed that I care for 4 horses. Soon, horses became the main theme of our staccato conversation, carried out in the brief pauses between my mouth being filled with hands and dental tools.
She told me about wild horses that still roam the outer banks of North Carolina. She briefly visited the area to attend a wedding, and never got a chance to see those horses. It would be an awesome sight to see wild horses running along the shoreline.
I shared bits of my brief history with horses and received a response of such amazement that it caused me to see anew the remarkable story I’ve been living for the last few years. Since I have heard myself tell this tale over and over, it can seem a little worn out with each new telling. It is refreshing when it evokes an impassioned response of awe and appreciation.
It helps me to stay present in the thrill and wonder of a precious experience that every day grows more routine for me.
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Two Things
While trudging through new drifts on a walk with Delilah yesterday morning, it occurred to me… there are two things. I’m sure it can be argued that there are more than two things, but that is a topic for another time. I’m just writing now about the perception of two things. There are always two and though they may be distinct, they are undeniably, inextricably linked.
Case in point: there is Delilah pulling me up the steep hill at the end of our walk, and there is me being pulled up the hill by Delilah. Two things.
There is happiness, and sadness. Hope, and despair. Winning, and losing. Those are obvious. How about, almost there, and not quite there yet. Dreaming your reality, and realizing your reality is a dream. Waiting for tomorrow, and wondering where tomorrow went. There is pondering how this could have been a poem, and seeing how likely such a poem would seem trite.
The thing that I find most fascinating about all this silliness, though hardly surprising, is how it is revealing the chasm which inevitably swallows all the creative momentum and ingenious possibilities between the amusing period of conception and the time-delayed attempt to build the idea into a rewarding post.
Yesterday morning, it was vapor, filled with potential. Then it evaporated. So I tried anyway, long after my brain was wallowing in the distractions of being back in the house. My poor brain, which more than anything enjoys every opportunity to take naps whether the eyes are open or closed. Maybe I think of naps because that has become the length of time I can do anything of my own agenda. It is the duration of Delilah’s naps.
Luckily she naps frequently. When she is not napping she is begging for attention beyond my capacity to engage with her. It’s right out of the breed description: “not typically recommended for people who are inexperienced with dogs. His temperament and activity level can be overwhelming to people who haven’t had a working dog before.”
When I went down and sat with the horses on Thursday, I had left Delilah in the house. She hesitated about accepting her leash and I wasn’t up to the game of enticing her. I went out without her. That is why I was able to spend a full half-hour of blissful serenity with the horses.
Two things. I was sitting in observance of the horse activities, and I was with them as a member of the herd.
Two things inextricably linked: my daily inspirations that become blog fodder, and the hard-fought battle of doing those inspirations justice in words, sentences, commas —or not— and paragraphs. No wonder I always try to include images.
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Steaming Cold
Yesterday morning we awoke to double-digit below-zero temperatures. It was probably the coldest night we have left the horses outside to endure. They did have their blankets on, and despite significant frost on their faces from their breath and some nasty snow/ice buildup on the bottoms of their hooves, they seemed to have handled it fine.
I experienced another first when I decided to see if I could to anything to help Legacy with the excessive buildup under his front hooves. After locating a hoof pick in Cyndie’s tray of tools, I stepped up and invited him to lift his foot for me.
Based on my vague memory of watching our farrier, George Walker, I maneuvered to hold Legacy’s leg between my knees. He seemed to welcome my efforts and was very accommodating of my untrained technique. It is probably best to have another person to handle the horse for this procedure, but he and I were the only ones available. We made due.
The whole chunk wouldn’t pop off like I’d hoped, so I scraped and scratched as best I was able to grind it down to a less severe knob. Legacy stood stationary after I finished that first hoof, so I took that as a sign of approval and walked around to repeat my performance on the other side. Other than his leaning excessively to the point of scaring me he was going to topple over, it went about the same as the first one. He seemed satisfied with the partial progress.
On a whim, I tried to see if I could get any good pictures of the ice crystal formations that grew on piles of manure. I thought the juxtaposition of the two might produce and interesting result.
It was steaming hot for a little while.
Surprisingly, the extreme cold doesn’t stop the biological processes at work in the compost pile, so the crystal growth gets a lot more substantial. That small mountain of manure is cooking and the steam rises all night long.
I was hoping to get a good image from the main pile, but it was probably too cold overnight and the ice accumulation grew so thick it got beyond the delicate beauty I was wanting to capture. Of course, that didn’t stop me from trying.
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When all the morning chores were done and Delilah and I had finished our breakfast, I made an extra trip back down to check on the horses. I had spoken with George about the ice buildup and confirmed I was doing the right thing. Emboldened, I wanted to see if I could help any of the other horses.
They were all napping in the sun. I sat on the ground with them for about a half an hour, soaking up the cold sunshine and enjoying the serenity with them. They didn’t need any further intervention from me.
By the afternoon, it looked like they had all successfully shed the accumulation that was stuck to them in the morning. A much better solution than my trying to do it for them.
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