Posts Tagged ‘horses’
Fairy Flakes
Contrary to what is headed our way today, (…WINTER STORM WARNING REMAINS IN EFFECT FROM 3 AM THURSDAY TO 3 AM CST FRIDAY… * WHAT…Heavy snow expected. Total snow accumulations between 5 and 7 inches.) there was no evidence of precipitation visible on the radar yesterday. Yet, all day long there were perfectly formed snowflakes floating down out of the sky.
The beautiful flakes weren’t melting on the horses, which teased me to try getting some pictures. Unfortunately, none of the mares were interested in accommodating my attempts to zoom in close.
They didn’t want to stand still with me holding out my phone camera toward their backs. I don’t blame them. It did seem kind of creepy.
There were times when the clouds overhead were so thin I could see blue sky, yet those flakes kept falling. I decided to call them fairy flakes after the “fairy knots” that show up mysteriously in the manes of horses. These flakes didn’t appear to be coming from snow clouds, so fairies seemed like the next logical explanation.
I eventually noticed I could capture some of the crystalline flakes that landed on the surface of our frozen landscape pond.
If we are going to get a plowable amount of snow today, that will be too much to get a clear picture of one individual snowflake.
I mounted the plow blade onto the Grizzly ATV in preparation and pulled out snow shovels in advance of today’s activities. Wouldn’t you know it, Cyndie spent the night in the Cities after a holiday gathering with some friends. It’s probably for the best. I’d have let her help do some shoveling, and that wouldn’t look good on my record, putting her to work out in the cold so soon after her recovering from pneumonia.
Sure would be nice if there were such a thing as “fairy snow shovelers.”
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Almost Healthy
The splitting headache is no longer splitting, and her vital signs have returned to normal. Cyndie seems back to reasonably functional. She helped with horse chores and has taken Asher for a couple of walks in addition to a trip to the Post Office as Santa’s little helper. Goodies are in the mail, and the neighbors will find a bag of holiday cheer has been dropped at their doors.
At this stage of holiday preparations, it’s hard to tell that Cyndie was off her game at all.
In support of all her Elf-ish energy, I have been mining the far reaches of our Apple Music offerings to find appropriate holiday sounds. The first few notes of an Andy Williams Christmas album instantly transported me to a big old farmhouse on the border of Edina and Eden Prairie, MN, and the 5-year-old me arose from within my depths with visions of leaded tinsel being draped across branches from outstretched arms of a person standing on a folding ladder above me.
The result of that surge of nostalgia left me feeling lonesome for the clamor and banter of my siblings buzzing around me.
The branches of that family tree have sixty years of growth that have spread us out beyond the conveniences of frequent contact.
That 5-year-old me would only have his father around for 17 more years. I will always remember the time he almost convinced me that he had heard something on the roof in the minutes just before I showed my face one Christmas morning. I was old enough to know better, but I’d never experienced my dad putting on such a believable act before and was gobsmacked by it.
I like to think he was rewarded by the innocent astonishment that must have shown on my face.
Much less astonishment came over me when I stumbled upon news of a school shooting recently in Wisconsin. That innocence is long gone.
Looking at our trees, I was grateful they don’t need to know such things happen. Same with the horses. Then, I realized how attuned trees and horses are to the universe, which means they probably sense each and every atrocity through the connectedness of all things.
They keep calm and carry on their existence, and so should we. I’ll pretend we are almost healthy.
And now I miss the innocence of my 5-year-old self more than ever.
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An Honor
For horses that have suffered neglect under the watch of humans, witnessing them now demonstrating trust in us is beyond precious. I know I have said it before, but it is such an honor and a privilege to stand among them while they eat the grain I have just distributed. When they allow me to encroach on their space to hang hay bags or clean the ground beneath them, it feels like they’re granting me a mystical connection.
I’ve seen them get ornery with each other, and it can look downright wicked before a quick return to calm. Some mornings, it’s not strange to find one or more of them all worked up about something until I finally get their grain served. Then, everyone settles down and focuses on the business at hand.
Yesterday morning, they were all chill as could be when Asher and I rounded the corner of the path around the back pasture into sight of the barn. They stood patiently while I cleaned everything up beneath the overhang, sometimes watching me but usually appearing to ignore me as they kept their eyes on the distant landscape.
It felt more damp than cold as the temperature hovered around the freezing point. That temperature range creates a situation where it is hard to tell if things are going to be wet or frozen. The driveway offered a little bit of both.
The circular spots were slippery, while the rest of the pavement wasn’t. It made it tricky for me to walk on. I chose to stay off to the side as Asher entertained himself by trying to maintain forward momentum when every third step would suddenly lose purchase.
In the time it took us to finish our last portion of the morning dog walking routine, the horses were done with their feed buckets, allowing me to reclaim them in avoidance of unwanted shenanigans from the mares. Given a chance, they have a knack for bending the handles all out of shape.
At that point, the horses’ attention switches to the hay bags they had just seen me fill.
As I unclip each bucket, I like to imagine the horses are thanking me for the fresh hay.
“It’s an honor,” I tell them.
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Numb Fingers
Are you familiar with Raynaud’s phenomenon? It is a reaction where a drop in temperature can trigger blood vessel spasms, usually in the fingers and toes. Cyndie’s hands have reacted to cold in this way for a while, but on Saturday, she was surprised that it triggered so quickly in temperatures that weren’t that drastically cold. Also, it was only happening to one finger on her left hand and a small portion of two fingers on her right hand. Usually, it’s all the fingers.
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It was so dramatic that I asked her if I could take a picture of the colorless digits.
She looked up information on why it might afflict only certain fingers and one possibility for that situation pointed to torqued wrist positions. She realized she had been holding her hands tucked under her crossed arms as we walked with Asher for a bit before heading to the barn. Maybe that would explain it.
We are hoping for a more informed assessment of all the issues Cyndie’s experiencing after she visits with a doctor at our clinic this afternoon. She had been feeling off for almost a week before it finally manifested with the fever the last two days, which took things to a new level and got her to stop trying to carry on with normal activity.
After driving from the Cities in the worst of that snow burst we experienced, one of her legs cramped up in a wicked knot as she was trying to walk from the car into the house. It was so intense that she couldn’t walk, could barely stand, and it had her sobbing in pain.
She has been struggling to keep her core warm and was spending every opportunity with a heating pad on her torso or feet.
At this point, I have not experienced any symptoms similar to hers, so we have that to be thankful for. Asher, the horses, and I are all carrying on and keeping calm. Well, most of the time, anyway. When I stepped out of the barn to tend to the horses yesterday afternoon, they were in a tizzy about something that I couldn’t identify.
It had them racing around, jumping and rearing, and generally acting like the sky was falling. It made poo pickup a little more adventurous than I wanted. As soon as I served up buckets of grains, the usual calm settled over them. Food coma arrived soon after.
Then, I went back to being Nurse John, in addition to being a fine dining chef for the evening. I heated up some homemade chicken noodle soup that Cyndie had pulled from the freezer. For the record, no fingers went numb as a result of her doing that.
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Turkey Feast
In classic Cyndie fashion, we did not have one turkey for our Thanksgiving feast; we had two. She soaked one in brine and purchased a smoked bird from a local barbeque joint.
A Thanksgiving feast deserves to be served on a royally set table so Cyndie pulled out family heirloom china and silverware and augmented them with her hand-crafted dried leaf place markers.
Speaking of leaves, we put all five extending leaves in the old Hays family table to provide generous elbow room for our modest-sized gathering.
While dinner was cooking, I guided a group down to the barn to offer the horses a few Thanksgiving carrot bites to brighten their day. I was greatly impressed with Light’s quick acceptance of my message that I had no more treats for her. She is prone to prolonged, insistent begging for more when we start offering treats. In this case, she reacted as if she totally understood what I was communicating and turned around to walk away and stand beside Swings, who had already given up on a chance for any more bites of carrot.
When we returned to the house, there was time for a little word-guessing game in front of the fireplace before Chef Cyndie made the call for “hands.”
Much feasting ensued.
All visitors were sent home with generous servings of leftovers, but due to some strategic pleading by me earlier, they made sure to leave a little for me, as well.
Today, Cyndie and I are heading north to spend the weekend at the lake, because we can. Our leftovers will be going on a road trip along with us.
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Talkin’ Sh✴︎t
Not really talkin’ shit, but that was an irresistible two-word title. More accurately, I’m talking compost, but since it is made from horseshit, that’s not far off. In the many years that I have been experimenting with ways to compost and reuse the horse manure produced by the herds living with us, I’ve developed a pretty reliable system.
The main variable that I have neglected to control effectively is the moisture level of my piles. The area I have chosen for composting piles is not covered by a roof. If it rains too much, my piles can get so wet it disrupts the thermophilic decomposition.
My composting methods are far short of academic control of the carbon/nitrogen ratio or covering the piles with a tarp to control moisture. Honestly, the primary goal is to reduce the volume of manure by getting it to break down. The fact that it produces wonderfully fertile soil in the end is a welcome bonus.
By simply piling the manure and turning it as needed, I’ve been achieving desired results.
Throughout the summer months, I create individual piles in the spot just behind the barn, visible in the photo above. Yesterday, I moved out the last of the season’s composted piles, leaving two active piles in the back and plenty of space to dump more if needed over winter.
Once the winter freeze sets in, I look for alternate places to dump the wheelbarrow since the manure piles won’t break down and shrink, and there have been years I’ve run out of space. One place I have resorted to has begun to produce more impressive black dirt over time than any of my individual piles ever have.
There is a spot in the large paddock where the end of the buried drainage tile from the spigot in the barn comes to daylight. After trying several unsuccessful tricks to keep the horses from stomping around in the area where the drain tile is close to the surface, I got the brilliant idea of covering it with a mound.
The most readily available fill material we have is horse manure, so I piled up frozen wheelbarrows full during winter months and left it throughout the year to settle. The horses can’t leave anything alone so their curious kicking around on the pile through the summer helps break it up and conveniently aerates it.
Every time they mess with it, I rake it back into shape and make sure the deepest part of the mound stays over the drain outlet. This week, I’ve started adding to the mound again because the piles in the composting area are bound to stop being active soon, and mornings have been freezing the manure.
Adding fresh manure to the pile made for a sharp contrast to how very wonderfully soil-like the previous seasons’ dumpings have become. If I keep this up, that little mound will become a fine horse-compatible rise offering safe cover to the drain outlet.
Ain’t that the shit!
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Winter Hints
Can’t complain when the first vestiges of winter show up in the latter part of November. If you were worried that Paddock Lake might dry up before all the horses got a chance for a good mud pack, we can report the opportunity is still there for them if that urge strikes.
It’s uncertain whether it will last long enough for the coming drop in temperatures below freezing. Today, the forecast indicates daytime temps will stay below 32°(F) starting in three days and could dip into the single digits overnight by next Sunday. If the water holds, that would be more than enough cold to create a skating rink for the girls.
The mares just had their hooves trimmed, so they should be able to fit into their figure skates without too much difficulty. It’s pretty comical watching them try to tie the laces using their teeth. Is there anything more beautiful than a gorgeous Thoroughbred doing a camel spin or Lutzes and toe loops out on the ice?
Up in the house, there are no skating shenanigans happening despite the potted Bird of Paradise leaking enough water lately to fill a skating rink. We have no idea what triggered this event, but after Cyndie slid the huge pot away from the window to allow access for professional window washers to show off their mad skills, I think maybe the saucer under the pot cracked.
That’s only part of the mystery. The real unknown is where all the water came from. We honestly began to wonder if someone from the cleaning crew dumped a bucket in there. Cyndie reports that for months when she watered it, excess flowed into the pan where she could soak it up per instructions.
In the last month, she noticed that no water was coming through into the saucer, so she tried increasing the frequency to twice a week, but no water was showing up in the pan anymore. Meanwhile, the plant appeared to be thriving. We’ve been surprised and thrilled with the new growth in the time since Elysa gifted us this gem.
Maybe it likes soaking more than we knew. Yesterday, we replaced the saucer with a brand new one, and this morning, we verified the old one had a leak because the new one is holding. Unfortunately, it is still mysteriously draining in unbelievable amounts that we are sopping up with a sponge.
Cyndie found a moisture scale and measured the soil this morning at the middle of the range of dry to wet. She won’t be adding any more until the scale shows movement to dry.
It’s possible the drain path was plugged and opened up when the pot was moved, but the plant is doing so well that it has us thinking it liked being that wet, despite information that Bird of Paradise does not thrive in soggy soil.
At least we learned how slanted our floor is by the length the leaked water flowed toward the fireplace when we first discovered it.
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Love Is
LOVE is: Letting your horse get as muddy as she wants and not fussing about it.
It appears that Mia was engaged in a little horseplay in the dregs of the shrinking Paddock Lake.
LOVE is: Holding the feed bucket for your horse when she is too jittery to stand over her station when the wind suddenly kicks up and the pigeons react en masse in a racket of slapping wings
Cyndie held a bucket for Mia, and I walked one over to Mix this morning when they were too unsure to return to their regular feed stations. Of course, I ended up with the slowest eater of the herd.
Doing something as tedious as holding a bucket for an awkward amount of time is made a lot less awkward by the energizing warmth of love.
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Big Unveil
If all goes as planned, today should be the unveiling of our new chimney crown after 4 days of curing. It was Monday when the guys hauled bucket after bucket of cement up three ladders to pour into the frame they constructed around the rocks of our chimney.
All week we have had the doors to the fireplace open along with the flue damper to allow warm air from the house to rise up in an assist toward fully curing the cement. The new crown has been covered with a tarp to keep off the rain showers we experienced yesterday.
I hope everything looks good up there when they peel back the tarp because I have no intention of climbing up to have a look for myself.
Since they have been very eager to share pictures they’ve taken of the old crown, I am expecting they will be equally happy to show off their completed handiwork.
Meanwhile, I was outstanding in my field with horses. I mean, out standing.
Cyndie and I walked out to spend some time with them in their space when we had no specific demands to ask of them. They saw us approaching but otherwise acted as if we weren’t there, which was just fine by us. We enjoyed observing them just being horses and not changing behavior because of our presence.
Ultimately, about the time we were turning around to head in, Light came up to each of us and put her head to our chests. We weren’t going to turn down a personal greeting.
Yesterday afternoon, it was time for a weigh-in. A special tape is used to determine a horse’s weight by the inches measured around its body. Our representative from This Old Horse, Johanne, did the measuring.
Our mares all have maintained a steady weight throughout the year.
The big unveil of the results…
- Swings (age 29) = 1225 lbs.
- Mia (24) = 1200 lbs.
- Light (21) = 1305 lbs.
- Mix (20) = 1275 lbs.
It’s sobering to see the actual numbers after standing among them and having one step up to you and put their head in your chest.
Sometimes, when I am cleaning up around them under the overhang and they try walking into the space I am occupying, I stand my ground to see how they will react. Knowing those giants wouldn’t even notice if they pushed me over makes it all the more precious when they have been kind enough to respect my presence and stop.
Now, it’s a whole nother thing if there are two horses moving together under there. In that case, I do need to get out of the way because the first one may not have an option of stopping if the horse behind them is forcing the advance.
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Eagle Visit
It was a cold morning yesterday and if we had any pumpkins there would have been frost on them. We do have a lot of leaves, though.
The temperature dropped far enough below freezing that the surface of “Paddock Lake” developed a layer of ice.
Since I’ve been pondering our role in the ongoing rescue of our four thoroughbreds, I took a few pictures of them in the early sunlight as they were gobbling their mix of cracked oats and corn.
Swings with her fresh application of mud.
Mix’s nose.
Mia
Light
Eight hours later, we showed up for the afternoon feeding. I was out scooping manure, and Cyndie was inside, measuring portions into their buckets. Mia was halfway down the slope toward the waterer, munching hay from one of the nets hung on the fence. Suddenly, I noticed Mia had flipped around 180 degrees and was standing on alert, looking to the south.
I scanned the distance to see if I could find what was grabbing her attention. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, my eyes moved back toward Mia, and that’s when I spotted what she was reacting to. A very large bald eagle was standing about five feet in front of her on the shore of the now iceless Paddock Lake.
It’s odd that I hadn’t noticed it when I looked around the first time. The eagle’s bald head stood out with its bright whiteness, and it was so incredibly tall compared to all the little pigeons that are about to get their own zipcode due to a population explosion.
I couldn’t be certain how long it had been there, but because Mia had just noticed, I’m guessing it hadn’t been very long. I don’t even know if it had enough time to drink because, as Mia approached the eagle took off.
Luckily, I had gotten Cyndie’s attention quickly enough that she came out just in time to see the big bird’s departure.
A huge eagle landing in our paddock while we were milling around felt like a nice ‘hat tip’ of appreciation from the universe to let us know things are good here.
It also tells me I’m not the only one noticing that little puddle seems to be forming into more than just a puddle. I’m feeling all the more justified in granting that watering hole a real name.
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Relative Something 