Graduation- Midwest Style

It's graduation time in central Ohio. High Schools, the myriad small colleges, are handing out diplomas to the successful and sending them off to the next phase of their lives. Here though, first there is the ritual "Graduation Party." I graduated from high school a long time ago. I think my parents were pleased- not surprised that I would graduate, but pleased that I was one step closer to that next phase in my life, which was to be spent not under their roof. And, they were hopeful, it would not be spent in govermental incarceration either. I believe I might have been a bit of a trial in my teen years. Perhaps this is why I had no Graduation Party. I had attendees at high school graduation, then, I believe we went out to dinner. My sister tells me I was wearing something innappropriate at dinner, another recollection I do not possess, so it is heresay. Then again, my 17 year old self was rather positive and oblivious all at once, so it is possible. But, I don't recall any of my less difficult friends having big graduation parties either. I don't think either of my elder sisters had a fete for their graduation. I just don't think we did that. I am supposing regional difference, as my friends here in Ohio that are my age did have big bashes for their graduation.
It seems the formula is thus:

• A big tent with tables and chairs provide shade and places for guests to sit and mingle.
• Corn Hole. I will have to explain here, as I think this is another regional thing. This is a game where two plywood pieces propped at a slant face one another across a smallish distance. There is a hole cut in the top thrid of the board. Bean bags- filled with corn- are tossed at the boards, trying to make them go in the hole. For this you recieve points. The boards are painted in either a Ohio State University motif, or a John Deere Tractor motif, or sometimes, the Steelers.
• The Shrine- this is an area of display for the accomplishments of the graduate. Certificates, plaques, trophies, photos, sport letter jackets, FFA (Future Farmers of America) jackets, etc. It is good fun to look at all the honors the graduate has accumulated.
• Photo Video- optional, but preferred. This is a television set up with a slide show playing of photos from the graduate's previous years of schooling and cuteness.
• Food- non-optional. This is always plentiful and good, and yellow. Yellow food, as I've stated, is the best tasting kind. Potato salad, pasta salad, are yellow stand-bys of Graduation Party food. Also, meat. Ham and green beans, or barbeque on a bun, or bratwursts (another regional thing?  I never heard of a bratwurst until I came to the midwest. It is a fat sausage you grill and eat like a hot dog).
• Cake. Big, sheet cakes decorated in school colors- that means a lot of blue and yellow frosting around here- that say "Congratulations ______" or,  "WOW! You actually got a diploma?" Okay, I've never seen one of those cakes. But, I'm starting to plan ahead for our first Graduation Party. Eldest only has 2 years left.....( that is only funny to me because she is very school-focused, and grades are top-notch).

That is the formula for the GP.
I wonder if I can get away with a traditional graduation- New England Style. So, Eldest, where do you want to go to dinner? The GP is an awful lot of work!

To the Graduation Party of our friend, Kobi, we also brought beauty from the garden. Peonies, Irises and roses are bursting right now. 

Front

Back (It's like a lesson on Sesame Street).

The torture never stops....

" I hate horse shows".
This, from Middlest, who has experienced one horse show- our County Fair. The same venue anyway, multiple times. And, I can't really blame her. "Horse Shows" are not my scene either, but hard to not take advantage of the opportunity to see how Mikey acts at a show. And, due to the nature of taking a 4-H project, she will be hauling him ( well, I'll do the driving, the trailer and truck will do the hauling) to the County Fair next month where he will be at a show for a whole week. If it isn't his scene, it would be better to find out sooner, rather than when he has been committed. So, on a beautiful warm Sunday morning...thank you Lord..... we loaded him onto the trailer and off to the Fairfield County fairgrounds.
She only entered one class, which was okay, as we were there for the experience, and they did just dandy. After Mikey calmed down, which took a bit of time and one tear-inducing stomp on Middlest's instep, he was a real champ, although they did not place. This was unsurprising to me, as even though he was calm, he was still much more alert than the other contestants. And, to my eye, the "hunter" frame and crazy gaits look like the horses suffer from meningitis. Mikey was also not sporting a fake tail, nor spray paint to make his white whiter, his chestnut redder and his hooves black as tar. Middlest also suffered from a dearth of blue eyeshadow, and no lipstick. I think they looked fabulous!  But our purpose today was to see if Mikey was calm, or a freak when the water truck zooms by squirting water everywhere, and the fried food stand starts smoking, and the cigar reeking dude with the bare beach ball belly flaps a big blue tarp up in the air to spread it over the tent frame for shade. Could Middlest stay calm if Mikey does not? And, would Mikey feed on her calm to focus and relax? Mission accomplished.

In the warm up arena.

Trying to calmly stand at the rail at the start of her class. This was the toughest part of the class for him, but Middlest calmed him down, and got him to stand reasonably well.

Before entering the arena at the start of the class. He is such a pretty copper color!

Moving out in a decidedly non- "hunter" frame. Pretty, no?

Passing the judge's stand, with the judge watching.

And this, just for comparison is a "hunter" type frame with the horses head straight down, nose at level of knees, horse travelling downhill....

Irises, again!

The most beautiful irises have bloomed again! They had been attacked by iris borers in the Anniversary Garden, and with the encouragement of my sister, Stephanie, dug up, bleached and relocated to the Border Garden. Luckily, they have decided to thrive there too, and have opened this week in a show of color and soft scent.

They are HUGE blossoms so, I decided to make the photos extra-large, just like you're here!

Go Daddy.

It's my Daddy's birthday.
He says he's 70 years old.
Which I guess, though seems implausible, is probably true. It makes sense that he's older than me, and I keep forgetting I'm 42. So, he's not 50. In fact, he could be 70. But, it is "the New 70". His generation is really showing us the possiblities. Helen Mirren( most gorgeous and talented) is 65, Hiroshi Hoketsu is also 70- and still riding at Olympic level dressage on the Japanese Equestrian Team. Polly, from my church, I don't know how old Polly is.. but I think she's older than Dad, and still rocks a high heel on Sundays. Today is also Bob Dylan's 70th birthday. But I don't think he's the best example of growing old gracefully. He's kinda scary. So, forget that one. My friend Trish's Dad is in his 80's? Runs miles every day- actually I think in the evening which makes Trish crazy that he's going to be hit by a car. But, maybe I shouldn't use anyone in Trish's family as an example. The Armstrong- Websters are in a class by themselves when it comes to "can-do" attitude.
My point is, well, 70 is just 70 now. It means you start being measured in long-terms. Lifetime Achievement type stuff. And yet, because many are retiring from their former jobs at this age, they start new careers, develop talents and try all sorts of new things.
We grew up in Connecticut. We had a little acreage, horses, mean-as-heck geese, the best little river to play in, pretty gardens and a wonderful little house that became bigger with thoughtful, use-filled additions, designed by Dad. Dad worked about 30 minutes away, leaving before the morning rush of children and buses. He came home in the evening, often changing clothes to do some work outdoors- splitting wood, stacking wood, moving wood - we used a lot of wood. In winter he would get on his little Bolens lawn tractor with the little plow blade and spend hours plowing the driveway so he could go to work on time.

 We had a sit down dinner for the family. In the years before we quite figured out Blossom's (large black dog) pancreas shortfall, and for some time afterwards, a turtle neck was recommended dinner attire. Tuck your nose into that handy bit of fabric and breathing was easier.
After dinner, he would often head to his study to work at the big wood desk with the burgundy leather blotter. His desk was always organized. I didn't get that gene.
If you needed his help, or wanted a word, you could go in and sit down and wait a bit, and he would finish what he was doing, put his pen into his inkstand and smile. "What's up?" If the current issue was a problem with math homework, you had to be careful about asking for help. Help was always given. But for Dad, Math Help was serious business. This meant adjourning to the dining room table, a clean pad of white paper, several pencils and the pencil sharpener that suctioned onto the table. For a sharp pencil was the only kind worthy of Math Help. Never could you get away with getting help on just one problem, or one small area of confusion. Math Help was extensive.
But, I became good at math.

My Dad, Mom and me- age 16, which means Dad was about the age I am now.  We were at hermit crab races in Sanibel Island, Florida.

It was an excellent childhood. But what I didn't know at the time, was that Dad would've preferred to be on the shore. Sailing. So, when my parents decided where to move a few years ago, they chose the eastern shore of Maryland. Lots of sailing there. And, Dad sails. He races on Wednesday and Sundays on a boat that is big, and sometimes wins. He has a little sailboat of his own, and my parents have provided many summers of sailing lessons for the grandkids. Youngest is having a intensive 2 week course at their Yacht Club this summer. Designed  to allow kids to leave after 2 weeks, ready to sail away.....
Of course, they did not choose to live in a condo. Instead, my parents are awesome gardeners. My Mom has long been an excellent gardener and knowledgeable botanist. But, in the last 10 years, Dad has turned his design skills to the garden as well as weeding, trimming, mowing skills. Their home is beautiful, but they have managed to make the home live to the outdoors. And what an outdoors!
More recently, he has picked up a super-hero alter ego. Sheep Mon comes to the rescue in all areas that need rescue and involve the flock of Border Leicesters they have on their farm. Sheep Mon is fearless, and strong and extremely encouraging to the shepherdess.
Oh, they have fun.
And I when I phone, they are usually entertaining a house guest- or 8. Their house is like a magnet. For one, they know an enormous amount of people. And once a friend, always a friend.
So, from where I stand, 70 looks darn good.
Go Daddy.

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Samantha Kay;Emerging Eventer

Today has been devoted for some months on the calendar, to going to Dayton to watching Samantha compete in her first ever Event, ridden by Mary, in her first ever Event!
I am so proud of Mary for committing so much time and hard work to getting Sammie prepared for such a big enterprise.
For those of you who don't know what this entails, Eventing is horse sport. It is the one horse sport contested at the Olympics.( Not that Sammie is at that level, but just for clarity...)
There are three phases to an Event. There is dressage, where you ride the horse in a fenced arena of prescribed size, and perform a predetermined set of movements. The movements become more and more technical and difficult as you advance through levels of competition. This is a test of precision, control, ease of movement in a muscular fashion. Some people compare it to ballet on horseback.
The second phase of competition is cross country. This phase is fences of sturdy, permanent feature and natural materials set out on in the open, timed and navigated at a great rate of speed. This is a test of endurance, physical coordination and strength and frankly, just plain old crazy. I love this phase. This is the one that seems most incredible to me. Why would a horse choose to gallop about the country side, jumping over huge, often tricky obstacles that are more easy to go around- carrying a person? Just because we ask.
The last phase is Stadium Jumping. This phase is show- jump obstacles in a tight course inside a fenced arena. The jumps are often bright colored and distracting. The poles that make up the jumps are perched inside shallow cups, that if you knock a pole, it will drop. This is also timed, and you are docked for knocking poles, not taking a jump and time.
That is pretty much the quickie version of eventing.
Sammie and Mary looked fantastic! They are a nice pair, and Mary has done wonders with Samantha's most trying feature- her canter.

Kendra (Samantha's true owner- I just stole her and worked with her) came to watch as well, and I think she enjoyed herself, but probably misses Sam a lot now.
Here are some pictures of Sam and Mary in their Debut!

Samantha and Mary warming up for Dressage.

Sam is a great poser.

The whistle has blown, and they enter the Dressage arena...

Over fence 4 in the Stadium Jumping phase.

And one picture I pirated off Mary's facebook page of her and Sam at the Timber Run show last weekend. I have a feeling this was taken by Daniel Schubert.: Photog Extraordinaire! You can find him (and hire him) on Facebook. He is from Kettering, Ohio.

And here they are navigating a Cross Country fence in schooling (that means not in competition). This is another pirated picture, from Daniel Schubert's  facebook page. He is a fantastic photographer- Emerald Valley Stables is very lucky to have his talent following them about!

You may have noticed there aren't pictures of Sammie and Mary doing the Cross Country phase of the competition today. I could say my camera's battery went dead. Because, it very nearly did, before I found an available outlet outside the straw barn to recharge the thing.
The battery did not wear out. But Mary and Sammie didn't get to compete in Cross Country. See, in eventing, if you get eliminated from any previous phase of competition, you cannot continue with the next phase. At this trials, they run things abit awry, making Dressage first, Stadium next, and Cross Country last.  And, today was not their day in the Stadium phase.
Instead of detailing the story, let me tell this one instead.
Way on back in the 80's, when I was competing heavily in this sport, my biggest venue was the United States Pony Club Nationals in Culpeper, Virginia. This is a team Event, where 4 riders compete together against other teams from across the country.
My team was challenged in many ways, and by the time we got to the stadium phase there were only three of us left to compete. You need three riders to stay in competition. One of our teammates had been on a longish visit to the hospital after a nasty fall on Cross Country the day before.
I had fought my way through the Cross Country on my sweet mare, Holly, who wasn't at all convinced that going over was smarter than going around on some of the fantastic and huge obstacles.
But, we had done it.
Stadium was the easy part. We were consistently good there, and although the obstacles were max height and max width, I felt we were going to be okay. But that afternoon, in front of a huge crowd, we came to a massive oxer (that means two jumps pushed close enough together you have to jump them at the same time). And Holly wasn't doing it. Nope. I was bitterly disappointed. I was tired, I was spent and I was left feeling a failure.
Over the years (months? I recover quickly) it became just another one of those things. And I saw it as an accomplishment that I had made it so far. That just being there was pretty special.
Here I am, many years later, still enjoying myself with these wondrous, beautiful, sometimes frustrating animals. And knowing that Mary, and Sam, even though they found that oxer that wasn't doin', did do something pretty special.

Remarking. Because it is remarkable.

It is currently not raining.
This is a remarkable occurrence.
So far, the newly cranked up and expanded electric fencing has kept the horses in their designated pasture.....

(In wistful, horse-like voice) "Oh, I remember the days of freedom, the rich fields of alfalfa, the toxic weeds of the muddy cornfields, the beauty of slogging through the rice paddies...."
And, the dirt on Peach is NOT from a roll in the paddock. That would leave her firmly encased. This is from the pasture and her morning graze. You can clearly see her white hairs where she rolled in the grass.

I woke up this morning, thinking I have a good morning of working around the barn, mud control, stall cleaning, rotating critters through pastures, laundry, trying to clean the frying pan Huz used for eggs days ago, and the child in "charge" of dishes has left unscrubbed, skillfully moving it around, full of water, but not getting any cleaner for that. And then, as I sat down with my tea to watch Youngest grate cheese onto the floor, I realized- NOPE, Middlest's "Breakfast of Champions" is this morning. This is where they give certificates to the students that have maintained honor roll grades all year, or have had perfect attendance. They serve a healthful breakfast of doughnuts, and "juice cocktail". This will cause the children to have all neurons firing for the day ahead.
So, I instead went and did what had to be done in the barn, or shall I rephrase- made sure everyone had food, water and were safe, took a bath and hit the Champion circuit.

Here is Middlest, holding her Honor Roll Certificate in one hand, and her medal from being on the Destination Imagination Team this school year.

Back at home, Peaches and Oslo came in from their morning graze, the sheep are demanding and miserable, but I can't let them out until Mikey is done with his breakfast, because they will swarm directly to his stall and eat everything. Maybe even Mike if he's not careful.
On the way back to the house, I walked through the middle orchard. It is the wettest spring, ever, but the trees are still determined that it is spring.

The mulberries are very happy. So will be the birds in a few weeks! Cars, beware.

The apple trees are also optimistic.

The sour cherries are looking pretty good, but I noticed a bag worm nest in the tree! YUCK! Maybe pyromaniacal Huz can fashion a bag worm torch?

Summer Reading

Obviously, I like to read. Well, maybe it isn't so obvious, but my other blog is about that subject. I have always been a big reader, and I remember it being a small point of contention while growing up. I recall wanting the time to read so badly, that I would go out to the second story porch of my bedroom, climb onto the railing, put my book on the second story roof, and then pull myself up onto the roof, where I would perch in the blackness of the warm tar, little black rocks sticking to the backs of my legs, and read.
I'm sure I was being summoned periodically to do something else, something I was supposed to be doing, but I was hard to find up there.
My daughters also have that part of my genetics. They will read and read and read. Eldest is the one I have the most trouble with, as she will bury herself in her bed and read in all her  non-school time. She would stay there from getting off the bus, until dinner and then back again. All day Saturday and Sunday. I can't help but think it depressing. I can't take lying down whilst awake for very long atall, and hate that fuzzy dizzy feeling of time spent too long in horizontal. I enjoy the occasional day spent reading in bed. Usually due to flu or spinal reconstruction- but the emphasis is occasional. And yet, I don't want to discourage reading. Youngest is the one I admonish to read more. "You, read less, you read more". No doubt they can't understand how to please.
But summer reading lists have long left me baffled. I am no English Teacher. I am not trained to be such, have not studied the subject at length, and don't , evidently, understand the philosophy behind many of the summer reading books.
It seems to me that summer reading should be more about fostering an enjoyment for books, genres and authors than torture. Summer reading should be inspirational. It IS summer, after all. So, why do so many lists include books meant to frustrate, confuse and baffle. I have one in front of me, a list for the incoming 8th grade of a school district near to our own. It is not a short list, really, but one of 33 books, four of which should be selected to complete the summer reading requirements. The most recent book on the list is "The Autobiography of Mark Twain" published in 2011... but written 100 years ago, as Twain specified it to not be published until 100 posthumous years had passed. So, most of them are old, some of them are readable, most, really not, and some are just plain, yuck.  Few of them are built for inspiring minds of 13 year olds. I do respect that Dostoyevsky is missing from the list, as is The Man and the Sea- a book that at age 13 made me seriously contemplate putting a pencil into my eye.
What would happen if you chose books for summer reading that were, perhaps not "classics" but instead, actually "popular"? There are still assignments to be done about character analysis, moral, ethical behaviors, figurative language, cultural impact...blah,blah,blah. But what if the kids that were handed these lists were to actually really "get into" and understand the books? And, if you have to choose "classics" why not chose engaging ones? The Scarlet Pimpernel, The Three Musketeers- swashbuckling fun! Or Gone with the Wind- okay, it is a bit over the top, but WHY NOT- it's summer reading! Where the Red Fern Grows, To Kill a Mockingbird...these are classics- but they don't make you want to consider faking dyslexia, color blindness, diptheria... to get out of Honors English.

What would happen if  you chose to analyze Harry Potter, or The Mysterious Benedict Society, or even one of the cloying, dumbed down, annoying preteen books a la: Princesses Perfect Prom in Outer Space? ( No, I don't think that is a real title, so don't go checking Amazon.) Would the kids then be able to start distinguishing what makes good reading actually worthwhile, or "good"?
I think many classes use the summer reading books as the materials to inform the curriculum for the school year. Why? If these kids are in honors, they ought to be able to read books even NOT during the summer. My girls have no trouble reading most books in a few hours. Eldest put off her summer reading until the last three days of summer last year. Why? Because after 4 years of summer reading lists, even the most voracious of readers can become discouraged.

ZZZZZZZZZZAAAAP!

The newly electrified paddock corner, tested by the tester and verified by Peaches nose! She was quite unhappy with the result and I was correspondingly giddy.

Hey Mikey! He Jumps it!

Last night was Middlest's riding lesson. We loaded up Mikey and Oslo and went to Hold Your Horses Stables in Ashville. The owner, Tina, is very generous about letting us use her beautiful facility- and the only place to ride is inside these days, or down the middle of the road in a rain coat.
It will surprise no one that when I arrived home from a trip to TBC and the girls got off the bus, our two free- range ponies were out in the back corn field, eating the weeds newly sprayed on the only un-rainy hour of Saturday. So, in addition to being loose, now they are toxic. No matter, they are more determined to get themselves killed than ever. Yesterday's escape plan was thus ; if your owner has made the gate latch horse-lip proof (no opposable thumbs on horse lips), just explode the gate.

So, today must include a trip to town for insulators that come out a few inches and a few gate handles for electric. I'm going to wire up everything, including the 4' 4-board post and rail, the gates and the water trough. Then, I'm going to power up the electric fence to "Stubborn Bull" setting.
They did switch it up for us though, as this time when I stood atop the barn hill and shook the grain bucket, they obliged and came thither for a snack. Must be not so tasty, toxic poisoned weeds.
Oslo had availed himself of the wide open space to do some liberal mud rolling. He had himself so caked up that I needed to get a cloth to clean his eyelashes off. And Mikey, dear Mike, had not even run himself ragged wishing for them to return. I believe he has come to accept their regular disappearance as a norm.
Ugh.
But, we got Mike and Oslo loaded up (with an empty trailer bay in between to keep Oslo from intimidating Mikey) and off to the Stables only 8 minutes behind.
Middlest tacked up Mike, and I went to de-crust and tack up Oslo, only to realize I'd washed the dressage girth and left it at home. Well, I guess he gets a break and a lunge only.
Middlest was being instructed by Kara in the sludgey outdoor arena, but it was too slick to do much of anything. Middlest took him over some trot poles and did a nice job, working on getting her heels down and practicing two-point position. Oslo had a lumbering lunge session, and then wanted a nap. So, I perched myself on the mounting block to watch Middlest's lesson, and he plopped his heavy head in my lap.
Eventually, the sludge and the rain was too annoying, so we elected to try and share the enormous indoor with the lesson going on inside.
Mikey might not be used to indoor arenas. He was nervous, jumpy, distracted. Middlest handled it like a pro. She stayed with him, didn't get uptight, calmed him down and worked him through it, getting him to relax and go back to work.  Very mature and confident. I was impressed. It was a positive session and she is really coming along. Now, if only we could ride in between trips to the indoor arena!
After she was finished, Kara suggested I get up and work him at the canter a little. I also wanted to see if he jumped. The canter work was not very good. I didn't carry a crop and I was thumping him with my outside leg to no avail. Eventually, persistence paid off and he had a nice canter, but man, oh man, I need to work on that! Not just him- ME! I have had so many horses with issues in the past few years, I'm beginning to think I telegraph a problem straight to the horse.
Kara put out a small jump called a cavaletti in the arena, and Mikey and I traveled up to it and perfecto- not rushed, not over-jumped, not zooming off afterwards, just nice, calm pops right over. I'm so pleased to know: Mikey Jumps! One that already has been instructed. Amazing.
Speaking of jumping, Samantha, the wonderful little yellow mare that I taught to jump (with excellent instruction from Bev Newton) is getting ready to do her first Event this weekend. The Greater Dayton Horse Trials at Twin Towers. She also competed in a jumper show last weekend bringing home the blue! (That is first place). The girl riding her is doing so well with her, they are a nice team. Go Team Mary and Sam! I plan to travel over for team support, and will certainly get photos!

Mowaggedon.

It will come as no surprise to those readers living in the central U.S. that it is raining. It has been raining more or less for 8 weeks. We have met the 40 days and 40 nights of biblical recount and although we have not needed an ark, we certainly need patience.
Mowing is nearly impossible. It is wet. The grass grows. It continues to be wet. So, when to cut? This means the fauna of Cowfeathers have been lured into thinking our grazing pastures are open meadow. We do have a swath of land through the middle that is pretty untouched. It has high grass, and creek, and wetland- but the pastures are important. They feed the barn full of critters all summer, and for this they must be kept mowed and tidy. But I have not been doing so until this week. A few moments of sun- like time and a few of cloudy but not raining meant the pastures could be done. Huz did a bunch of the front pasture, leaving a central section unmowed. I went after the center section after work one day, watching carefully for the birds to tell me where to be cautious. Sure enough, towards the end of the mowing, two distressed killdeer took flight from the ground. So, I slowed, and found this nest in the grass. So, there remains an island of tall grass in the mowed front pasture.
I then went to the middle place to mow, again watching. I keep the mower at the highest setting for this reason:

Baby bunnies. They are left in little depression nests in the ground and covered with the fluff of their momma. The mower disturbs the fluff but leaves the nest and babies intact- as long as no one sticks their heads up for a peek. I go back and cover them with the fluff. I'll bet it is scary for the bunnies, but you can't tell where the nests are going to be!

Here is Peaches bandaged left fore. She seems sound on it now, but I'm still concerned and treating her like an invalid. This makes her ornery. I let her into her paddock this morning while I cleaned her stall. She burst through the electric wire to graze. So, this evening, I pumped up the power. Hopefully it will suffice.

Also this evening, we took our weekly picture of Mikey, to see his progress. He also weighed in at 960lbs, a gain of 30 lbs this week. I'll bet he was more this morning, but I let him into the pasture to get his freak on this afternoon, and he galloped about for a good half hour.

And tonight, at last barn chores, Huz carried grain up to the bins for me and as he walked into the barn, he spotted a raccoon! It was eating corn in the chicken  house. (The girls were all out  in the rainy yard). He ran up the wall, and I can't find him, but I've set the trap with corn cobs and marshmallows in the loft. Hopefully he'll visit the feast, instead of feasting on the hens or ducks!

Henry was all out of sorts tonight, jumping and flying at shadows. Poor things. I left the light on in the chicken house so everyone has a chance to see the masked marauder coming....

Are Ya Up Yet?

With about three minutes of downtime (a.k.a.: lunch), I decided to see if "Blogspot" was still unavailable, as it has been the few other times I checked today. And whaddayaknow- it's now available when I'm not!
Ah, it is what it is.
And I have reached the end of my almond butter on rice muffin sandwich.

www.cateslist.com

For Sale! Free to good home! 2 Fabulous and talented, well-trained, sound, sane horses.Available for immediate pick up, or will deliver within 1000mile radius in exchange for return of my last nerve.

Disclaimer- must have 6' high horse-proof fencing that can withstand 1500b of force applied at velocity of 350 meters/min. Must also have patience of a saint and bank account of a sinner. Recommend not attempting ownership without these, or if have access to firearms.

Escape! And the stomping, muttering lady.

So, escape #3.
I have some sort of knobby bit on the middle joint of my right index finger. It is irritating. It doesn't hurt a whole lot, but it makes it harder to do things. I can't easily take the tops off needles and the doggy toe nail clippers are harder to work, and when I write, I sometimes just stick my finger out straight. So, I decided to let a hand doc have a look-see. This happens in TBC. And, if you're a-going to The Big City, can't go in the muck boots and polar tech. Nope. Stacy and Clinton might come get me.
(I grocery shop with Oprah and dress with Stacy and Clinton. I figure this saves me from myself.)
So, as to avoid any encounters with TLC's What Not To Wear, I put on a springy blue and white patterned pantsuit, wide leather belt, blue blazer and strappy high heeled sandals. Tasteful jewelry, and ready to go. Fortunately, Huz had consented to join me for lunch, so I was also getting to go on a date!
We shared a nice lunch in the sun (gasp!) and I deposited him back at work before going off to the hand surgeon.
X-rays (Huz would have me say "radiographs") showed no bone involvement, so I elected to have him inject the joint. He sunk a needle down into the joint, injected a bunch of drugs, and I was done.
Such a gorgeous day, where I really want to be is home, so, having avoided a Stacy and Clinton ambush yet again, Denty aimed for Cowfeathers.
This is where my day gets ridiculous. Stacy and Clinton, I understand your point, but, really, polar tech and Muck boots are so practical.
About a mile from home, sailing down the sun filled road, I pass the big white farmhouse of our northern neighbors. Just south of the house is a big alfalfa field. And, in that field? Looks like the neighbors have horses. My horses.
Damn,damn,damn.
I zip onto the dirt road just south of the alfalfa field.
And there I am, in my breezy pantsuit, 4" strappy sandals and blue blazer marching two bad ponies home on dog leashes around their necks, whilst muttering and sweating.
This time? Clever pony lips figured out how to open the latch on the gate.
Do they just wait for me to drive away?

Mother of a Day.

Mother's Day.
Can you say you aren't a fan of Mother's Day, if you are a Mother, or have a Mother that you treasure? Probably not. But, still, mostly I feel that Mother's Day is forcing you to try to appreciate me. And, if'n ya don't, tough. I guess I don't want much hoo-ha.
And, what Momma wants, Momma gets, as my two eldest kids forgot it was Mother's Day until the greeters at church said "Happy Mother's Day!" And, that suits me just fine.
The boys in my life were a bit more conscientious. My morning started with the sounds of Youngest vibrating outside my bedroom door, waiting for me to show signs of life so he didn't wake me up, but could be there first thing. No sense in trying to sleep when he's quietly crashing around outside my door. So, I made some stretching noises and he pops his head in" Morning Mom! Happy Mother's Day!". All this enthusiasm for me, and it isn't forced.  That makes it fun.
He presented me with a Johnny Jump Up plant, a cut out flower, with his picture in the center and words of love written on each petal, a poem about me, and my perennial favorite; "How well do you know your Mom". As long as the kids are young, this never fails to disappoint in the humor department. This year's gems? Well, I'm 5'7" and 170 lbs. ( which could either be disheartening, or encouraging as I carry my weight well), I don't like to miss "Oprah" (this may be true, but I have been missing Oprah since youngest stopped nursing in 2002), my best meal is "Vegen" ( poor kid.), my favorite hobby is "reeding" (I believe this does not involve waders and a machete), and my best friend is "Tary Mike Jonson" (So, beware Terry- you are now, and forever "Tary-Mike" in my mind).
After morning barn chores, youngest asked if he could make me breakfast. So, while I hurriedly got my church-on, he scrambled a just-collected egg with green beans, mushrooms and bean sprouts. He then presented me with green tea with fresh mint and this fabulous egg creation. (I believe Huz had a hand and a word in here and there.) The kid can cook.
At church, our pastor shared the above comedic jewel of mothering from youtube. The truth can be funny!
After church, Eldest drove (here is where we all can gasp) Middlest and myself to friend Kara's house to pick up a few horses and head to her nearby indoor arena. It was a glorious, sunny, perfect day. Yet, unless you are a rice plant, it is too wet for much of anything. Certainly too wet for heavy horses. So, still trying to ride indoors.  We were able to take Kara's baby, Ava, with us. I was torn between two of my favorite things: riding the ponies and holding the babies. But is was a perfect Mother's Day, and I got to do both.
Then, home to clean 5 stalls and sit down to a Mother's Day meal (fortunately on the porch, as the previous activity left me smelling like horse pee. Life IS good.) Huz had picked asparagus from the garden and complemented it with roasted butternut squash on arugula, and our first sweet corn of the year. This was followed by strawberry rhubarb pie. Amazing! I have to make some rhubarb sauce and chutney, I always forget how great rhubarb tastes until spring rolls around and the plants get huge.
Back up to the barn to finish up and take a picture of Mikey.  Middlest and I are wanting to watch his progress as he gains muscle and weight. He is also gaining the spirit of horse. By rolling in the mud!

And- Middlest is NOT allowed to do stall chores with crocs on. NOT. Perhaps this is why she chose to wear them to the barn?

Then, for a special treat, on Mother's Day- talking with my OWN Mother! I miss her.
She spent the weekend winning Champion Ribbons for her sheep fleece at the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. Cleaned up. It makes me envious, again, of families who all live in close proximity. I could have been with my Mother, and my children. AND, my Grandmother. Moving to Monaco, bringing the fam.

Escape! And the pointed Picket of Discouragement.



From the barn hill, to the southwest. The first tree line across the mud borders the wheat field. The white blob on the right side of the photo is a silo on Creek Rd. The white buildings on the left of center of the photo are Winter's farm on 188.

Driving into the driveway after work yesterday afternoon, I slowed the car, opened the window against the chill and sing-songed to Mikey, pacing in his paddock " Mikey, you're okay!" but, then again, where are the other two?
I pulled in, got out of the car, and put my observant on...didn't take too much observant to notice a big black and a smaller black and white horse out in the dark mud of the west corn field. Uh oh. A bigger "uh-oh" because hitting the enormous expanse of a dirt field ( 600 acres in that one portion alone?) could mean but one thing. The overgrown and luscious grass of our yard was not attractive enough. The energy pent up in their big bodies was so huge, that the lure of food was not sufficient pull to keep their heads down and their hooves on the farm. This has not happened before. (Well, not with these two. There was the near-death incident of summer 2003 when Cashew, the Quarterhorse,  decided to go for a nice long walk in the waist- high soybeans, and I followed him into the field, nearly succumbing to fatigue and hoping for location by turkey vulture GPS. Word to the wise- don't try and walk miles through waist high soybeans). Then again, having this much rain in April, and now May, has never happened before either. At least not in recorded history. Poor devils are sick of it too.
 I dashed up to the barn and scooped some nice loud pelleted grain into the grain bucket and dashed back outside onto the easily visible barn hill to shake the grain and call the ponies. They were still relatively near, and looked up at me on the hill, even moved their shoulders back my way. I was praying for one to begin the homeward dash, bucking and kicking up heels. Nope. Peaches looked the other way and began to trot off in the mud. Oslo joined her, adding the bucking and heels bit.
Blast.
So, another dash back into the barn to grab two halters, two lead ropes. Down to the house to change into muck boots and a dash to the car to collect my cellular telephone.
And, into the mud.
As I reached the rise where they had previously stood, and gave me slight hope of return, I could now see them, at the edge of the field, cropping the weeds at the tree line dividing this field from the one south of it. But, I didn't get much closer before Peach found a way to the other side of the tree line and a wheat field, waist high in wet winter wheat. Again, I hoped they would just stay right there, but they had no intention of ending their adventure soon. They could feel me getting "closer"- like three Broadway blocks- and off they went again, down the tree line, headed west.
This complicates things. One more field west is all there is between the horses and Creek Rd. Creek Rd. is a sleepy little thing with maybe 4 houses along the entire length. It is used mostly for farm vehicles, the school bus and loose cattle- not a big threat. BUT, Creek Rd. intersects with 188- a twisty, fast country highway, right at a portion where visibility is poor, but speeds are still grand.
Without wings, I need help. Thank goodness for cellular telephones. I call Pat and Bob Shannon, farming neighbors, and friends who will likely 1) be home and 2) jump in a truck and block the road.
Then, I call home where my two eldest will have just gotten off the bus. I tell Eldest to illegally drive the minivan, and her younger sister over to Creek Rd to block the other way, and fetch me by car if I can't locate the horses on foot and need transport. Now, who else? Who else might be home and would jump into their car and go to the south of me on 188 in case the horses cut directly south? Kersi! Maybe he's home. Thank the Lord, he is, and as with all good friends, drops whatever he was doing to head out to the danger zone.
All this while still jogging, slogging through the wet at the edge, now, of the wheat field, no horses in sight. Really, it points out that it isn't as flat as it seems around here. It is relatively open (relative to anything but Nebraska), and tree less (ditto), but there are little rises and hollows that mean you can't really see everything. Also points out that being in shape is really helpful. Might want to work on that a bit more.
As I reach the northwest corner of the wheat field, still no horses, I have found tracks, big 'uns,  and follow them back south along a decent fence line towards the creek (that is now more of raging river). To the west I can see Bob and Pat's truck. To the North I can see Denty, with my precious children, driving illegally.
And, just as I see a section of previously usuable and decent fence now utterly missing to my left- I see my horses, grazing near the river. We have one field to the west, and there wait Pat and Bob, and one field to the south, and then 188. But, the river is high, and between us and 188, and will be my friend.
The wheat field and the way they came is still open, and I am coming around from behind the horses. I don't wish to send them dashing back through the wheat (I'm already feeling awful for any damage they might have incurred) and if they go back east and north, there is no one waiting to catch them- I'm still without wings, but not without friends.
So, I go north and east myself, through the waist high cold wet wheat, until I am in front of them, and they will have to go into the river, or, back to the fence line, and the dreaded gap. Or, frankly, they could wait until I am an arms length away, and just turn their powerful butts and go wherever they want.
But, I've raised them better than that.
 I feel the wet cling of my pants to my legs, the fast thumping of my worried heart and slow down, relax, be easy. As I approach, Oslo comes to me, nose poking out in welcome and inquisition "What did  you bring to the party?". Grain. Lovely. I slip on his halter, then Peaches. Now, I am about a mile from home, with two ponies, my socks fallen into the toes of my boots, blisters on the backs of my heels. Thank you, God.
I head for the wonderful gap in the fence, and the small crowd of friends now collecting in the field to the west, chatting and helpful. Pat joins me half way across the west field of mud, stick in hand to help her get unstuck. Then, Middest comes, school shoes thick with mud to collect Peaches from me. We reach the cars, and I inform Eldest that she is going to get to lead Oslo (maybe for the second time?) home through the muddy fields. For all this time, as I've been focused on these two escapees, I've also been worrying about Mikey. I'm hoping he hasn't hurt himself, or done something stupid having been completely deserted by his new herd. So, I thank my friends (words cannot be enough) and switch my boots for Eldest's white sneakers, and point Denty for home. Driving quickly over the pavement of 188, watching the progress of the two horses and two children to the North.
Mikey is in his stall, unhappy, but not particularly beside himself. I put a halter on him and take him outside to the hill where we can watch the two wayward ponies come home. I had figured out during my afternoon mud-jog, how they came to be on the other side of the fence.
There is a fence post about a foot away from the cement water trough. The gap had been bridged by an old thick plank attached to the post, but Oslo had been testing the plank by reaching his neck over the corner of the trough and pushing with his body to crop the small crescent of reachable grass. Not much can withstand the purposeful leaning of that massive weight, and the plank had sensibly moved on. This left a gap a foot wide in the fence. Not normally a problem, but with one side of the gap being only high enough to hit between horse knee and shoulder, I suspect Peaches thought it worth a test. Can one put legs through the gap, if the body leans to the right over the trough? Yep. Once freedom was obtained - a rare commodity in the swamp that is now our farm- it was not easily returned.
Another large plank is in place, and aiming sideways over the gap then, between the trough and the plank, is The Pointed Picket of Discouragement.
And, today, as the sun shines, in a most unusual manner, it will be exercise day. Somehow, some way, those horses will get to use their muscles!

Forsooth? Horsetooth!

"I can't tomorrow, the vet is coming out."
"I don't think I've ever heard those words from you, Mom."
"Nope! Probably not!"
But, the vet did come, and I had called him, because I don't float my own horse's teeth. I haven't floated teeth in, well, who knows? 20 years? And, a lot has changed since then.
Horses have teeth in the front of the mouth, the incisors, which they use to crop grass and remove parts of unsuspecting persons. These teeth are not the teeth that get "floated" so much. The target teeth for this activity is the cheek teeth.

See, there are teeth back there, in the jaw. Those are the teeth that crush up all the roughage- hay, grass, or, for my ponies, bedding, barn parts, lead ropes...etc.

The teeth are "hypsodont". This means they erupt through the gum line when they are babies and lose their milk teeth, and then they grow continuously throughout their lives, eventually getting so short that they fall out when the horse is very old. This is when they are safest to put your hand into their mouths and feel around. Until then, the mouth is a dangerous and dark place.. Because the jaw moves in a circular motion and the teeth constantly grow, the idea is that the upper teeth and the lower teeth grind against each other, keeping them flat and perfecto.

Not all ideas are equal. Because the upper jaw is slightly wider than the lower jaw, the teeth actually tend to wear off so that the outside edge of the top teeth and the inside edge of the bottom teeth don't get as much grinding. Thus, they grow longer, and pointy.

Now, how do you know when your horse has teeth that need attention? Well, sometimes they drop grain out of their mouths, or chew with their heads to one side. Sometimes they buck. Sometimes they even are lame, or won't collect when you're riding. But the sure way to tell is to grab the horse's tongue, pull it out and to one side and then stick your other hand up into the mouth and feel around. Slicing your fingertips up a bit is a sure sign. Of course, there is the whole, fingers IN the mouth thing to think about.

Not always as easy as it sounds.

So, "back in the day", the process of teeth floating went something like this:

Step 1- grab tongue, feel around in mouth, with arm in there up to your elbow.

Step 2- if available, give horse butorphanol and xylazine to make him not kill you in steps 3-5

Step 3- holding up a hundred pounds of sedated horse head, grab tongue, pull out to side. Insert metal "float" at correct angle( as ascertained in step 1) to file off points on teeth.

Step 4- Whilst mopping brow frequently, move file back and forth with rapid motion and correct pressure to create smooth teeth surfaces. Attempt no grunting noises, as this alarms owner of patient.

Step 5- Change angle and repeat as necessary to get teeth all smooth.

Step 6: Collect $20.00 in trembling hand.

Step 6- 2 cups Epsom Salts in bath tub to unfreeze back, neck, shoulder muscles. Nice glass of wine recommended.

This is what a float looked like:

Well, Dr. Meuse has a much better method. It looks more like this:

It involved sedation too. Other than that, pretty much everything else has improved.

The horse wears a mouth speculum that keeps the jaws open wide (a real finger-saver there), and you wear a head lamp that shines LIGHT into the mouth. You can actually SEE what you're doing. Then,  there is this complicated looking drill/gun/dremel thing attached to a vacuum. So, there is a disc that spins on the bottom of a wand. The disc is protected by the wand from injuring tissues you don't mean to rasp down. Then, the trigger makes the disc go 'round, really fast, causing tooth smoke. But the vacuum attachment even keeps that out of the line of sight. There is even a padded stand to prop the horses head up, kind of like the "Y" of a slingshot. In this photo, there was a pulley system, but the "y" is more portable, certainly. It was raining ( Imagine!), so there may have been some mist in the barn air, but I don't think Dr. Meuse even broke a sweat. He doesn't charge $20 either. Better through technology-

Brilliant!

Shhhh...another horse. Welcome Mikey!

Not sure I could've packed more into this weekend. Also not sure that I like that. Weekends are meant to be a breather, right? Skipped the breathing part.
But, it was satisfying in the "horse" department. On Saturday, I brought two to the 4-H workout, rode both, instructed some great kids on sweet horses, riding for most of 4 hours,  and  managed to get home just before dark. This after a full day at work.
Middlest was camping with the Girl Scouts, but was expected home Sunday after church. Also expected after church was the 4-H Club Fair Booth Committee to drag all the fair booth structures out of the barn, clean, repair and restore them in preparation for this year's fair. This, I could step away from, having handed off responsibility for this committee to Jen (Thank you Jen!) . So instead, I worked in the bottom of the barn, hanging a stall door on the last stall in preparation for the late afternoon activity: horse gathering.
Middlest and I left with an empty trailer to go meet my friend, fellow rider and Middlest's instructor, Kara to go look at a horse.
Mikey was our target. He is a 14 year old Thoroughbred gelding, who has been a race horse, and a hunter-jumper in the past. He ended up at Last Chance Corral, the same rescue where I acquired Oslo. Last Chance is a charity set up to rescue orphaned foals. In order to fund the expensive task, they take donations (tax- deductible) of quality horses to adopt out for a donation to the charity. Oslo was a fine donation to a fine charity. So, I had called Victoria- the head of Last Chance, to tell her I was looking for a jumper for Middlest last year. She called me last week to tell me she had my boy. So, we went to go see, and collect Mikey last night.
The first thing we saw was his head peeking over the stall door. All eyes in a smallish head, made even smaller by his thinness. He is a few hundred pounds under weight. He's gained a bit since he made it to Last Chance, but he still has hundreds to go. He left his stall nicely, and put up with my pokings and proddings. Very little damage noted in his bone structure, even though he did race, and even won over $7,000 in his younger years. He has a nice floaty trot, and an easy, rolling canter. A sweet disposition, and despite being a Thoroughbred, seems fairly un-flighty. Kara rode him first, so I could watch him go, and he was easy and calm. Then Middlest rode him. This is where I go find a seat and zip my lip, as I cannot say a thing without it being interference. Mother-daughter stuff, you know!
She did a fantastic job with him, even feeling brave enough to ask for a canter a few times- and his canter covers some ground!

Trying a bit of a trot. The barns at Last Chance are all old barns that have been moved to the property. They have brick floors and are really beautiful.

And a canter- check out those long pasterns. Thouroughbreds.

Eventually, I prevailed for my chance at sitting up on the big guy. He has a nice even stride with no signs of subtle lameness, so I went for the next bit of the test, annoying him half to death to see what he'd do- either accept it, or try and get rid of me. Well, I was successfully obnoxious, but he didn't disappoint and was accepting at the point when I thought he might just give me the shove. Since he's is skinny and out of condition, this was enough testing for a day- and so as darkness settled on Central Ohio, Mikey danced his way back to our farm (he needs some trailering training).
He's starting to adjust and calm down a bit. Oslo has not been helpful, as he has tried to intimidate Mike from his side of the no-hoof-zone. Peaches, on the other hand has been curious and sweet, a certain ally when they finally merge into a herd in a few weeks.
And today included a trip to the feed store. This boy needs groceries!

Mikey in the mud. Poor kid. With more rain than any other April in Ohio recorded history, there are no other choices!