Going Home

In April I struggled with my blog.  I AM 50+ but I didn't want to leave out those that hadn't met that milestone so I moved my blog to Life+Horses to try to capture everybody, whether they were 50 or not. 

But for some reason it's always bothered me that I left some of my reader's behind when I moved the plate.  As a result, I'm going home.  I'm moving back to http://www.50plushorses.blogspot.com/. 

I apologize to all of you followers who have made an effort to move your Internet Favorites as I moved my Blog.  But I feel good about this decision; it's where I belong, where I started this whole thing and where it should be. 

Heck, I'm no more under fifty then the moon is square (but I'm no more +56 then the sun is a triangle)!  And for those under 50, we still share confidence issues and challenges of wanting to ride, show, etc., so please come join us.

I thank you all for making the efforts to follow my blog.  Please reset you Internet Favorite to http://www.50plushorses.blogspot.com/.

Lots of heart aches this past month with the loss of Champ.  However, stay tuned.  I will be looking into replacing him with one of his siblings and I think you'll find my road interesting as I continue to work on keeping my confidence up, going to horse shows, and dealing with the aches and pains of being an older rider.  So please tune into me at my old home, http://www.50plushorses.blogspot.com/.  And I PROMISE, I'll never leave Home again!  :)

Vacation Memories

Last week my husband and I, along with Poco our Appaloosa and Sunny Bear our Belgian Draft horse, Hank the Dog and Chloe the Kitten, traveled to Cabin Creek for a week's long vacation.  Gus, our other Draft, stayed home at the "Spa" where Poco is boarded as our three-horse slant is too small to fit everybody in.

Here's some quick pictures of our trip.

You can hear the wind sigh as it blows through the Pine, Fir and Cottonwood trees.  The sky is such a vivid blue against the green of this Cottonwood tree.

On one afternoon I went down to the Creek to sit with my friends.  It was hot and I found them sitting in the creek in their chairs, keeping nice and cool.



I call this my "Gut Cart" because if I use it too often and don't walk, I will get fat(ter).  But it was great for taking my lawn chair down to the creek or driving down to the corral to check on our horses.

The water in the creek is so clear.  In this picture I'm up to my knees in water, yet it looks like its only inches deep.  Clear, cold creek water, feels great on a hot summer day!


My two good friends between me.  Jayne (left) and Lynn (right), who are cousins.  We grew up together, riding horses at Cabin Creek.  Lynn was up with her family on vacation from California.  It's always good to get together with old pals like these two and talk about our crazy younger days!

Sorry, no pictures of the horses.   Kept forgetting to bring my camera to the corral.

We had an issue with unloading Poco who was the last to get out.  He pulled back, snapped his lead rope and fell inside the back of the trailer, flipped outside the trailer and ended upside down in the dirt.  He got up and I easily caught him, grateful to not find any cuts on him.  But my husband was in the trailer during this and received a goose egg and cut on his forehead.

We'd used a divider in the trailer to separate Poco and Sunny.  On our way home we took the divider out, put Sunny in first and Poco in second.  Poco loaded fine and there was no issue unloading him when we got home.  Now that our corral is set up for our horses, I look forward to going back up, seeing friends and riding!

Summer's Evening Chores

When the days are long and the warm air is filled with the smell of newly cut hay, there's something special about doing the summer evening chores.

For my husband and I, evening chores in the summer bring a lazy, slowness when it's time to feed our horses.  The warmer temperatures encourage us to stay out with them longer then the cold, dark evenings of winter.  This is the time of year to take advantage of interacting with our horses because ninety days from now it will once again be dark at evening feeding time.

While my husband feeds in the morning, we come out together to do the evening chores, the same way it's been for over twelve years.  We separate our horses so they can eat their grain in peace. 

Sunny Bear (Bear), our older Belgian, gets extra Senior Feed and supplements.  Bear is an older horse.  In his soft, kind eyes you can see that he's traveled many roads in his life.  It's a challenge to keep any weight on Bear these days, no matter how many supplements and types of feed we offer him.  We worry about Bear and this coming winter.

Gus, our younger Belgian, gets very little grain, delivered with a lot of pomp and circumstance.  I pour Gus's grain slowly into his bucket located in one of our empty stalls.  As I pour I can feel Gus watching me.  I make sure the grain makes a lot of noise, knowing Gus will then think he has a lot of grain.  Such is part of the pomp and circumstance. 

In Gus's mind, he's been a good boy, being patient as he's watched me.  If I don't quickly go and slide the stall door open, he will start to paw and nicker.  Youngsters!  Always in a hurry.

I slide the stall door open and Gus walks past me.  He takes a hard left and goes into the stall where his grain awaits him.  Considering how huge Gus is, this is quite an accomplishment.  The door is wide open past me at the other end of the barn, but Gus is never one to pass on his grain.  Youngsters!  Always hungry!

Bear then shuffles into where Gus initially stood.  I deliver the delectable goodies of grain and supplements to Bear as if I'm presenting him with a special gift.   Bear eats slowly, dropping grain, although his teeth are checked regularly.  Only when Bear has picked up what he's dropped and slurped up anything left in his bucket, do I let Gus back in.  In the meantime, Gus has finished his grain and stands watching Bear, looking forward to getting any grain that Bear has left behind (probably why Gus is a bit plump).

While they eat, I change their water.  Usually changed and refilled once a day, the task is stepped up to twice a day when it's warm.  We've recently had temperatures in the upper 90's.  We don't have many days that are this warm and the Belgians are miserable.  I enjoy refilling their stock tank and seeing it replaced with clean, clear water as much as they do swishing their noses in it after I'm finished.

When temperatures are this warm, we halter the Belgians and bring them out to the hitching post to hose them down after they've finished their grain.  They stand quietly, enjoying the spray of the cold water.  I see how much they love being cooled down so I also spray our dog, Hank, who being a Lab, loves water.  Then I usually spray myself, knowing that in the heat, I'll dry before I get back to the house.  All of us are revived and cool.

As my husband puts out the hay, teasing me for being wet, I pull the wheel barrow around and pick up any 'deposits' in the paddock.  Belgians leave large 'deposits'.

Summer chores are easier then winter chores.  Sometimes my husband and I sit outside in the shade of the barn after we finish our summer chores.  The breeze that blows across us and is pleasant. 

We look at our gorgeous views of Mount Rainier and the Cascade Mountain Range and discuss the day's events.  As with winter chores, work conversation stays at the barn and home conversation comes back inside the house. 

When it's finally time to leave the barn, it's not uncommon for us to walk back to the house holding hands, awed by the beauty that surrounds us.  We tell each other to pinch ourselves, is it really US who live here???!  The beauty and magic of our home and the life it brings are a dream come true for both of us. 

A sense of serenity carries us through the rest of the evening and into the next day, until once again, it's time for summer's evening chores.

Fireweed Makes Me Cry

I've found I'm the type of person who makes sure everybody is ok before I break down.  So for the last few days, the loss of Champ has hit me hard, hit me very hard.

Yes, my prior post reads true.  As a 50+ person, I'm moving on thanks to a 20+ Poco, an old campaigner as my husband calls him.  But the loss of Champ, a 12-year old horse that has filled almost every waking moment of mine for over twelve months, has left a huge hole that won't mend quickly.

For the last year I've ridden Champ.  If you go back to my original blog: http://www.50plushorses.blogspot.com/, you'll read our challenges of the last year starting with my first lesson, where I stood in tears outside Champ's stall...too afraid to go in.

I met those fears head on.  I did ride Champ, even in a horse show in October, placing in every class but more pleased about just being out there with him then the ribbons we brought home.

But today it's the emptiness of losing Champ and Fireweed blooming that brings tears to my eyes.

Last year right now, when the Fireweed was blooming, I was riding Champ.  I was so unsure of myself that each ride was as my husband calls it, "a Nervous Nellie" ride. 

I recall riding in the heat of July on Ladies Night.  It was hot in the arena and both ends of the barn doors were open.  Champ (actually all the horses) were nervous passing the end door of the arena as they usually enter the other side (I changed our entry point when I figured this out).

But I was Nervous Nellie, scared to death as I passed that end door that Champ would...I don't know.  Rear?  I've seen Champ rear and almost flip over, dumping our daughter.  Run away?  I'd surely fall off.  Shy?  Again, I'd surely fall off.

But none of those things happened even though he'd cock his ear and look concerned at the door.  Outside the door were acres of Fireweed.  So each time I passed that door, I'd say, "Look Champ!  Fireweed!"  And Champ would look and then we'd move on without any conflict.  Looking at the Fireweed calmed us both down and allowed us to continue without mishap.

Ladies nights in July became a success.  Soon I was saying, "Look Champ!  The leaves are turning!"  And on it went.

I had wanted to show Champ the Fireweed this year and say, "Look Champ!  Remember how afraid I was last year of the Fireweed and how confident I am this year?  We've come a long way, haven't we boy?"

But I never got the chance and I never will.  That is why Fireweed makes me cry.

Moving On - A New Day

I spent the month of June sick with a cough/cold and then just as I was recovering Champ became ill with colic and a urinary tract infection which we couldn't get a hand on no matter how hard the vet tried.  After six long, long days, now with failed kidneys, we put him down.  Forty eight hours ago...two days.  And with the exception of the painful hole in our hearts, it already seems like it was a long time ago.

Today is July 1.  I welcome the new month and refuse to look in the rear view mirror at June 2010, just I refused to look at January 2010 when I lost Cisco.  I will encourage my family, battered and beaten by June to do the same.  I will lead by example and point out the good things in our lives, not dwell on the past trials we've been through.

Although the Belgians are here at home, Sunny is now feeble and I consider him unsafe to ride.  Gus, our younger Belgian is green broke, over 18 hands and I feel he is too big and too green for me to ride.

I'm grateful for Poco, the horse I recently purchased to replace Cisco, here at home.  Poco has been home for the last five days.  His pasture is outside our bedroom window.  At night with the window opened, I can hear him moving around and blowing out his nose.  It's a good sound. 

When I get up each morning, I open the window wider and greet him.  He is now waiting for my greeting each morning.  Life with Poco at home has been soothing and enjoyable.  He likes his pasture and loafing shed, where he naps.  Across the fence line he and the Belgians have settled down nicely.

I hauled Poco out to the barn to take a lesson on him, still learning how he ticks.  He was a dream loading and unloading, saddling at the trailer, during the lesson and then later when we went on a ride around the 100 acres that surround the barn.  So far he's been a good guy at everything I've asked of him.

I have an empty stall at the barn.  The loss of Champ appears to have cancelled the half-lease I have with the gal who was using him for 4H.  Out of courtesy for the suddenness of Champ's loss, I've offered them the use of Poco for the rest of the season but understandably, it's not the same.

I hate moving Poco to the barn but with an empty stall up there I've decided for the time being to continue to board at the barn.  My friends are up there and since I'm retired, the barn provides me with a social outlet.  So today I will haul Poco back to the barn.

I'm back where I started in early June, with no horse at home and no other suitable horse for my family or friends to ride.  That means no riding at the cabin with my family or friends, where our corral is now ready for our horses.

It means all my eggs are in the basket with Poco and after the last week, that kind of scares me.  But I won't seek out another horse right now.  Poco came to me, I didn't go looking for him.  I'm thinking that's the best way to find a horse.  So I will wait, my family and I will regain our strength and welcome peace into our hearts and souls.  Somewhere down the road we will find another special horse.  After all, good things come to those who wait.

Want My Autograph (Champ), May 1998 - June 2010

Dear Champ,

Thank you for coming into our lives and becoming our daughter's horse, taking her to Paint, Pinto, 4H and schooling shows.











Thank you for your "bling".  It was always fun to see how the judges loved your "bling". 

Thank you for your signature slow jog, so comfortable and smooth that one could drink a cup of tea and not spill a drop.

Thank you for bathing, loading and unloading like a pro.

Thank you for accepting me as your new rider when our daughter moved on in her life.  Yes, there were times I thought you'd kill me, especially when you used to charge me in the round pen, ears back, teeth bared, but we always came to an understanding and continued in peace.

Thank you for your patience in helping me to learn how to ride correctly.  You always tried to do what I was asking, even when I wasn't asking the right way.

Thank you for your smooth haunch turns and side passes.  When people used to watch us ride, it was always fun to pull a few of those off and watch their reactions.

Lastly, thank you for teaching me to become the rider I always wanted to be.  I hoped we could have more time together to sort cows, learn Dressage and go on trail rides but I guess God needed a horse like you up in heaven more then we needed you. 

But never forget this family who loved you with all their hearts and will miss having you down here with us.

Twelve Hours After a +10 Day - A Double Whammy

This has been the longest week I've had in a long time.  Glad I got to enjoy my +10 Day with Champ because twelve hours later I was standing in his stall, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the vet.

Wednesdays are Katy, my half-leaser's day to ride.  I'd only stopped by the barn to pick up Poco's paperwork.  I wasn't dressed for barn time, in my white t-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes. 

Since I was there, thought I'd stop in and say Hi to Katy.  My phone started ringing as I walked into the barn to find my trainer, Rachel, calling me, Katy and Champ next to her.  Nothing has been normal since that moment.

Champ had urine dripping all over the place.  He also had shavings all over him and was groaning in pain.  The vet was on his way so we did what we could and waited.

The vet arrived and within minutes Rachel and I were pushing 16 bags of IV fluids into Champ.  After a urine culture and rectal exam, the vet turned to us and told us that Champ had the "Mother of all impactions", the largest he'd ever seen.  Bad news. 

Next came the terrible question.  Did I want to try to transport him to surgery, approximately 80 miles away?  Every horse owner draws their own line in the sand on where you decide to call it quits.  For colic I draw the line prior to surgery.  During the exam I was asked about surgery twice.  With tears in my eyes and in a chocking voice, I declined both times.

The vet directed us to walk Champ twenty minutes on the hour.  He'd check in with us later that night via phone.  I knew we were in for a long haul at the barn.  I called my husband requesting a jacket, chairs and food.  I called our daughter and told her what was happening.

Fellow boarders came to assist and offer their support.  When additional bags of fluid were called for many gave their hand in holding the IV or pumping fluids through the hand bulb that passed the fluid into Champ, while Rachel or I needed to step away for a moment.  It meant a lot to me to have their help and I can't say enough about the great people at our barn.

I've read many articles about Colic, especially after losing Cisco to Colic in January.  But there is no replacement for hands-on experience.  This is a tough, exhausting process but the best way to learn how to help your horse is to participate in it.

For instance I'd never helped put a catheter in a horse's neck, run an IV or swapped out IV bags when they ran empty.  At first it's unnerving.  Colic is not only exhausting for the horse but it's also exhausting, back breaking work for the support team.  Every hand is needed, especially on the second day when those who went through the first 24 hours are physically and mentally exhausted. 

I was lucky to have a great support team the first night.

Rachel, the barn manager, my trainer and friend, who lives on the premises.  She rolled her desk out of her office and joined us across from Champ's stall.  She worked on paperwork and schedules while we held vigil.  Rachel has seen Colic before and has hands on experience, she was our Leader.

My riding pal, Haley.  Who brought us a wonderful home cooked dinner and a great bottle of wine.  Haley is such a wonderful person, someone who can always make me smile.  She, like me, has fought confidence issues when riding.  She recently had a fall off her horse, got a concussion and was down for a week.  Two weeks later she was back on and cantering again.  I bestow my highest compliment to her - Grit.  Haley has Grit.

John, my husband.  Who went to various restaurants in town to get us whatever food we asked for (prior to knowing Haley was bringing us dinner).  He brought us the camp chairs, blankets, my phone charger, a sleeping bag and (I still smile).....an extra pair of socks.???  When I asked about the socks, he said he was worried our feet would get cold that night.  Pretty sweet!

Colleen our daughter, who cancelled all evening plans, arriving to pitch in to do whatever was needed, never leaving my side.  Champ was her horse before she quit riding and went off to college.  She rarely stops by to see him, yet I know she still cares for him.  As we sat in our camp chairs outside Champ's stall waiting for the next 20 minute walk, she quietly started crying.  I sat next to her, trying to mentally comfort her, afraid if I tried to physically comfort her she'd rebuff me.  I knew she was beating herself up about rarely visiting Champ.

I thought about how often we take things we care about for granted until they're in jeopardy or gone.   Soon I was also silently crying.  I reached over and put my hand on her shoulder and in a bit we both got ourselves under control.

There the four of us sat on a rare, clear evening, taking turns walking Champ on the hour, remarking on how pink Mount Rainer was when the sun set, and later how bright the full moon was in the warm evening.  We were a rather jovial group that first night, sharing stories, swapping philosophies on life.

Around 11 PM Champ started to act like his old self, although his physical situation hadn't changed.  A call from the vet, checking in, said to keep walking Champ and if he was still like this at 1 AM we could check him every few hours.  Since Rachel lives onsite, she volunteered to do the checking.

As 1 AM came, nobody offered to leave.  None of us wanted to be the first to call it a night.  We fought off our exhaustion, walking Champ on the hour until about 3 AM, where we all left at the same time.

Sleep avoided me, too hyped up to rest I guess.  I was up, dressed and on my way back to the barn by 6 AM Thursday morning.  Rachel was already there.  We drank the coffees I'd picked up and I started the hourly waking again, legs and feet aching from the previous day, eyes puffy from lack of sleep. 

My second hour of walking, Champ gave us the first hope we'd seen.  A nice pile of rock hard poop which I will now refer to as "deposits".  The vet arrived a few hours later and checked it out.  Said it was part of the 'plug' but not the impaction.  Eight more bags of fluids went into Champ.  Five hours later Champ gave us another deposit and then a few hours later another one. 

The vet called with the lab results.  Champ had a urinary tract infection.  The strain from the infection and not drinking had probably caused the Colic.  He examined Champ and told us the plug was out and now we had to wait for the impaction to pass.  Twelve more bags of fluids went into Champ, who still refused to drink.  The vet warned us that it was going to very painful when Champ passed the impaction.

In the late afternoon, Rachel, Haley, Colleen and I found ourselves back together, but now we all sat in exhausted silence while Champ struggled in pain as he started to pass the impaction.  Around dinner time my husband arrived to take over for Colleen and I.  We gratefully headed home, both of us too tired to argue about staying.

I awoke to see my husband was home.  Things were going better at the barn; Champ was making regular deposits, drinking water and had slurped up the mush presented to him.  Haley, who has a camper van was spending the night outside the barn and would check on Champ every few hours.  Walking on the hour was no longer required.

Friday morning I returned to the barn and met Rachel.  Champ was now on antibiotics for his infection and we were directed to turn him out as usual and hand graze him a couple of times during the day.  I was relieved to see Champ eating his hay and drinking.  He was no longer dripping.

I returned later to hand graze and feed Champ his mash, loaded with his medication and carrots while Rachel took a well deserved overnight trip away from the barn.  I noticed Champ was dripping again, hadn't drank much water or eaten very much.  He wouldn't touch the delectable mash I'd made for him, no matter how much molasses or carrots I piled into it.  I texted Rachel, hating to bother her.  She assured me that it would take a few days for the antibiotics to kick in and that we had other methods to get Champ to take his meds if the mash didn't work.

Status was still the same on Saturday.  I hand grazed Champ and saw he'd eaten a little and drank a little but still was dripping.  Rachel returned home and gave him a super special mash but he only ate a bit of it.

Today is Sunday.  More hand grazing today.  Rachel and I discussed the situation.  She successfully pushed his meds down him tonight instead of in the mash.  But like me, she's worried because Champ still isn't himself.  She'll look in on him later.  I expect we'll call the vet back tomorrow if things haven't changed and anticipate reinserting the catheter and running more IV's.

Where this will end, I'm not sure.

On a positive note.  In my last post about my (former) +10 Day, I wrote about hoping our daughter, Colleen, would take a lesson on Thursday.  She indeed did take that lesson, as exhausted as she was, riding my new horse, Poco.  The longer she rode the bigger she smiled.  It was neat to see she still has a natural elegance and poise when she rides and she really liked Poco.

It felt good to smile, if only for a short time.

A +10 Day

Every once in awhile a day comes along that can only be described as a +10 Day.  Special days like these are rare, which is what makes them so special.  If we had them all the time they wouldn't mean as much to us.  So when they come along they bring a level of incredible joy and achievement to those that experience them.

Today I was honored to have one of those days.  I wanted to document it, because sure as shootin' tomorrow might bring me a -9 Day.  I want to hold today close, keep it in my heart, body and mind.  I don't want this day to end because with it ends my +10 Day.

Of course what made it special relates to horses but not specifically to horses and my day didn't start right off as a +10.  It grew and grew as the day progressed.

Today started out with some rare sunshine - something we haven't seen much of up here on the upper west side of the Cascade Mountains since March.  It occupied my mind, looking at all the green fields and healthy plants.  It occupied me so much that I found myself running late for my weekly Tuesday lesson on Champ, which I referred to as my "Champ Day", yesterday being a "Poco Day".  With my head in the clouds at home, I found myself driving to the barn at 1:25 PM for a 1:30 lesson. 

Not cool to be late.  I called Rachel, my trainer, to let her know I was running behind and her response was to take my time, I was her last lesson of the day and all she had left for the day was to ride some horses.

Got to the barn, hastily greeting my fellow barn pals, who inquired if I was going to the barn dinner in town tonight.  Of course I'd be there!

As I pulled Champ's tack out I noticed that it hadn't been touched since I'd straightened it out last Thursday.  Oh Oh.  That told me that the gal who half-leases Champ hadn't taken advantage of her weekend time to ride.  This told me Champ had been sitting in his stall since last Wednesday while I was preoccupied with riding and purchasing Poco and being out of town over the weekend.  Sure I'd stopped by and visited Champ but since it was my half-lease person's days to ride, I'd expected she'd use them.

I steadied myself to pull a very spirited, excited, pent up horse out of his stall.  But when I went to get Champ I found something else I had always hoped for but never yet encountered.  I found a horse mentally in synch with me from the moment I opened his door.  It was like we were having a conversation and both of us understood each other.

I put Champ through his ground work paces and again I had this feeling that we were talking while we went through them.  On to the arena to meet Rachel and start the lesson.  Walking into the arena, putting on the bridle, and climbing on as if again, we were having a conversation.  I found the loss of my 15+ pounds from being sick a joy as I swung up on the saddle without nicking his rear with my right leg.  I swung my leg smoothly over and gently settled on his back.

Our lesson/ride?  Poetic, incredible, spiritual.  I would ask and Champ already knew what I wanted, his response immediate and perfect.  Oh the joy of connecting with your horse.  It's been many years and horses back since I rode my wonderful Barnie and had this experience.  Once you obtain it, you seek it again and again and count your lucky stars if you find a horse that returns it on a regular basis.

This connection with my horse is the bottom line of why I ride.  To be able to communicate on the back of a 1500 pound animal and for them to communicate back.  What a wonderful gift.  And to be doing this with Champ, known as Dennis the Menace, a bully, the give an inch/take a mile guy.  Definitely special. 

While I rode, I spotted our daughter, home for the summer from college; up at the barn for the day looking after Rachel's daughter (we don't dare refer to it as "babysitting").  It was fun to see her coming and going with children following her wherever she went.

With my successful ride finished, Champ and I were both drenched with sweat.  I hosed him off and then took him out for a long walk in the field to eat grass.  Again, we talked silently as we walked along and observed things around us.

As we returned, Champ walked next to me as a friend would in conversation, the lead line limp between us.  I'd stop, he'd stop.  I'd turn, he'd turn, both of us with peaceful looks on our faces, in our bodies, hearts and minds.  I wished time would stop.

I'd spent so much time with Champ I just had time to head up to town to the restaurant, meeting up with our daughter and everybody from the barn.  I didn't have time to change or get cleaned up.  I ran my hands through my helmet hair, soaking wet earlier from my wonderful ride but it didn't make much difference. 

Nobody seemed to care that I'd just come from the barn and we all had a great time.  When I explained the day I'd had with Champ, many got a faraway look in their eyes, being there themselves and knowing exactly what I'd experienced.

I was so impressed with our daughter.  She held her own in a sea of new people, intelligent in her conversation, elegant in her actions.  She was asked many times if she rode.  I remained silent, always hoping she'll come back to it someday but determined to not push her on the subject.  It must be her decision to return to riding.

Our daughter and I returned to the barn to pick up her car and check on Poco.  Tomorrow is Poco Day.  She told me she'd accompany me to see Poco.  As we walked she mentioned how much she enjoyed meeting the people at the barn.  She said she might like to take a lesson on Poco Thursday. 

I tried to not get too carried away in the conversation but offered to give Rachel a call and see if she had any openings on Thursday for a lesson.  The call has been placed and Rachel will get back to us tomorrow. 

Maybe our daughter will ride, maybe she'll change her mind.  It's up to her to decide.  But tonight it felt good to have her come with me to see Poco and bring the subject up.  It raised the bar on an already +10 Day.

Cough Drops, Tissues and My Crates Saddle

My last posting was June 10 where I left you with my decision to replace my horse here at home, the wonderful, kind hearted Cisco, who I lost last January and still miss every single day. 

As I wrote that post I was sitting here coughing and blowing my nose.  Today is June 21; eleven days later I'm pretty much doing the same thing.  I had my third doctor's visit today and have some huge horse pill-like antibiotics so I expect that the end of this interruption is in sight and I'll be soon feeling better and back on my feet.  Gosh, I'm not going to know what to do without hacking and blowing my nose all day and night!  But I'm sure my family will be jumping for joy.  They see me coming these days and scatter like leaves in the fall.  :(

I took my first lesson on Champ last Tuesday after being down sick for two weeks.  Odd to find myself not dreading the ride.  My motto of ground work and "knowing what you get before you get on" has put me in a confident state of mind.  Champ was a real handful during ground work but I got the upper hand and the ride was good.  The only problem was that about half way through I felt exhausted and didn't really do a heck of a lot during my lesson.

While I was riding I told my Trainer, Rachel Koehler, about my decision to replace Cisco.  Rachel was the one who found Cisco for me.  As I rode last week I told Rachel that I was in no hurry to purchase a new horse.  My new horse would need to meet line item expectations I'd established as I laid awake at night for days end coughing and blowing my nose.

We talked about going to get a coffee after my ride, but Rachel told me that she needed to put a ride on a horse named Poco that had just arrived a few hours earlier.  Rachel told me how she wished she could purchase this newly arrived horse.  How he'd be a perfect lesson horse, his great condition for an older horse, how he'd been used for shows but also on extensive trail rides, etc.  She went on to unknowingly list every line item I'd established as my criteria for a new horse during my sleepless nights.

My interest perked, I hung around to observe.  Upon first sight of Poco my thoughts were, what a great looking horse.  As I watched Rachel ride him I became more and more impressed.  Smooth mover, low key guy, well trained, gets along with other horse (me ogling him while on Champ), etc.

I had to ride this horse.  I asked Rachel if I could return Wednesday and take a ride.  I arrived the next day armed with cough drops, tissues, and my Crates Saddle from home, formerly Cisco's, which happened to fit Poco perfectly. 

My ride on Poco took about an hour.  It was just awesome but feeling so crummy, I hardly cantered him.  After I finished, I told Rachel I thought I might be interested in him.  Rachel my tried and true trainer, would have no conversation about it until I returned the next day and rode Poco once more, including lots of cantering. 

My antennas were high as I unsaddled Champ that day and listened to everybody in the barn talk about the new horse at the barn who was for sale, what a great horse he was and how horses like that won't stay for sale for very long.

That night I lay awake all night long.  I agonized about my decision to purchase another horse.  I have so missed having a horse at home to pull out of my pasture, no matter if it be weeks or months in-between rides, to climb on and enjoy without much prep work.  I wished for a horse to share with my friends.  I could see me on Champ and my pal's on my new horse, taking rides together at the cabin.  Yet, was I being selfish in having a horse at home to ride when, although half-leased, I had Champ at the barn?  Would I be doing a disservice to Champ to have another horse in my life?  Would I be doing a disservice to myself to NOT have another horse in my life?

As dawn broke and Thursday arrived I finally fell to sleep with the attitude of what will be, will be.  That afternoon I returned again with cough drops, tissues and my Crates Saddle.  This ride brought many of my barn pals to the arena to watch me put Poco through his paces.  Bless them all, good friends, cheering me on.

This time I was the first one on and I rode for a few hours.  I put Poco through all his paces, including lots of cantering.  I knew at the end of my ride I'd make an offer on Poco and let the God's of Horse Sales decide if it would be accepted or not.  I'd stand firm on my offer, either it would be accepted or not.  What would be, would be.

So it was that later that evening that the God's of Horse Sales smiled upon me and I became the owner of the Poco.  I returned Friday to seal the deal and then left for the weekend on an earlier planned trip with my family, not arriving home until late Sunday.  (Hard to leave town when you just bought a new horse!)

The former owners have left papers and a folder of Poco's accomplishments for me.  How funny that today I was so busy with both horses that I never had time to pick up the documents!

So Poco is papered and he's done a lot of good things in his life.  That's good, but what's better is that without even looking, I've found what I was looking for.

Thoughts on a Rainy Day

I've been down for seven days with a cold.  I'm now coming out of the other side of it and know I'm feeling better because 1) I'm out of my sweats and actually dressed; 2)  I brushed my hair today; 3) I'm planning a trip to the grocery store in a little bit, stopping by the feed store first since we are out of supplements and low on grain.

Champ was the last thing I saw, seven days ago as I held him for the shoer and coughed, coughed, coughed.  Tonight is sorting night and I had already cancelled due to this cold.  Guess it wouldn't have mattered anyway because sorting will be rained out.

While the rest of the nation has warmth, our corner of the world has been sitting at 40, 50 and 60 degree temps.  Three weeks ago I was up in town and it was rain/snow mix.  Weather folks say it's the coldest spring in the Northwest since the late 1800's.

Next weekend is usually a biggie for local strawberries, sweet and plump.  But with this rain and cold weather I'd expect our local strawberries are behind.  We've found grass hay is scarce.  We're told that the fields on the east side of the State are holding off on dropping their hay because it's so wet.  If they drop it in this winter weather it's going to rot.  We're told no new hay for "awhile".

I heard that El whatever it is, that brings the tough, cold winters to us, is returning this year.  And indeed this is the time of year that we get these predictions.  Last year's was spot on.

Since we haven't seen summer I may as well think ahead.  Without validating the prediction of a harsh winter, but being through them here before, I'll talk to my husband about getting the wood we've had undercover for three years split so we can use it in our wood stove in our family room.  That stove is all we have if we lose power.

As always when my mind wanders on a day like this it always touches on horse thoughts, and today is no different.  I'm proceeding to go forward with my decision replace Cisco, my little brown horse (see http://www.50plushorses.blogspot.com/ "A Sad Day", 1/13/10; and "Should Have, Could Have, Would Have", 1/17/10).

I will replace Cisco, hopefully soon.  In fact I will replace Cisco and also keep my eye out for another saddle horse in addition to him.

Champ will stay at the stable, half-leased to Katy, who is an incredible young rider, using him for 4H this year.  She's good for Champ and I'll continue to ride him, taking lessons, going to sorting events and still enjoy the social outlet of having somewhere to go during my days here at home.

But I need horses at home I can pull out and ride whenever I feel like it, to explore our fields and long gravel road.  Horses that I can put my niece or best friend on and know they'll be ok while I ride alongside.  Horses that I can put in the trailer and join my pals on trail rides, only minutes from our place.  Horses that I can take to the cabin, now set up and ready for them, to ride with good friends. 

Yes, our Belgians are sweet, good natured horses but Sunny is feeble and I'm thinking Gus, at age seven may need a more active life then what we offer here.  A conversation for my husband and I.

I want older horses that have been there and done that, which you can pull out of the pasture and plod along on, knowing what you're going to get when you ride.  I support ground work 110% and it will always be part of my routine, yet I want horses that you don't have to round pen or fight before you ride. 

That's the kind of horse Cisco was and they aren't easy to find.  They are like needles in a haystack.  But that's ok, good things come to those who wait.  So that's what I'll be doing, looking and waiting.

The Woods

Sometimes in my conversations with people the subject comes around to woods.  I'll ask them if they had woods to play in when they grew up. Those who didn't grow up with woods will give me a blank look, or they'll tell me they had a large back yard.  Yet those who grew up with woods will get that far-away look in their eyes. 

I'm one of those who gets that far-away look in my eyes.  I grew up with woods.  As a child in the northern part of Washington State, we lived in Bellingham, on the South side of town, between an area called Fairhaven and a scenic road by the name of Chuckanut Drive.

Across from our house were miles of untouched woods.  I guess I date myself by saying, "in those days".  But it's a true statement.  In those days we kids could wander the woods all day safely, never running into or worrying about derelict individuals nor coming to the end of the woods.  The woods went on forever and they were all ours.

The neighbor boys (the Osborn Boys), my brother, and I were best of friends and we ran the woods.  We never walked.  We ran at a jog which we could keep up all day long.

Directly across from our house was what we called the Rain Fort.  Named for the huge, mammoth, Fir Tree that covered the ground beneath it.  It was a place where we could play on rainy days and not get wet.  What we did on those days was grab tools from our father's garages and take them over to the Rain Fort.  There we'd hammer whatever could be hammered and saw whatever could be sawed.  However, we tended to forget to bring the tools back home when we called it a day.  Many tools were lost to the Rain Fort and surrounding woods.

The volcanic activity of centuries ago had left a pile of rocks on the top of an incline in the woods.  We called this Mount Baker.  Although it wasn't the real Mount Baker, visible from these rocks, in our childhood minds it represented a mountain with rocks and adventures to spare.  There were fossils all over the rocks and in the summer, the small sweet wild blackberries in the meadows around (our) Mount Baker as well as sleeping deer and their babies which we'd awake on our early morning adventures.  We took it all for granted, it was part of our daily world.

I recall going up to Mount Baker and then heading South across the rise of trails that gave me a view of Bellingham Bay on one side and as far as my eye could travel, Fir Trees, on the other.  I knew the trails and which one to take.  My journey would eventually take me back hours later to the Rain Fort.  It was a sight to behold, even for a seven year old.

The Fir Trees were there for shade in the summer and protection in the winter.  But they were also there to climb.  We climbed them without any thought of consequence, the Osborn Boys and my little brother in their own trees next to the one I was in.  We'd each chose a tree, climb to the very top, a distance that put us way above the world.  With the wind rocking us back and forth, we'd sit up there for hours. 

I still picture looking over at my brother and the Osborn boys, all of us swaying on the top of our Fir Trees.  Some inclination told us that when we came upon the new growth on the very tops of these tall trees, it was the place to stop climbing.  We never discussed this decision, it came naturally to all of us.

Should one of us have fallen, it would have ended our childhood lives.  But never did we slip or lose our grip.  We came home each evening covered in fragrant pitch, to be stuck in the tub, eat our dinner, go to sleep, get up and do it all over again.  I'm sure our Moms knew we climbed trees but I'm not sure they realized how high we went.

I lived this wonderful adventure for the first eight years of my life.  But when I turned nine changes came.  The Osborn Boys left us, relocating to Boise, Idaho.  Running the woods wasn't such fun without them to share the day.  At age ten I was now interested in hanging out with my best friends and by age eleven I was madly in love with Herman of Herman's Hermits.

As I've learned through life, when you live in a beautiful place long enough, you start to take it for granted.  That's what my brother and I did with the woods.  They were there across the road from our house but as we got older, they became plain old woods.  The secrets of the trails and adventures we'd had were left behind.

When I turned twelve my family moved to the outskirts of North Seattle.  This wasn't a move any of us in the family were happy about.  Bellingham was our home, it was where our family and friends lived and none of us wanted to go.  But work called my Dad to Seattle so move we did, with an enticement from our parents that our new home had "woods".

Once were relocated and unpacked, my brother and I ventured out to explore our new woods.  What we found was a smelly swampy area with a few cottonwood trees.  Nothing one could climb up into and sit in for hours, swaying with the wind.  No rocks with a view of Mount Baker, no sweet small blackberries for when we were hungry. 

You could hear the sound of traffic in the distance but what really hit us was the definite beginning and ending to these "woods".  As quickly as we came into them, we could see neighbor houses in the distance.  This realization left us both with heavy hearts.  These weren't "woods"!  We missed our former woods, the woods we'd taken for granted as we grew older, the woods we hadn't even thought of saying farewell to before we moved.

As we grew up we returned when we could to our old home to find the woods we ran in were no longer there, replaced by new roads and houses.  Our Mount Baker, developed into a huge estate, hosting a private property sign, with a closed gate which kept out "visitors"' like my brother and I, who knew the woods for what they'd been, not what they now were.  Our woods were gone, just like our childhood.  All we had left were the memories.

A few years ago I lost my little brother to Leukemia.  During his last days with us we were visited by our old friends, the Osborn Boys.  One of the things we talked about was the woods.  I know it meant as much to my brother as it did to me to find that they, like us, had never forgotten those woods and the wonderful world it provided us.  Even though they'd moved to Boise, Idaho, one of the biggest things they said they had missed were the woods.  Talking with them, we could feel ourselves once again jogging on those trails and swaying on the tops of the trees.

The woods taught us to never take for granted the beauty of what you have in front of you.  It taught us respect the way we found it and do our best to leave it that way when we leave.  And most of all, it taught us to stop and say goodbye if you must leave. 

We who ran the woods and swayed in tall trees will always remember this.  We'll carry it in our hearts until, like the woods, we're no longer here.

Sorting Cows, Round Two

I haven't written about Round One.  Didn't go so well.  Champ, the horse that's been to a million shows and is always cool as a cucumber had, for better words, issues.  I truly risked my life from the moment he came off the trailer, trying to saddle him while he fish-tailed back and forth against the trailer. 

My agony didn't stop there.  When my trainer, Rachel, drove up to warm Champ up and found us in this uncontrollable dilemma, she asked me to fetch my ground work tools.  Well...I'd left them back at the barn.  Thinking there was no way they'd be needed for an event such as this.  WRONG!

I got to witness the difference of working a horse without ground work tools vs working one with.  It took longer without and I don't think we 'locked' in Champ's focus, as with the rope halter and lunge line.  Yet Rachel carried on and rode him and eventually we went up the hill and down the road to where the sorting was taking place.

Ironically, Champ's exposure to cows wasn't half as bad as his behavior at the trailer.  He was curious, a bit concerned when there were vocal teams in the pen working cows, but he held his own pretty well.  By his third time in, you could see he enjoyed pushing the cows into the other pen.

I watched this event, letting Rachel ride him and get him exposed.  We return this Thursday, weather permitting. 

Lessons learned?  (1)  Take my ground work tools!  (2)  Check with my riding pal, Kyle, who hauled us to the event, to ensure her horse is no longer in heat; (3)  Work Champ before we leave to settle him down.

Any other ideas would be appreciated!

An Early Morning Adventure

My husband likes to be up early.  He likes to go out with our dog at the break of dawn, feed the horses, commune with nature, etc.

Last week he had a pre-work morning meeting which brought him out to the barn to feed earlier than usual.  I was restless, listening to him get up in the dark and head out the door.  A few minutes later I heard him barreling down the hallway towards our bedroom and I knew something was wrong.

He asked me if I'd moved our horses to a different pasture the previous evening.  From the depths of my pillow came, "Noooo, they were in the winter pasture last night". 

He informed me no horses had shown up for breakfast.  Investigating their absence, he spotted two shadows way out in the summer pasture, pigging out on the rich, green grass, so high in sugar this time of year that we keep them away from it.  Our horses had found a way into where they shouldn't be. 

My now half-awake response was, "They must have opened the gate and gotten in."  Followed by a yawning of, "But there's a hot wire across the gate.  I just checked the signal last night and it was strong."  Followed by a wide awake, "Do you think someone was out there last night, took the hot wire down and opened the gate?"

This situation hadn't been part of my husband's early morning routine and he was now running behind schedule.  He told me when I got up I'd need to bring the horses in and figure out what happened.

When I got up?  Ha!  I was now up and any idea of sleep was long past.  Clambering out of bed, pulling on sweats, barn boots and a camo duck hunting jacket that has hung in our garage for over ten years, I grabbed our dog, Hank, and we headed out to catch two displaced horses and figure out the mystery.

One step out the garage door and I smelled Skunk.  It was so close that my eyes watered and I swear I could taste it.  Hank ran past me, charging into the bushes next to the house...just what I didn't need.

I yelled for Hank to come back, yet not sure if I was going to want him back.  He came out of the bushes back peddling towards me where I still stood at the door.  I, in turn, back peddled into the garage, not knowing if he'd been sprayed and already wondering what in the heck was the name of the stuff my sister-in-law suggested we use if Hank ever encountered a Skunk.

The smell of Skunk was so strong I couldn't tell if he'd been sprayed or not.  I had to bend down to smell Hank to get the verdict.  Hank in turn happily gave me a big lick on my face.  I was relieved to find no Skunk smell, only dog breath and Hank smell.

Leaving Hank unhappily in the house, I headed back out to capture our renegade horses.  The Skunk smell was fading as quickly as the dark.  In the early light I saw two horses where they shouldn't be. 

Grabbing a lead rope, I headed into the pasture towards Gus, closest to the gate.  He was a good sport, although a bit spooky, unusual for him but which I attributed to the fading smells of Skunk.  Thinking I was taking him to his stall for grain, I played right along.  Once he was inside I gave him the bad news of sliding the door shut without grain and headed out for Sunny, our older horse.

Sunny was way out across a low area in the pasture where water gathers in the spring and produces the most lovely frog sounds at night.  Walking through the "frog area" was going to be a problem for me, so I pleaded with Sunny to come to me.  No dummy, Sunny paid no attention.  It was obvious that all he cared about was his fine morning meal and not the lady in the camo jacket and sweats begging him to leave it for her. 

So the lady in the camo jacket had to go to Sunny, through the freezing cold pond water, which went up and over her barn boots and above her knees, while she thought about all the frogs lives she was impacting and odd tickles inside her boots, which she didn't want to think about at all.

Once Sunny was in the stall next to Gus, I investigated how they'd gotten out.  A big Belgian must have decided to rub his rear against the gate, pushing the gate latch through the wood that holds it, snapping the hot wire, which must have been quite a surprise to encounter (now I know why Gus was spooky.)  I repaired the wire, closed the gate, turned the hot wire back on and put the horses back where they belonged.

As I slogged to the house with wild-women night time hair, smeared eye make-up, drenched sweat pants up past my knees covered in green slime, frog eggs and who knows what else oozing around and between my frozen toes, my husband pulled out of the garage, all dressed up and heading to work.

He drove over to get an update on my early morning adventure.  As I leaned on his truck and emptied my boots of frogs, slime and water, I saw a little smile cross his face.  But he's a smart man, he didn't say another word.  Instead he quietly headed off to work. 

That evening he told me he'd shared at his early morning meeting how I'd gotten up and went out to get the horses, fixed the hot wire and gate.  He made it sound like I was the Cowgirl I've always wanted to be and that made me feel pretty good.

Our horses weren't any worse for wear from their early morning adventure and with one exception all was well.  The exception?  Well, the sound of frogs at night has been pretty sparse since that event.  :)

How I Nailed Down My Confidence

I've ridden pleasure horses all my life and we've had horses for over ten years.  Yet from my first fall at age five, I've always had to deal with confidence issues, more so now that I'm older. 

Champ was our daughter's Performance Horse.  He was never an easy horse for her but she was an advanced rider and with the help of trainers, she achieved positive results with him.  When she gave up riding and headed off to college, my family encouraged me to step in and call Champ mine, knowing it was a dream I'd always had to ride such a horse.  I recall not being sure about taking on this task and their assuring me that I was a better rider then I thought I was.

Still boarded where she'd ridden him, I signed up for lessons to learn how to ride 'correctly'.  As I planned for an early retirement, I had dreams of spending my days with Champ, becoming his best friend, going to shows and experimenting with other disciplines of riding.

I'd been used to 'loving' my horses.  But I found that if I tried to give Champ any "love" his behavior escalated totally out of control.  He was definitely a give an inch take a mile guy.  He greeted me with flattened ears and bared teeth when I'd approach his stall.  Entering his stall, he'd charge me or try to flatten me against a wall.

I couldn't engage in any conversation around me when I had Champ out of his stall.  If I talked at all, Champ's behavior would became worse to the point I could barely control him.  My barn pals learned to not talk to me and I endured silence to ensure his behavior wouldn't escalate.

Hand feeding Champ created an even worse monster.  As a result, I posted a sign on his stall that said (and still says), "Please Do Not Hand Feed".  But well-intended individuals at the barn would still slip Champ treats.  I could always tell when I arrived if Champ had been hand fed.  He had no focus but being aggressive.  He'd hang his head out his stall door as far as he could and try to bite anybody who walked by.  Well-intended individuals soon learned better after encountering Champ's snake-like behavior.

Yet I rode him through the spring/summer and fall.  I achieved my dream of showing in October and had a great time.  But I had to literally tip-toe around him to ensure I had good behavior.  As winter and cold weather came, our relationship went totally sideways.  My rides became so bad that I felt in danger when I was on him and in late-November I stayed off, using the "holiday season" as an excuse to not ride.

My breaking point came in early January.  After staying off for five weeks, and now being retired, I went to take my lesson and stood in tears next to Champ as I told my trainer that I was too terrified to get on.  I cried so hard, mourning all my lost confidence, the good rides, the lope I'd started to achieve and the relationship (I thought) I'd made with this horse.

My trainer must have been as frustrated with me as I was with me.  She suggested I sell Champ, telling me that he was the kind of horse where one would never know what they have until they got on.   I told her my family was totally against the idea of selling him; I'd already brought up the subject.  So either I dealt with this behavior or turned Champ out to pasture.  Having lost my older riding horse at home a few weeks earlier to Colic, sending Champ home left me with no horse to ride.

My trainer told me that I then needed to accept what I have and commit to taking steps to 'fix' the problem.  She really laid it on the line.  She told me flat out that if I was going to keep riding with her, keep riding at all, that I needed to introduce ground work to Champ and my relationship.  She warned me that it would take full commitment on my part and the road wouldn't be easy.  She expected to see me at the barn every (and she stressed that word) day, working with Champ.  I asked her if she could give me some pointers on ground work and she agreed, but only if I'd be present and utilize what I learned.  I nodded my head and agreed to the "contract".

A fellow barn pal asked me if I'd like to get in on an order for rope halters from Clinton Anderson.  I'd already been following a monthly article in a magazine on his work with a person who had some of the same issues I did.  I ordered the halter and found the knots across the nose made a difference when I worked with Champ.  He was so out of tune that initially they cut his face but the halter soon set a tone when I put it on him and he gave it great respect.

I had a stick at home.  I brought it to the barn and carried it with me every time I was around Champ.  If it wasn't for that stick I don't think I'd be here.  In our earlier days of ground work, Champ would turn on me and with ears pinned and teeth bared, he'd charge me at a full gallop.  I'd swing my stick from left for right in front of me.  There were plenty of times I thought he'd run me over but I stood my ground and he'd turn at the last minute.  I then knew (and he did too) that I'd won that round.

I spent every one of my newly retired days with Champ, following the articles in the magazine, referring to old ones, using my lessons and pointers from my trainer.  Yes, I had extra time to work with Champ but I'd estimate that once I got my ground work routine down and Champ's behavior started to come around, it only took me an hour or so each day.  Even though I didn't ride, the ground work and positive results it provided gave me confidence.

About 3 weeks later I felt ready to climb back up on Champ (after we completed our daily ground work).  I had the most incredible ride and from there they got better and better.

About 5 or 6 weeks into ground work I learned the lesson that nails down my confidence every time I ride:  Knowing what I have before I climb on.  Both Champ and I were now comfortable with our ground work and I was able to judge from the licking and chewing, lowered head and overall demeanor, when it was ok to call it quits and ride.

Sure I didn't know 100 percent what I was going to get.  Initially, when my confidence level was still low, I'd see the above-mentioned signals but I'd work Champ longer.  Many times he was a sweating mess before I'd call it quits to ride.  Interesting that on those days, he was so tired from the ground work that he was obviously relieved when I went to ride him.

I can only describe that like building blocks, the ground work and each ride got better and better to where I am today.  Champ and I will be going to meet cows this Thursday and give a hand at sorting.  Something I'd never have considered before.

Ground work now comes before riding, and it always will.  I nailed my high level of confidence down tight with my mantra of knowing what I have before I climb on, using ground work as the tool to determine when we're ready.

Champ is a different horse.  As soon as he hears my voice in the barn, he's at his stall door with ears pricked.  Entering his stall, he makes room for me and waits patiently for my next move.  I can visit and chat with my pal's as Champ stands patiently in the cross-ties.  Walking to the arena, indoor or out, he walks at my shoulder and stops when I stop, backing a few steps. 

Yes, we still have some issues but nothing that challenges my confidence or that I can't accept.  Champ is an inquisitive horse and always will be.  I haven't figured out if he's too intelligent or not intelligent enough, but either way it's maxed out on that side of the bar.  He's normally lazy and I have to get his motor engaged when we work at the lope, etc. 

He gives me "try" these days and it thrills me when he's consumed in listening to me and trying to do what I'm asking.  He accepts correction when he's wrong, as if he knows it!  Yet he gets grumpy when he's corrected and it's the rider's fault, not his.

Today I'm a rider for all seasons, not just a few.  I no longer dread going to ride, but look forward to my time with Champ and the fun it brings us.  I received the highest compliment recently when my husband told me, "You've become the rider you always wanted to be." 

I owe my thanks ground work.  It helped me nail down my confidence tightly and achieve the special relationship Champ and I now share.

Fear and the R-Word

My Mom was terrified of mice and rats.  Her next door best friend, Joyce, was just as terrified of snakes.  They had a deal.  My Mom took care of Joyce's snakes and Joyce dealt with my Mom's mice.  The agreement worked well for both of them for many years.

So guess what fear I inherited?  Yup, my fear of mice/rats is famous.  My story of fear is well told by my friends, who woke up at my parent's cabin on a 'girl's weekend', to find my bed empty, my car and clothes gone.  They had no idea what had happened to me.

I'd been laying there WIDE awake watching the mice 'rule' the cabin while my friends all slept soundly.  At 4AM, I'd had it.  I got up, packed my bags and headed home on a 2 hour drive.  I just couldn't deal with the mice running around the cabin floors, across the furniture, etc.  It was like they owned the place!  My pals never heard a thing.

Doesn't quite fit in with horses does it?

In our previous barn, the hay for our horses was up in a loft.  There were around 20 ladder rings to reach the loft.  Every time I went up the ladder, I'd take my metal rake and swing it with all my might against the ladder before I started the climb.

My message was, "I'm coming up, get out of my way"!  The rats and mice understood my message.  In all the years I climbed up to and worked around the loft, I never encountered a single...ugh.....hate this word....."R-o-d-e-n-t....."

The rats (huge Warf rats), mice (big fat ones) and I (5'3") had an "agreement". When I was up in the loft they kept out of my way.  But I still faced the fear of running into one and was always tentative on my climb up.  So much so that I named the last ring on the ladder "Commitment". 

Once I stepped off Commitment I slid on my stomach onto the loft floor and then stood up.  Leaving quickly wasn't an option, what happened after I left Commitment was something I had to deal with.  I had to face it, I couldn't quickly retrace my steps.

When there were 4-tons of hay up in the loft, there wasn't any room for doubt when you stepped off of Commitment.  I had less than a foot to negotiate getting on the loft.  With my face pressed up against bales of sweet smelling hay, I'd struggle for room to get my legs under me and stand up.  I was in a vulnerable position and dreaded I'd come face-to-face with some "R-Word's" visiting, uneducated, kin.  Thankfully, they did a great job of educating their family and friends.

I pitied the poor kids who fed for us when we were out of town.  The "R-Words" didn't get the iron rake warning.  They didn't know someone was coming up the ladder until they met them face to face as the poor kid climbed off of Commitment.  The screams of terror were heard across the fields.
Today our hay resides in one of our stalls as we don't have a loft.  I miss turning the barn radio up full blast, climbing up and leaving Commitment to play "Rock Star", using my pitch fork as an air guitar and facing the flood light shining in my face from across the other side of the barn.  Gotta tell you, it was a real thrill to be the Star of your own loft!

My husband and I, both professionals faced times of incredible stress while we climbed our career ladders.  I'd be up in the loft sitting on a bale of hay, and my husband would be down below.  On evenings after a rough day at work, we'd talk for hours about our days, how we'd endured, what we'd do better tomorrow, how we'd deal with conflicts.  We'd cleanse our souls, mend our minds and repair our hearts.  I'd climb down and we'd walk home, arm in arm to dinner, refreshed and better for our "barn time".

I miss seeing the horse's backs from the loft, coming into the mangers below, to get the hay I'd just slid down into their feeders.  I used to like watching them from up there, wondering what they'd think if I jumped down onto their backs (probably wouldn't care for it too much).  I loved hearing them munch and snort as they rummage around to get the best parts of their feed first.

Yes, those "R-words" are here at my present barn.  But they don't seem to be as smart as the one's at my old barn.  I seem to run into them more often, although I'm a seasoned barn person now and I don't (usually) scream (very) often. 

I love our 5-stall barn, the loafing sheds and pastures through the doors on the various sides, the heated tack room, etc.  But I'll always miss Commitment, having a loft, being my own rock star, and ...ugh, I must admit, my relationship with the "R-Words" that lived up there.

The Cabin

Last weekend we decided to go up to our cabin.  We hadn't been there since October, didn't go up this last winter during the snow season.

We decided to send the boys to the 'spa' for the weekend instead of asking someone to come in and feed them.  Although they're sweet and gentle, their size can be intimidating.  They joined Champ at his barn for the weekend.

We caused quite a stir when we arrived at the barn with our big Belgians.  But we soon had them settled down and off we went.  My husband tied the lead rope to the gate just in case they decided to follow us.

It was a relaxing drive up Snoqualmie Pass to our cabin.  As each mile passed I found myself remembering drives taken throughout the many years.  As a child, teenager, and adult.  Our engagement nearby at our still favorite restaurant, Mama Vallone's (25 years ago next month)!  Going up there before the birth of our daughter and when she was a brand new baby, a child, teenager and now college student.  And my all time memory - the first time I hauled up our horses in our wimpy F-150/4-speed. 

Lots of good laughs and smiles on the way up the Pass!  It was good to see the cabin and know that it had gotten through another winter. 

We found ourselves the only people around.  After being on the highway for an hour, the silence was welcoming.  We could hear the wind sighing through the trees, the birds and chipmunks chirping around us.  Both of us (and Hank, our dog) took big sighs, breathing in the scented pine trees and clean air.  These cabins were originally built to host those who worked in the Mill.  The tin on the roofs allow the snow to slide.

Up here it's still early spring and it looks kind of barren.  The view from our front door.  A great place to throw the ball for Hank, which I did over and over again.  Soon the cottonwoods will be full of leaves the grass will be emerald green.

Once we were unpacked and settled in, Hank found his bed in the living room too inviting and decided to take a snooze.  The red Coleman oil stove belonged to and was used by my Grandparents.

Our kitchen, with two stoves.  I'm thinking two stoves are one too many!







My sister-in-law arrived the next day.  She and her three dogs  joined Hank on the right for dinner.  I asked dogs if they'd like a T-R-E-A-T and this was their response.  Who says dogs can't spell?  Good Dogs!  All Four of them!!  Shortly thereafter, worn out from a day of exploring, they feel asleep in the living room.  Sleeping, snoring, dog bodies all over the place!  One could barely move.

On our last day we took a walk around "camp" to check it out. These train cars are used for overflow of cabin guests.






The Mill which had a spur off of the main train tracks. Lots of history here, lots of memories.

I don't know how many times all of us kids climbed on top of this green caboose and leaned left/right, getting it to rock.  Neither do I know how many kids were hired to paint it each year! 
I know my brother was one of them. 

Swaying up there we talked about where we were headed.  It would be neat for us to all climb up there today and find out where we all ended up.  The car in front, the "crummy", pulls the caboose. 


We checked out the corral to see what we needed to do to get it in shape so we can start bringing our horses up with us.  We found we're about ready to run our hot wire. Not much longer and they'll be coming with us! 

In the 1960's when I first came up here, horses were in this corral, used for the adult's week long trail rides.  In the early mornings, when my family was still asleep, I used to come down here and stand in the corral with all the wonderful horses and "talk" to them.

There were beautiful, majestic horses in this pasture with names such as Checkers, the huge Appaloosa; Princess the Golden Palomino; Corkey the Gorgeous Paint; Ted the Red Chestnut; Laddie the Blue Mustang; and Copper the Incredible Wonder Horse that all of us kids loved to death.  There were more, wish I could remember them all.  :(

The view from the corral shows the snow level is still pretty low, close to the cabins.  And as I write this today, in late April, the weather report says the snow level will drop to our cabin level tonight.  A little too early to bring up horses, I think.




Heading back to the cabin, we found my sister-in-law sitting out in the sun reading a book.  Hank and I joined her for a well-deserved, overdue, nice, long chat.   We sat there for hours until it was time for us to leave.  I found my nose sunburned when I got home and Hank?  Well, he was exhausted from running with his cousins and pretty much slept for two days!

It was good to get back up to the cabin, to a place I've loved with all my heart since I was a child.  My parents and little brother loved it up there.  Sometimes when I hear the wind sighing in the trees I can hear them laughing and I smile, remembering all the great times we shared together as a family.  Going up to the cabin is like coming home.

The wind in the trees sings a lovely memory

And the water in the creek sings along

But the best thing of all are the trees that are so tall...

That's how you sing the Cabin Mountain song

From the song, Cabin Mountain Song
Written by This Author :)
1978