The Life and Times of the Plume

Sometimes the very thing you don’t think you can make time to do is the very thing you must make time to do. I stepped out the front door with the dogs last night, strolled down the driveway and sat down in the sage to watch the sunset, be nearer to the water, hear the birds, feel the breeze and be still. Life right now is feeling too fast and too full. I’m sick with something but I’m getting through it. Robbie keeps telling me that I am living fully when my stress levels are low and that means making sure I walk the dogs in the morning, ride a horse in the evening, work hard and find some stillness every day. I recently told someone that when we bought the farm it was a deep relief to me. This place came to us after years of dividing our lives between Idaho and Washington, years of over-working myself, years of being (lightly and heavily) abused by others, two-and-a-half years of being stalked by a malicious individual (the term “stalking” was applied by the police who helped me with the situation though I was never able to obtain a restraining order or press charges of any kind)……………and all the other general wear and tear of life.

This place has been my solace, my healing grounds, my safe haven after years of feeling tired, hurt and afraid. When I sit in the sage over my section of the river with my dogs in the echo of the wildflowers under the broad wing of God, my soul takes its rest and I know all is well — and if it isn’t, it shall be.

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First, I’d like to tell you about this very morning. Robbie has gone back to work for the week and so I stepped out the front door alone, with a cup of green tea steeping in my hand, to tend all the critters which has become my favorite way to begin my days. Halfway to the paddocks, the scent of the almond grove hit me and I felt dizzy with the pinkness of it. I picked up an especially nice turkey feather from a patch of vibrant, reaching grass. Up in the canopy of blossoms I could hear a storm of bees — the sound of them at work is symphonic, droning, drawn out, as though someone is pulling an infinite horsehair bow across a single string on a viola: endless, monotone, musical. God save the bees.

All around I heard meadowlark, oriole, yellow-winged black bird, a pleasant chorus of waxwings, Canada goose and best of all, the chatter between the red-tailed hawks as they build their nest out in the windrow in our big hayfield. Isn’t nest building such a marvelous mystery? I see the birds carrying their branches, twine and twigs to their carefully selected locations and it occurs to me that perhaps, not long ago (in a geological sense), before industry, before we began to hire contractors and builders to put our homes together for us, we, too, carefully selected our branches and twigs and wove everything together with mud, sinew and horsehair to keep the weather out and our families in.

To add to that miraculous cacophony of wild birds, my own hens, ducks and turkeys were chattering about the day with each other as the kittens (who are now cats) rubbed circles around my ankles. IT IS BEAUTIFUL HERE. Spring always seems to burst wide open and then plummet off an invisible edge into summer. I wish it would hang on just a little longer. I especially wish those almond blossoms would last a little longer. I want my whole life to be that hue.

Out in the pasture the horses were laying in the sun. They stood as I approached and woofed all my pockets searching for carrots. I had two so we stood there munching and touching until I haltered Duplicate and Resero decided to show me his exquisite majesty and gallop around the pasture for a good ten minutes. I laughed aloud and encouraged him. Everything is so fat and sassy here, it’s hard to not encourage the glad antics! When I returned to halter Resero and take him to his paddock he galloped some more, putting on a beautiful show for me and I stood there in awe and watched him and spoke to him,

“Oh, but you are splendid. You are the most splendid thing about this morning.”

When I finally put the halter on him I spent some time touching him and picking up his feet and then I lunged him a bit until he joined up with me and his eyes were soft and he dropped his head, sighed a relaxed sigh and stood there shining like a new penny in the bright sun.

In a few more weeks I’ll start my day the same way followed by picking some greens from the garden and switching off/on the irrigation lines in the hayfield before I go in for breakfast and ultimately, long and quiet hours in the studio. I love this life we’ve made for ourselves. I feel lucky I can say that about my life.

The Introduction:

We claimed for ourselves a second horse in early March, right around the time our WIFI broke and stayed broken for almost four weeks which is why this is a belated introduction. But who cares about the WIFI, let me tell you about this boy. This is The Duplicate (though I usually call him Hawk). He’s a Tennessee Walking Horse and we are lucky to have him. He’s five years old, smart, easy going, and somewhere between green broke and trained which makes him a fun project for Robbie and I! Walking horses are gaited horses (their gait is called a running walk) though they need to develop their gait and the muscles required to gait, it doesn’t come as naturally to them as the gait does in a Peruvian Paso. These horses can be clocked as fast as 20mph when in a fully extended running walk. But the strength required to move like that needs to be developed so riding this fellow looks like dedication and patience right now. I see such potential in him. He’s going to be a great horse and I believe he’s a wonderful match for Robert. Moreover, we’re wanting to use these horses for big game hunting trips and I think Duplicate will do fantastically in the mountains. He’s so tall and strong and leggy! What a beauty!

So there you have it. Horses are like German Shorthaired Pointers or babies, if you’re going to have one, you might as well have two but three is a lot.

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Pinto — A Belated Introduction

Springing