Horses astray... faded dreams

    The bird song outside my window was a lovely way to greet the morning. I lay there, eyes still closed, listening to the ambitious melody of birds in the great, white birch tree along that side of my house. Trying to follow their conversation, I was startled by a non-bird sound. Clip-clop, at a rapid tempo, of not one but at least 3 horses, on the pavement in front of my house. My clock confirmed the time: 4:40am.
    I sat bolt up in bed, and listened harder trying to place the direction of the hoofbeats. 'were they coming toward or going away from the farm? If I hear 3, where are the other six horses? With the trees in full leaf, I couldn't see anything, yet. Outta bed, trying not to fall on shaky legs, trying to focus my blurred morning vision... I made my way to the bedroom door and down the central stairs. Now I could see them. Three geldings, my brown horses, trotting gracefully north on route 109. 'they'll turn for the barn and I'll have them...' Nope, they ignored my thoughts and continued briskly up the easterly neighbor's drive way. 'good enough, they'll put their heads down in his ample grass to eat; I'll have time to gather halters and ropes and walk them back...' But meantime, 'where is the rest of the herd?' I grabbed Honda car keys and fired out to check the summer pasture behind my house. Half way up the old farm road,  along side the 8 acre field, I could see them, all six swatting flies and un-concerned about their eloped herdmates. I counted heads and named them in my mind. 'good, the alpha mares are here still; that's why these ponies didn't go venturing with their boys...' I need these horses to stay put, 'don't follow the naughty ponies...'
   Driving back to the barn, I threw in two bales of hay and a bag of grain returning to the good ponies at near frantic speed. As I scurried to put out their grain, I remembered I'm wearing pink pajamas, satin no less, a curious sight if my neighbors are awake this Sunday morning. Dashing to my back door, with hay in the car, I skidded up the hilly lawn and I put out the hay by the water tank. Food is the best reason for a horse to stay put; I needed this to work while I figure it out.
    I puzzled the options for the escapees. I didn't hear hoofbeats on pavement and so believed they were grazing next dooryard. I'd collect them and apologize for damages as I back filled the dipples in that turf. I had time to change and take some water for my panic-parched throat. When I began pulling my car out the drive, a neighbor rolled in. My car clock blinked 5: 10am. I have to get going, traffic will pick up soon and endless blind curves and hollows on this road.
   "Are you missing any horses? There are 3 on our lawn! we're a mile away...the little log cabin...can I help?" she queried from her window.  I paused long enough to register those precious words. "yes, you can block north bound traffic, I'll drive after them and try to nudge them home...they are lost and confused without their boss mares... but they won't know to avoid cars..." I grabbed a ball cap to keep the stray hair out of my face.
    Winding north, a trolley speed, I spotted them sauntering back toward home, but still a thin mile out. Horrible piece of road for sightlines; hitting one of these thousand pound horses would be fatal for horse and car alike. This thought set me to shaking. I'm insured, but not enough if there is a strike. I eased north of them and herded them with the nimble Element. Until they spotted a lawn, then cut off the road for the lush grass; this was my chance to halter them. I borrowed the driveway to park and quietly stepped out. The horses were curious but hyper alert as this was not their pasture. They were content until they heard the halter rings jingle. Heads held up, they started trotting off the lawn. A shake of the plastic grain scoop and they stopped quick and rolled back cutting the rain softened turf. I'll apologize and repair this one as  I approached and haltered the wayward lads, hooking a lead onto the alpha gelding. I finally took my first deep breath, and walked the lead horse off the lawn. Just in time for the first vehicle of morning, a large container truck in full chrome, to race past us blowing off my cap. 'f*%#er I thought, he'd kill a horse just to be on time for his donut'. It was my first, and only cuss of the morning. Haste and hassle have no place with horses; especially not with at-risk horses.
   Facing my horse in hand, I puzzled still more, ' I've a thin mile to gettem home, the others will follow him, I know; but I can't leave my car, can't walk that far on my wobbly legs... 10 years ago I could have easily... but not these days. Lord, make me strong and smart here...' I looked at my car, the large driver's window, the empty road... I will lead him from the car; I have to. These horses are used to following a car for race starts. This horse is smart, obedient and fearless. If we all stay calm and just breathe, with no impatient drivers, if neighbor stops all northbound traffic, we will get back without mishap. That's the plan. Now to think it there...
  My tall, elegant gelding wasn't too sure of his first step aside my vividly orange Honda. Thankfully, the all-wheel drive rig sat high off the ground; that put the horse's head at a natural height for our walk back. The first half mile went easy and I wondered what my horse training mentors would say if they could see this sight. GoGo walked casually with his mates behind him in perfect hiarchey to his lead, until we rounded the corner that put our homestretch in sight. With a tenth of a mile to go, the younger geldings burst out in front like the race horses they were bred to be. I had to drop the lead shank and hope their common sense would guide them to the barn. As they broke away from my mindful grasp, I watched their beauty and held my breath.
  Down into the barnyard and into the parlor they trotted gratefully. Safe at last, I could hook onto their halters, feed them each their grain and scold them while they chewed. "what were you thinking? you've never gone so far in your jaunts, you went past all the hayfields, what made you do that?" With the horses secure, I went up the road to thank my neighbor and send her along. "Amazing they came back like that... safe a sound...just lucky...", she offered. My sincere response, "... thank you for helping with traffic, only the early morning saved them... I'm surprised they left the herd at all... the storm last night must have broken fence and they found it...alls well that ends well...", my voice was shaking as I spoke. All the adrenalin and crisis had caught up to me. I went back home to check the grazing horses who stayed with their feed. 'I'll have to sit a bit, eat a little and move them to the barn later...' I reflected on how lucky I was, my young boyz slept through it all, no real harm was done, just another year off my life and more gray hair, and the hard reality that I must dissolve this dream of mine... I must acknowledge my limits in health and finance and farm. I must let go of my model horse centered experiment, once and for all....before I loose it in tragedy. Everything happens for a reason; this was my wake up call. At 5:55 am, I finally had a cup of coffee and resolved to re-home the last rescued horses of a 20 year odyssey in equine welfare. It's time to let it go. Some dreams die hard; I'm grateful that this one is quietly slipping away.
peace ~ ell
this one is for the awesome brown horses who teach me in every way

dream to live

   In my dreams he speaks easily, has wavy blond hair and and rides a chopper-like stiletto bicycle trike with an electric motor. He smiles always, and chats with kids and neighbors he meets on the sidewalks. When I dream of him, all his best qualities are vibrant in his young man's competent body. He is gentle and loving and a popular member of our small town community. I wake renewed and inspired in my commitment for his quality of life.
   As I go to him to admire his sleeping features; I wonder if God sends me these dreams to affirm my belief in my blue-eyed wonder boy. I take in the faith, that my son's best interests will be ensured and his strengths and talents will be nurtured. He will become a happy, contented person. In my dreams, his challenges and barriers become great tools of teaching for all who know him.
  In my dreams, he succeeds in teaching all of us, what truly matters in our lives. He teaches us that quality of our experiences is a greater measure of life's value than the quantity of material gains. Like a prophet of love, giving and being, he radiates goodness of a life lived well.
  I wish that every person who knows him, could dream my dreams of him. His limits would become differences and not obstructions to knowing him, to guiding him to his person-hood. In my dreams, he is my hero. In my life, he is my greatest teacher. And I thank our Lord for bringing him to me and purposing my life in the quest for his wholeness and I thank my son for teaching me how to be a better human. I love you Graham, always and forever.
love and peace ~ ell

  

memorial day 2011

   Finally, a beautiful day of spring-like sun graced us. It was Memorial Day  in our small town and kith and kin were here with their assorted tasks to abide. The boyz, Graham and Eli, marched with the scouts in our town's brief parade to Memorial Rock. Daughter Quilla, would be marching with her school band and my outlaw biker man decided to bolt the 3x5 flag to his Harley and cruise into the village to watch it all.

walking the great flag to Memorial Rock

   I love our town's solemn tribute to this day. The local women and men in uniform will participate bearing flags; they will adorn the veterans' graves in the town cemetery, make some speeches and, hopefully, feel the appreciation of the townsfolk who line the route and surround the service.
   Lining up the parade participants at the school, it was a somber group of scouts, vets and families. Uniforms were straightened, flags were unfurled and formations were practiced, as the bands tuned their instruments. My boys were assigned corners of the very large flag. Along with their den-mates, they would walk this flag, holding it taunt, for the quarter mile distance to the ceremony. A den leader defined their roles, "...you all need to walk in time, be aware of each other..", as the young grade schoolers flapped the great flag and marveled at its breadth. I had to add, "... I don't think they can understand that advice, Mr. Barnes; may I? men! just keep this off of the ground, do not let it touch the ground, ever! You can do it!", was my simple advice. Eli took the front corner and then, Graham walked up and took the back corner. I was delighted and then realized I would have to walk that distance along side him on this hot day. With a shout from the leader we were off.

Eli with serious thoughts

  These young boys can walk briskly, but I managed to keep up and we arrived in perfect form to the ceremony. I was pleased with these youngsters, taking this so seriously and rising to the occasion. I snapped a few pictures. The speeches were made, a couple kids needed to be escorted to shade while I delighted in the event's small town endeavor. It's so humble, an authentic tribute to our local sacrifices. I ignored my inner doubt of war and focused on the human scale of the offering. By the time we had returned to our car, settled the kids with their charges, the afternoon had be planned. My bikerman, inspired by the patriotic tone, announced the flag would stay on the bike and we would "...take a little ride, go get some lunch, and enjoy the day.."

a shade break in Eden Mills

   Back at the farm, with chaps and lid buckled, sun glasses adjusted, tail bag full of jackets, map, trailmix and water; we mounted and headed out. We followed rte 109N; it was in good condition compared to so many other VT roads. Smooth and lightly traveled in the northern reaches of Lamoille County, it was nearly free of traffic. An occasional traveler, some bikes out for the sites, like us. But most folks were gathered around picnic tables at family round ups, was my guess. As we rolled by small groups, the loud pipes would turn their heads our way; the whipping flag would garnish waves and "wows" and thumbs up. The deeper we rode into the small towns, the farther along the way back roads we traveled, the more exuberant the random spectators became. They would leave their lawn chairs, stand up on their porches, lean over the fence rails to give a long look and enthusiastic wave at our one bike parade.
   We left the state roads of the county and followed the winding pavement of the back roads through Eden Mills, Lowell, Westfield and Troy. Gliding past crumbling hill farms, bygone shanties from the asbestos mining era, and rusting homesteads still occupied by the same generations that staked out these sites. This was a very real Appalachia, very much alive and firmly rooted at this edge of the Northeast Kingdom. This is a Vermont that the 5 o'clock news has ignored and a media savvy government has neglected. Riding past the poverty, I thought that maybe these Vermonters like it that way. No one bothers them and they don't bother anyone else. A patch of shade loomed ahead, and my driver elected to stop and stretch.

   The road would take us to rte 100N, the main way to Newport and its spectacular Lake Mempremeggog. We've been to it many times, but manage to enjoy it afresh in every visit. This trip, we would divine our way to the Eastside Restaurant and Bar. Taking a table on the deck, we would enjoy the eats, the rest and the shade. Thankfully, it was noticeably cooler at the water and the crowd was thin so we could linger and revive for the ride home.
   Mounted up, we resumed our odd circle of the north country with our flag still in full glory. Route 105 to the Port of North Troy was in near perfect condition and too few cars to count. The station was all quiet, no cars, or cyclists or flags. Tough day for the patrollers assigned here; we snapped a picture and went south.

2up in the Green Mountains

These border towns are small, remote and original. The architecture hasn't changed much and offers a glimpse into the past of  Vermont's glory days. I get lost in these imaginings evoked of the old sepia prints of the decades past. In those historic still-lifes, people were abustle, streets were busy, and villages burst with community. As we roll by, there were no dapper strollers on the sidewalks, no patriotic banners on porch rails, no parishioners gathered on the church lawn for cool drinks. These towns weren't dead, just in a coma of comforts as folks had retreated inside, in their own living rooms with cable or Wii or iTunes.  I held on  with a squeeze to my driver and changed my thoughts to the emerald wilderness around us. We are so lucky to live here, to travel to places that weave past into present while the mountains, the valleys, the waters stay constant.

sunburnt for the East Side Grill

  With that, we trolled through Jay and then onto its infamous ascent. Where expansive vistas and tight twisties challenged the bike. The Low Ride throttled, climbed and wrangled that mountain road easily, proving her worth and grace in that gauntlet. Over 38K in miles, a major spring tune up, and a sparkling day to ride as she showed herself off to all viewers. The road was rough, unkept for some years, but it was doable and my driver made the journey happen. Up south over Jay Peak and then down north and finally onto the familiar road home.

Jay Peak summit house

   It's still early in the season, and as the bike defied her vintage limits, we were aware of ours. One hundred ten miles and we were sunburned (forgot the sunblock), aching (forgot the Advil), cussing our Vermont roads, and smiling as we cracked our beers in celebration. It was a grand run; a few more roads highlited on our recorded map of traveled roads. No place in Vermont is disappointing to see; I am so blessed to have a biker man who plans to get me to every one of them. I close my eyes and recite a biker's prayer: 'ride safe with the rubber side down and the shinny side up ~ ride on.
ell
this is for them that take the road less traveled