Old Friend

Folly is turning thirty years old this year. We celebrate his birthday on April 9th; carrot cake and cream cheese frosting for all, but Folly won't eat his share of the cake. He likes his carrots raw, straight up, no sugar added. He's always been kind of a tough guy. Maybe I'll eat his portion. I love carrot cake and cream cheese.

I'm proud of the way he looks. A little sway-backed, to be sure, but overall chunky and solid for his advancing years. He still loves a good roll in the snow and mud. The other day he trotted past Belle with his tail flagged and his head held high. "Look at me! Don't you think I'm handsome?" Belle is already smitten by redheads so she gave an approving nicker and a shake of her mane.

I believe that having gotten this far, Folly could go on forever. After all, at thirty years old he's already beaten the odds. Horses have it tough; they aren't at all like dogs who tend to stay mostly with one owner. Horses are passed around from home to home so that throughout a lifetime a single horse finds himself having to adjust to several owners. Some good, some not so good, and some, I'm sure, Folly would rather forget. With each move, there is a new set of rules, a new herd of horses, and new living conditions to get accustomed to.

The horse stays the same while all around him everything changes. One owner believes in all day turnout, the next keeps you locked up in your stall. One owner is gentle with the bridle, the next jabs you in the mouth and kicks you in your gut. One herd of horses is kind and welcoming, while the next simply won't accept you. If you're the adaptable type, you survive and live to a ripe old age like Folly.

In his heyday, Folly was a trail horse. He had a stint as a barrel racing horse, too, but I bet he wasn't much good at it. Just too much excitement for him. I am forever indebted to him. He was very good at showing novice trail horses the ropes and helped us introduce both Morgan and Mighty to the trails. He liked to be the leader horse, but in his later years, he gave up that spot and was content to bring up the rear, an equally important position.

What I like most about old horses is their level of acceptance of all things. Folly hangs his head over his stall door and all around him is quietude. He sleepily closes his eyes and gently smacks his lips as I clean stalls across the aisle. I feel tranquil when I am around him. This is what it feels like to no longer feel you need to change anything or direct anything or save anyone from anything.

What a relief that must be....

Winter fades.....March 15th, 2011

I have not posted in a while. Old Man Winter has kept us very busy in our first year at Pen-y-Bryn. I could write that we spent our winter battling snow storms, but that isn't exactly true. The study of horsemanship has taught us well. We no longer battle against anything that outweighs us by several thousand pounds. We've learned to move with that kind of energy, absorbing it, and waiting it out. Dave spent a lot of his time on the tractor, patiently taking snow from one place and moving it to another. Our neighbors did the same. That's what people do in the north.

Every morning, the horses greeted us with their steamy breath, like five dragons on an English moor. We cracked icy buckets, navigated Mighty and Morgan through snowy labyrinths, and hoped the snow didn't get so high that the horses would simply step over their fence to freedom.

We never had the chance to put the end doors on the barn so on the worst nights the wind would howl right down the aisle, making things really unpleasant for us, but not so bad for the horses who stayed cozy in their stalls and safely out of the worst of it. On those nights, we couldn't speak to each other. The wind was so wicked and wild it took our voices and carried them off. We got the feeling that this wind could do whatever it wanted with us; maybe peel the barn roof back and carry us all off to who knows where. We tried really hard not to wage battle with the wind.

This winter has been given the title of the worst Connecticut winter since 1978. I think we broke some sort of snowfall record in January, over 6 feet of snow. That could be true. I don't know anything about breaking records as I've never been the competitive type, but it was a good old-fashioned, story-book winter. That much I know.

Here at Pen-y-Bryn, we spent winter in a snow globe, under a dome of never-ending snowfall that drifted into every nook, every lonely path, through the garage door, and into Dave's workshop. We spent many a dark night reading by the fire while a new fury raged against our window panes.

Still, it's March 15th, and we can see grassy spots. The hills are snow-covered, but the Mourning Doves are cooing and there's a chipmunk busy motoring along between tree stump and rock wall just outside my window.

Today, Kelly and I picked out our spring chicks.

Spring is just around the corner.

We've been 'in at Pen-y-Bryn' now for five or six weeks. What a great winter for living in the northern part of the state. Silent woods, diamond flecked snow, thick winter coats on the horses. Lovely.

The grass is growing in, finally. Tipper loves to chase chipmunks along the rocks, and a nice photo of the old sugar shack.

Dave seeding the lawn, the pond, and the barn!

At this point, we could change our minds and have a picnic pavilion instead, but the horses like the idea of a barn.

Recent Horse Photos