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

Progress!

We now have shutters. Looks so pretty. Tipper and I walked through the woods and found our neighbors having a barrel racing show. What I love about Tipper is that she totally 'gets' being a spectator. Just gets herself comfy and watches the games. When it's time to leave she hides behind a bush or lies in the cool dirt by the garage. She won't come. I know how she feels. We all want to stay. It feels like where we belong now.

Trip to the Hardwood Outlet

A trip to the Hardwood Outlet yesterday in Enfield. Beautiful place. The smell of freshly milled wood the moment you step through the doors. Listen to the names of the woods; like words in a poem.
Spanish Cedar, White oak, Lacewood, Eucalyptus, Cypress, Q-sawn Sycamore, Poplar, Walnut, Red Maple curly, Sassafras, Maple Birdseye, Hickory, Basswood, Cherry, Hard Maple, and Flame Birch. All sold by the board foot. The old man running the place told me no husband should be allowed to go there without his wife. Too tempting. He seemed surprised to have a woman in the place. Asked me if Dave had promised to take me clothes shopping afterward. I told him I wasn't much for clothes shopping.

Pen-y-Bryn

That's a tankless hot water heater. Didn't know they had such things! Good energy savings. Dave is building our kitchen cabinets. He rented a spot in an old factory and moved all his heavy equipment. A daunting project, but it will be well worth it in the end. The house now has siding on it!

July 17, 2010

Windows in, roof on. Fireplace wall. Beautiful.

The latest goings on at Pen-y-Bryn. Met the plumber today. Told us that Mike is the best builder he's ever worked with. Love the house. Every worker says, 'beautiful house!'. They love working with this design. Took some pics of front, back, and side....plus one shot of the locals chewing the cud.

Dave has been looking for a tractor. Here he is standing on one of the builder dude's tractors. His thoughts?....."Yes.....but is it big enough?" Going to have to put a leash on him.

Then, we have Tipper, feeling smaller than a gerbil next to all these cavernous holes, big dirt piles, and big yellow tractor thingies.

May 29th, 2010- lots of progress!

Permit on Monday night....big hole by Saturday. Cool.

Recipe for Yorkshire Pudding

4 Large fresh eggs
equal quantity of fresh milk to eggs
same with all purpose flour
pinch of salt
vegetable fat or pan drippings (best if you use Crisco...no, this is not health food.)

Mix the first four ingredients. Consistency should be somewhat like cake batter. Leave to sit for 30 minutes.

Put a pat of Crisco (about 1 tblsp) in each muffin hole of the muffin tin pan. You can make one big one in a big cake pan, but there is so much less fighting if everyone gets their own pudding. And they taste better this way.

Put the muffin pan in a 450 degree oven. When the fat is just smoking, ladle mixture in to 1/3 full. Bake for about 20 minutes. Keep a close eye on them, but don't open oven.

Serve with just about anything; pot roasts and roast turkey are the faves. Encourage guests to fill with a dollop of gravy. Delicious.

New photos

Found some guys who were willing to clear a site for barn and house for the price of taking the wood. Took some pics of the goings on. Things seem to be moving along considering we closed just one short week ago. Can't wait to see the barn go up. Tipper has staked out a place she calls Tipper Hill. Even though she does have a dainty walk and wears a plaid raincoat in stormy weather, she is no 'foo-foo' dog. Today, she squared off against a big orange tractor...and won.

Eastern Bluebird pair

Yesterday, a pair of Eastern Bluebirds visited us as we staked out a place for the barn. (Naturally, we're staking the barn instead of the house!) We did not take this photo, but isn't he beautiful? Bluebird males attract potential females by showing them all around their territory. If the female likes his bachelor pad she'll stay. If not, she searches for a mate that will provide a better place to nest. Bluebirds don't often visit feeders, but appreciate nesting boxes.

Pen-y-Bryn

Pen-y-Bryn means 'top of the hill' in Welsh. We chose this name from several equally good titles, but this one fits us best, honoring our British heritage and the terrain. Pen-y-Bryn, our Pen-y-Bryn is at the top of a hill. You have to climb a long, long way to get to it. We've climbed a long, long way to get to it. My mortal self wishes I could walk mom and dad over every inch of it, pointing out the mountain laurel, the paper birch, those tiny starfish paw prints from the possum that trundled through in the night. But, I know that mom and dad are safe in their spirit world, and after everything....they brought us to these precious acres. Mom's enthusiasm for life and dad's generous spirit have brought us to this place in our lives. A gift....

This blog is meant to be a journal of sorts to share with family and friends. A diary of our going home.