Apologies, Magic and Life

                                                by Laura Crum

            I’m sorry for the recent lack of posts. My life has been very busy lately and I haven’t had the time for writing. This is actually a good thing, and I’m grateful to be engaged with some new projects. But such a busy period doesn’t lend itself to creating blog posts.

            I don’t have a decent post in me at the moment, so I thought I’d share a few photos to illustrate the magic that I still find in my life.

            Sitting by the pond is always magical. Summer is the season of water lilies and dragonflies.

            My boy is growing up (shown running away from the camera—does not like having his picture taken).

            Seeing spotted fawns in our garden and watching them grow up is magical, too.

            And the begonias are in bloom again out at the Jefferson Ranch. I have been coming here in the summer/fall for many years. Not to mention I have been gazing at the amazing spectacle of the begonia fields since I was a little girl. Once upon a time they grew at our family ranch, and for well over twenty years now they have been grown here. I was grateful to be out here last weekend and see it all again. No matter how many times I’ve seen it before, it’s always magical. 

My husband Andy grew the eucalyptus trees that form the windbreaks from seed he collected out at the old family ranch. When these trees were trimmed, we burned the wood to heat our home. It always seemed like a very satisfying life cycle.

And finally, my son and I went to see the stage version of Mary Poppins a couple of weeks ago. Our family always loved that movie and watched it so many times we knew most of the lines by heart. The live version opened with my favorite quote from the whole deal. Bert the chimney sweep stands alone on the stage in a mysterious shadowy light. He says:

            “Wind’s in the east, mist coming in,

              Like something is brewing, about to begin.

              Can’t put my finger on what lies in store,

              But I feel that what’s happening has all happened before.”

Horses Then and Now

                                                by Laura Crum

            For me, horses now are not about riding. There are a lot of reasons for this, but the most typical one—fear/anxiety—isn’t the cause. I have had fear/anxiety before and I know its face. What is happening for me now is that my interest lies elsewhere. And this has happened to me before and I recognize it also.

            I spent my thirties obsessively competing on horseback. First at cutting, then at team roping. I trained young horses to do these events, I practiced several times a week, and I competed every weekend. This was my life for over ten straight years. For awhile I loved it. And then I burned out on it.

            There were a lot of reasons. The abuse that I saw in the name of competition was one. The lack of any real meaning in “winning” an event was another. Getting tired of hauling all those miles was yet another. I saw a lot of horses get hurt; I saw a lot of horses have stress related injuries and illness that were completely avoidable—I got really sick of seeing that. Maybe a lot of it was “been there, done that.” I also began to see that sort of camaraderie I had enjoyed at these events really didn’t translate into meaningful friendship. For all these reasons and others, at forty years of age I just didn’t care about competing at horse events any more. And I found myself drawn to something else. Tending the garden—with horses as part of my garden.

            I still loved my horses. I enjoyed their company. I liked to see them grazing along the driveway, I liked to feed them and interact with them. I liked to see them watching me as I worked in my garden. And I particularly liked being peaceful and solitary on my own small property, planting and tending and caring for plants and critters, including the horses, and watching the wild things. The last thing I wanted was to go out into the busy world and do something stressful with my horses in order to prove something to myself or others. This did not seem “fun” to me in the slightest.

            During this period of my life I got together with my husband, Andy, and we shared many happy hours doing things together here on the property, and also doing things that were not horse related (biking, hiking, camping, traveling). We had a child and we both put raising him first. I thought that growing up with horses would be a good thing for my son (see my post “Growing Up With Horses”) and eventually I took up riding regularly again (trail riding, not competing), so my boy and I could share this pastime. And Andy often hiked with us, along with our dogs. It was a good life.

            But as my boy grew older and became a teenager and lost interest in riding, and his horse grew older and lost the desire to climb steep hills, I found that my own interest in trail riding was also growing weaker. My husband got sick and all I wanted was to spend time with him. After Andy died I realized that I had once again come full circle to the place I had been in when we got together. I just wanted to stay home and tend my garden—with horses as part of the garden.

            In real life, of course, I can’t stay home. I haul my teenage son from one thing to another. Lessons, golf, music, computer design class…etc. I must buy the groceries and run the necessary errands. My life is plenty busy. But when I can choose, I choose to stay home. Planting veggie seedlings, turning the horses out to graze, just sitting in the barn watching the horses eat hay, watching the light change in the sky, watching the reflections on the pond, lying in the hammock that hangs from the big oak tree. These things make me happy. Or as happy as I can be right now.

            Last weekend my son and I planted romaine lettuce seedlings in Andy’s aquaponics project in the greenhouse. We have been eating Ceasar salad (my son’s favorite) from this project two or three times a week for the last few months. And we planted seeds to germinate in the greenhouse and become squash and bean plants that will grow in the veggie garden, carefully pressing the seeds that Andy bought last year into the soil. I know Andy is happy to see we are carrying on his work—and doing it together.

            My neighbor helped us with his backhoe the next day, and we placed a large stone on Gunner’s grave, which is in the barnyard. And my boy raked the ground and seeded new grass to grow. We sprinkled the grass seed to get it started. The horses watched us from their corrals and nickered occasionally, telling us it was lunchtime. When we were done we gave them some hay and sat down on Gunner’s rock to survey our work. And again, I felt Andy smiling. We are tending the garden that Andy and I created together. Our little life as a family goes on. And horses are a part of it.

            This is what horses are to me now. I know that many of you have gone through similar cycles with riding/not riding, and I would be interested to hear your insights on this subject.

Sad

                                                            by Laura Crum

Once again--don't read this post if you want to read about horses and writing and cheerful things like that. This is yet another post about life and death and grief.

            We mostly spend our lives trying to avoid being sad. If we are sad we feel something is wrong and we strive to make adjustments so that we can be happy again. We leave a relationship and seek a new partner, or leave a place for another place, or sell a horse and buy a different one, or take anti-depressants…etc. Sometimes these changes/choices do make us feel happier. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.

            But I am seeing sadness a bit differently these days. Since my husband died I have been trying to come to terms with being sad. I don’t think I can run away from it. If I left my home and all that reminds me of my husband, I think I would be even sadder. I don’t have any interest in a new partner. I can hope that I will eventually feel calm, and as if I can deal with life on these terms, rather than desperate and afraid that I just can’t live this way, but I think I will always be sad. Maybe sad is not a bad thing?

            I struggle with this a lot. Despite all that I still have (and I have many good things—a lovely son, sweet dogs, good horses, a beautiful property, friends who care about me), my life can seem very empty and meaningless. I know that many people would love to have my life—they might even take it with a little grief thrown in. I spend my days taking care of the critters and the garden and my son. There are many, many worse ways to live. Still, at times I  am drowning in sorrow. Grief swallows up the beauty and all I can feel is the sadness of what I have lost. I have worse days and better days, but every day is sad. Sometimes sad but peaceful and I can smile a little, but sometimes despairing.

            Facing mortality head on, as I am being forced to do, tends to bring up the response of sadness—however it happens. Whether your horse or dog has just died, or you drive by a clearly fatal traffic accident, or you read about some sweet, innocent stranger who died young from disease, or you see a dead kitten on the shoulder of the road…well, you feel sad. Sadness is the appropriate response, it seems to me, to the constant loss of life that is our world. If we stop to think about it, it simply is sad. Every single one of you who has lost a loved animal need only dwell on that loss a bit, and then reflect on the fact that you will also (if you haven’t already) inevitably lose loved people or they will lose you, to see that yes, sadness is inherent in life.

            I’m not saying that joy isn’t present, too. But always entwined with sadness—two halves of a whole. Andy and I had a happy life together as a couple, and there was much joy. And now there is sadness in the loss of his human life. Both the joy and sadness are real. Just as the moments of joy you shared with your old dog are intertwined with your sadness at his death. It’s the nature of life. Maybe opening one’s heart to sadness, rather than seeing it as something wrong that needs to be fixed, is the answer?

            Maybe if I can embrace sadness as completely as I embrace joy, can see it as something to be felt with an open heart, rather than fought, can accept it as part of the nature of life—maybe then I will feel whole again? Joy and sorrow intertwined is the nature of life itself, and my own little life is part of this tapestry.  Love is what weaves it all together.

            If I believe one thing about this life, it is that death is not the bottom line. If it were so, all religions, all spiritual beliefs, are meaningless. But if death is not the bottom line, and our spirits go on, then it seems clear to me that the only possible bottom line is love—however you want to view this. And if this is so, then I can be sad over the death of Andy’s human body and the loss of his physical companionship here in our home, but believe that his spirit and our love for each other are still present. Joy and sorrow intertwined.

            So I am working on accepting my sadness and trusting that it can lead me somewhere. Somewhere I am meant to go. Somewhere that will bring me a gift that I am meant to have. I can trust that Andy is with me. It harms no one if this is all in my mind. Trusting in love is not a bad thing.

            But one thing I can say for sure. It’s not an easy thing to do. This is a very hard, sad journey so far.

On Being a Hermit

                                                by Laura Crum

            An advance warning here: This blog post contains a small rant. I didn’t set out to rant, but somehow no matter how many times I re-wrote the piece the rant crept in there. So I gave up and left it in. The post is now sort of bittersweet. It tells a reasonably pleasant story that I meant to tell, and it also gives a true view of the frustration I often feel. I am hoping that there are a few of you out there who will both understand my joy in being a hermit and also my frustration with what Ratty (of Wind in the Willows) called “the wide world.”

Anyway, those who read this blog and my books may perceive me as a reasonably social person, but the truth is far different. In real life, I really am something of a hermit. And lately it’s getting worse. Or better. Depends on your point of view.

            In my old age (I’m 55) I am just plain happy at home with my husband and son and my horses and other critters and my garden. Doesn’t matter if I’m riding or doing chores, I can fill hours messing with the horses and/or wandering around the garden observing what’s in bloom (in the spring) or ready to be harvested (summer and fall). Truthfully I can fill happy hours watching the spring breeze toss the treetops on the ridges, or watching the goldfish dart around the pond, or the quail pecking in the riding ring, or the lizards catching bugs. I could seriously go on all day listing tons of small events here on my mini-ranch that happily engross me. I like to write, so often I write about these things. I like to take photos…and sometimes I post them here and on facebook. And I like to sit on the porch with a cup of tea in the early morning and a margarita in the evening watching the light change. I am never bored.

            Fortunately I married a man who is also happy to avoid the social scene, and our son, like us, is an introvert, who appreciates lots of time alone. I make sure my son has a social life with his friends that works for him, but my kid, like me, enjoys swinging on the barnyard swing and just watching the horses and chickens (and sometimes the deer and bobcats) for a good bit of time each day. Yes, we ride with our friends and do more ambitious things, but I think we get our greatest joy just being peacefully quiet here in nature.

            There is so much to see and do in the springtime….the chickens are endlessly entertaining. Toby the rooster struts.

            Our cat Tigger amongst the hens.

            A one day old bantie chick.

            The roses are really starting to bloom. This is Fortune’s Double Yellow rose in my wild garden. It’s not really yellow, but it was discovered by the plant hunter Robert Fortune in China in 1844, and at that time there were no yellow roses in commerce. So this rose was a big deal. And it is still a glory today. An early rose-- it is always in full flower in April.

                                            We ride and have much fun with our horses. 

            

            So my life is good and happy and I have no complaints. It’s just that I feel I don’t fit in any more in groups of people. There are friends that I care about, and one-on-one with them I’m fine. I can be polite and reasonably friendly with waitresses and checkers and such. I can hang around with my horse friends and talk horse. But put me in a group of folks that I’m just barely acquainted with, and I’m no good at all. In fact, I’m kind of miserable.

            The problem is that I think my social skills (what I had of em) are slowly vanishing. I’m becoming a hermit. I feel out of place with groups of people any more. I try. I treat others as I would like to be treated—which means I respect their space and I say what I mean and mean what I say. Somehow this isn’t working too well. Other people just don’t seem to play by this code.

            As far as I can tell, many people expect me to mouth things I don’t mean, and make nice when others are treading on my toes. And when I let them know (in my straight forward way) that this sort of thing doesn’t fly with me, I am perceived as a grouch (actually I think the right word has one less letter and also ends in “ch”). And then a lot of people seem to share a form of sarcastic humor that I mostly don’t get and don’t find funny when I do get it. If you take a shot at me with venom disguised as humor, I still read the emotional content perfectly, and I don’t care for it. I’m liable to let you know that I don’t care for it, too. 

            It feels to me that my instincts have become similar to my horses and other critters. I expect truth and honesty and simplicity, just as I get from my animals. I try to give it back. I’m not comfortable with the two-faced attitude shown by many people, and on top of that I don’t share their interests. I don’t watch TV and I don’t like popular music and I really don’t “get” a great deal of popular culture, from politics to fashion to sports. I don’t want to get it. I’m interested in the green color of the light before a storm and the specific scents of different roses and how many words my smart little dog has learned to understand. I could spend hours listing the fascinating things that delight me here at my home. But I find many people confusing, and, to be frank, boring. I do better with animals.

I often leave a group interaction with people feeling frustrated. I don’t try to manipulate any one into doing what I want them to do.  I really resent others trying to manipulate me. I don’t take covert shots at people. If there is something I don’t like or don’t agree with, I’ll say so—openly. And I am fine with others doing the same with me. It doesn’t threaten me when someone disagrees with me. But it seriously annoys me when someone takes a sneaky shot at me—in the guise of “teasing humor.” I had a “friend” like this once. When I let her know that her malicious little games were not OK with me she wrote me off and never spoke to me again. Since then I’ve been a lot more careful about who I accept as a friend. For me a friend is someone “who stabs you in the front” (I believe this is a quote from Oscar Wilde…thanks, Dahlia).

In short, more and more I feel like a misfit around other “normal” people and can’t wait to get home and shut my front gate behind me. Sometimes I lock it.           

            Here, back with my horses and dogs and cats and chickens and garden and little family, I let out a deep breath of relief and feel almost instantly happy again. Here I fit in. I’m good with a horse, I get along with my kid (sorry all you mommy bloggers, but its true), and I love all the plants and animals of this place—domestic and wild. I listen to my husband play his pipes and enjoy the wild notes drifting out over the ridge. The horses graze contentedly by the vegetable garden. The little dog sits in my lap; I stroke her rough fur and I can smell the jasmine. I feel a real sense of connection and peace. Yes, I am

 becoming a hermit. A happy hermit.

            Does anybody else feel like this? I keep wondering if other people might be “hermits” like me, and possibly share some of my frustration when it comes to interacting in the “wide world.” I don’t mind being a loner (not at all), but it is fun to share thoughts with like-minded folks, so I’m putting this out there just for fun. Any horse loving hermits reading this blog?

            

The Horse of a Lifetime

Recently, a very dear friend of mine lost her 12-year-old Hanoverian mare unexpectedly. She'd owned Susie since she was around four, having imported her from Germany sight unseen at the recommendation of a trainer.

Over the years, she and Susie had their ups and downs. Just this year when they started showing Prix St. George, I saw a big change in them. It's as if something clicked, and they became real partners. My friend decided she wanted a baby from her mare, so she sent her to be bred. When the mare was palpated, her rectum tore unknown to anyone. Two days later she was in septic shock. (I apologize if I have the terminology wrong, I'm not a vet.) She'd seemed fine until that morning, and it became obvious she was in great pain. Thinking colic, they hauled her to a vet clinic. The clinic rushed her into surgery then realized what the real issue was. There was nothing anyone could do. It appears that the mare had a weakness in her rectum that no one could have known about.

It was a shock to all of us as she was a lovely mare. As you can imagine, my friend is devastated but is determined to buy another horse, preferably a mare. I started wondering, did my friend lose the horse of a lifetime? Is there such a thing? Or are all horses special in their own right, making each one a horse of a lifetime in different ways?

I used to think my old horse, Moses, was my horse of a lifetime. You could do anything with him. Chase cows, jump. do dressage, hunt seat, stock seat, trail ride, and put a little kid on him. I loved that horse. I never thought I'd find another horse like him.

Along comes Gailey--If you've read any of my posts, you know about my trials with that mare and how attached I am to her. I have to say that I would now consider her my horse of a lifetime, yet in a different way. She has so much more talent for dressage than poor Moe ever did. Not to mention, that she's much more attached me that he ever was.

So maybe I've just been lucky and had two horses of a lifetime. I don't know. Any maybe my friend will get lucky, too, and find another horse to equal or surpass Susie. I hope she does, though I know Susie will always be special in her heart.

Do any of you have a horse of a lifetime you'd like to tell us about?

Reflections and a Tribute

I lost my older sister yesterday. She was 58 years old. She'd battled brain cancer for years. For a while, she'd been winning. Yesterday, she didn't.

Yesterday, I received a call from the hospital near the nursing home she'd been living in for the past 2 years. She'd been in the hospital since Sunday night. I had no idea she was in such bad condition, or I would have made the 4-hour drive sooner. I'd been told she had a urinary infection. What she really had were massive blood clots in her heart and lungs. No one at the hospital told me that until it was too late.

My husband and I rushed up there right after the doctor called. He didn't hold out much hope that we'd make it. We didn't. We were 1/3 of the way there when the doctor called us to let us know that she'd suffered a fatal heart attack.

My sister was 9 years older than me, never married, never had children. For the majority of her life, she'd raised Rottweilers and was the founder of Ebonstern Kennels. She loved those dogs more than anything else in her life and dedicated her entire life to them. Ebonstern had a reputation of raising high quality dogs. My sister was very picky about who bought one of her dogs. I used to say that it was easier to adopt a child than to pass her stringent "vetting" of prospective parents for her beloved puppies. She was a responsible dog breeder and had an extensive contract she required that new owners sign. Only show quality dogs could be bred if they were AKC champions. Her pet quality dogs were to be fixed.

One of her "babies" still lives with us. He is partially blind and deaf but seems happy and healthy for a 16-year-old Rottweiler.

So what does this have to do with horses? Nothing on the surface, but my sister instilled in me a love of horses and animals from the day I was born. That is her legacy. That, and her beloved Ebonstern rottweilers.

May she finally rest in peace and live happily in heaven with her canine children once again.

More Story Ideas

I hope Toni doesn't mind me expounding on her last post, but it's actually quite appropriate for me today.

You see, I'm in Washington State's San Juan Islands, Orcas Island in particular, as I'm typing this. My husband and I were married in the San Juans, and we wanted to come back here for a little trip. You can see details of our next 5 days in the San Juans on my personal blog at:

http://jamidavenport.blogspot.com/

Back to the point of my post: Story Ideas. I was a boater in another life, and I spent 2-3 weeks in the San Juans every year, sometimes twice a year. Both of my books (Who's Been Sleeping in My Bed? and The Dance) are set in the San Juans, and I have plans for a few more.

"Who's" and "The Dance" both deal with a fictional camp on Orcas Island that is being closed down. This camp has an innovative program in equine therapy. My fourth book will be about this camp. Of course, it's going to require extensive reserach on my part, which I've already begun.

It doesn't hurt to get a little inspiration from being in this most beautiful place on earth. I know this post doesn't have much to do with horses today, but I wanted to share a little of the beauty I'm experiencing with all of you, so I hope you'll forgive me.

So have a wonderful Easter, and I hope you'll stick around and see what's coming with Equestrian Ink.