It's been two weeks now since we dropped off a 12 hands chocolate and dapple Welsh pony to a friend in Livingston, Alabama. It is a horse the friend bought from us for his grandchildren. It was a great decision.
But, this is not about the pony, or about our friend's grandchildren. Instead, it is about a small window in life when you slip back into a place that was once so familiar and is now often so distant, like a stranger you meet on the street and think you may know.
Livingston is in west Alabama, close to Mississippi, and perhaps if it were not for drawn borders on a map, you would never know if it was Alabama or Mississippi because Livingston is a place so much a part and so much like much of the wonderful South where I grew up.
The minute we drove into town, I felt as if I was somewhere I had been many times before. Only, I had never been to Livingston.
It is something like Mayberry with the courthouse in the town square; something like the set for Doc Hollywood. It is a town dominated somewhat by a four year college that has its own rodeo team. A place where some of the nicest houses are within walking distance of its heart, and where neighbors visit each other riding on golf carts.
Talk is slow, doors are seldom locked and people actually talk to each other and go to church on Wednesday nights. And, I guess that is really what this is all about.
I probably took more deep breaths during the 20 hours we were there than during any other similar time in quite a while. The deep breaths, you must understand, are a way of soaking things in, enjoying the moment and the memories.
We spent the evening with our friend, a banker whose office is about two blocks from his restored 150 year old white and high columned house. The house itself was something so special that you could feel the care and sensitivity to history in its staircase, wood floors and and unfinished ceilings.
Our friend the banker, Fred Walburn, lives there with his 94 year old mother, who many years ago taught my wife Annette in a small school in a small town in Alabama. If being there in this old southern place and staying in this old southern town was not enough for me, being there with Mrs. Walburn was both overwhelming and inspiring.
Think about being 94. It is hard to imagine and when you do picture someone there, I'll bet you come up with an old person who is bed ridden, blind and memory struck. Well, that ain't Mrs. Walburn, a small southern belle with the same gleam and twinkle in her eyes that I am sure she used to charm young men over three quarters of a century ago. She has the same grace that has carried Southern culture on her shoulders for many years. And, she owns her quick wit and pushes an intellect that continues to devour knowledge and information.
That night, when we went to bed upstairs in a big room that had been returned somewhat to its original self, I lay there and so many thoughts swam through my mind. There were the familiar smells and feelings from a South I have known so well. There was our friend Fred and his gracious mother who brought a heart beat to all of the thoughts and memories.
And, then, that night as I slept, there was another familiar sound that stirred me. It was the sound of a freight train and its blowing horn as the train made its way through Livingston, a sound that is married to the life and times of so many towns across American, not just the South.
I dozed back into sleep for a while, until the next train rumbled through Livingston and woke me again. I remember smiling in my half sleep. I hugged myself and thought that I was so fortunate at this very moment in my life to be in this special place.
Amen and good night.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Good Bye my marsh mellow Monk
I feel as if I just sold one of my best friends. And, it's mixed.
On the one hand, I will miss Monk a great deal. He's a 16 hands chestnut and white Spotted Saddle with the personality of Jay Leno and the charm of George Clooney. Only six years old, Monk has the maturity and grace of a horse much older.
Selling him has been painful, but if we are going to thin our herd of 20 horses, I have to make some hard decisions. None will be more difficult than this one.
I can remember one steamy summer day when I was repairing some fence in our front pasture. A people loving horse who just wants to hang out with you, Monk came striding over to where I was nailing up a board and walked up right behind me. I spoke to him, but continued my work. Bang, bang, bang.
Monk nudged me softly in the middle of my back. I hammered again, ignoring him. Bang, bang, bang. And, once again, Monk nudged me, still gently but with a little more force. I told him to go away and hit the nail. Bang, bang, bang.
For a third time, he stuck his nose into the middle of my back and pushed. For the third time I told him to go away as I hammered again.
Monk had about enough of being ignored by me, and as I hammered at the nail again I felt the beginning of a wedgie. This time there was no nudge. Instead, Monk just reached down, grabbed the back of my jeans and my belt into his mouth and lifted me up. It was like, hey you! So, I stopped my hammering, turned around, rubbed his face and ears and then gave him a big old hug. That was all it took. He turned and meandered slowly away and returned to munching on grass.
Monk is the horse that everyone can ride. If you are an experienced rider you love him because he will move out at your pace. And, when you put him into his gait, you feel as if you are sitting on a mountain of soft and sweet marsh mellows. If you are someone who has ridden very little or not at all, Monk is the horse that will take care of you. That is especially true of children. Not much bothers him, which is a very good thing when we are out in the forest and on the trails.
Frankly, I am surprised that I actually sold him, and I will miss him for a very long time.
But, the other side of this story is about Monk's new home and his new friend. He was purchased by Bob Bush, a 77 year old veteran who recently lost his horse, the love of his life. Bob has a small ranch on the forest not too far from where we live. And, in his search for a new horse, he heard about Monk through a mutual friend.
Monk was gone from our Spirit Woods Farm almost the minute Bob met him a couple of days ago. It was love at first site.
This morning, Bob returned to our farm, saddled up Monk and he and my wife Annette went out for a ride. Two hours later I was loading him into the horse trailer to drive him over to Bob's place.
Monk will be very happy there. First of all, he has a new partner who will give him lots of attention and will never ignore him, never requiring that Monk give Bob a wedgie. Monk's home is nice, and Bob has a mare who will be a good companion.
But, maybe best of all, Bob is going to get tremendous enjoyment and great joy from Monk at a time and age in his life when many older people seem to get lost and lonely without any challenges and adventures. I am 63 now, and I hope that when I am 77 like Bob I have a Monk in my life to help me keep it wonderful.
POST SCRIPT. About 24 hours after we dropped off Monk at Bob's place, he called this afternoon. There was obvious excitement in his voice. He had just returned from a trail ride with several of his friends, his first with Monk. They wanted to know where he got the beautiful horse, he said. Monk was perfect, he said. And, "I led everybody. They never let me do that before." You go, Bob. Thanks, Monk.
On the one hand, I will miss Monk a great deal. He's a 16 hands chestnut and white Spotted Saddle with the personality of Jay Leno and the charm of George Clooney. Only six years old, Monk has the maturity and grace of a horse much older.
Selling him has been painful, but if we are going to thin our herd of 20 horses, I have to make some hard decisions. None will be more difficult than this one.
I can remember one steamy summer day when I was repairing some fence in our front pasture. A people loving horse who just wants to hang out with you, Monk came striding over to where I was nailing up a board and walked up right behind me. I spoke to him, but continued my work. Bang, bang, bang.
Monk nudged me softly in the middle of my back. I hammered again, ignoring him. Bang, bang, bang. And, once again, Monk nudged me, still gently but with a little more force. I told him to go away and hit the nail. Bang, bang, bang.
For a third time, he stuck his nose into the middle of my back and pushed. For the third time I told him to go away as I hammered again.
Monk had about enough of being ignored by me, and as I hammered at the nail again I felt the beginning of a wedgie. This time there was no nudge. Instead, Monk just reached down, grabbed the back of my jeans and my belt into his mouth and lifted me up. It was like, hey you! So, I stopped my hammering, turned around, rubbed his face and ears and then gave him a big old hug. That was all it took. He turned and meandered slowly away and returned to munching on grass.
Monk is the horse that everyone can ride. If you are an experienced rider you love him because he will move out at your pace. And, when you put him into his gait, you feel as if you are sitting on a mountain of soft and sweet marsh mellows. If you are someone who has ridden very little or not at all, Monk is the horse that will take care of you. That is especially true of children. Not much bothers him, which is a very good thing when we are out in the forest and on the trails.
Frankly, I am surprised that I actually sold him, and I will miss him for a very long time.
But, the other side of this story is about Monk's new home and his new friend. He was purchased by Bob Bush, a 77 year old veteran who recently lost his horse, the love of his life. Bob has a small ranch on the forest not too far from where we live. And, in his search for a new horse, he heard about Monk through a mutual friend.
Monk was gone from our Spirit Woods Farm almost the minute Bob met him a couple of days ago. It was love at first site.
This morning, Bob returned to our farm, saddled up Monk and he and my wife Annette went out for a ride. Two hours later I was loading him into the horse trailer to drive him over to Bob's place.
Monk will be very happy there. First of all, he has a new partner who will give him lots of attention and will never ignore him, never requiring that Monk give Bob a wedgie. Monk's home is nice, and Bob has a mare who will be a good companion.
But, maybe best of all, Bob is going to get tremendous enjoyment and great joy from Monk at a time and age in his life when many older people seem to get lost and lonely without any challenges and adventures. I am 63 now, and I hope that when I am 77 like Bob I have a Monk in my life to help me keep it wonderful.
POST SCRIPT. About 24 hours after we dropped off Monk at Bob's place, he called this afternoon. There was obvious excitement in his voice. He had just returned from a trail ride with several of his friends, his first with Monk. They wanted to know where he got the beautiful horse, he said. Monk was perfect, he said. And, "I led everybody. They never let me do that before." You go, Bob. Thanks, Monk.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
A little paint and a lot of sweat.
I am in Columbus, Ga. visiting my parents and there is a dapple and chocolate pony we've put up overnight in their back yard. It's something their neighbors have come to pretty much expect anytime that we come here for a visit. Later this morning we will load up the pony and drive him over to Livingston, AL about 50 miles from Tuscaloosa and the University of Alabama.
Often, we stop off here after trailering a couple of horses to North Carolina's western mountains and back to our home in Brooksville, FL, or when bringing a horse back from somewhere after we've made a new purchase, or like this time, taking a horse for delivery that we have sold. Stopping here is a way to break up a long trip and to see my folks at the same time. They are in their mid-eighties. And, like most parents, they are glad we come, no matter what the reason.
My mom and dad live in a modest house in a modest subdivision about 7 hours from our small farm in west central Florida. They've lived here for more than forty years...since right after I graduated from Opelika (AL) High School in 1962. And, I guess I am fortunate that they have a decent sized back yard that is fenced where we can stick a horse or two overnight.
A couple of years ago, we stopped off here with a pair of black and white Spotted Saddles, and when we woke up the next morning, one of them was up the street in a neighbor's back yard. We still don't have a clue as to how he got out.
And, sometimes when we are here with a horse or two, the neighbor children come over. This is pretty cool, they think.
And, every time we are here, the next door neighbor's dog starts barking the minute we arrive and does not shut up until after we are gone. It makes me wish I owned a gun.
I wrote in an earlier blogging that neither my wife Annette or I are given to sitting still very much. It seems we are always on the go, and I think this is an indication of that. About five days ago I returned from a 7 day trip that began in Tampa, took me to Minneapolis, then to Winnipeg and on up north in Manitoba, Canada to the Port of Churchill on the Hudson Bay. In case you don't know, that's on the southern shore of the Artic Circle. Then, I returned home by flying into Denver before flying back to Tampa and driving the one hour to our farm. It was a long trip and extremely cold, especially for a Florida guy with thin blood. In a way, it is nuts that I hardly caught my breath before we loaded up three days later with this pony and set off on this trip, which will end on Friday afternoon once we get back to the farm.
We love our farm, and any time I get back there from one of my business trips, I feel extremely fortunate. It is not large and certainly not fancy. Next week we will celebrate our second Thanksgiving there.
When we purchased it in June, 2006, the property was a total mess. In fact, when we did our final walk through late on a Thursday afternoon, Annette cried and I had this sick feeling in my stomach. It had been several weeks since we had last visited, and in the meantime, its condition had worsened considerably from the bad state it was in already. We knew when we decided to buy that it would take a lot of work. But, the site of it on this last check was almost more than we could take. And, I told an upset Annette that she had until 8 a.m. the next morning to decide if she really wanted to take this step. Our closing was scheduled at 9 a.m.
We bought the place and moved here mostly because our daughter, Natalie, her husband Hutch and their four children Carson, Connor, Coleman and Ashton live about 20 minutes away. Annette and I were living in Jacksonville some three hours northeast in a gated community on a golf course. One day, as a throwaway line and thinking it might make me some points, I told her that since she had retired after 38 years of teaching, if she ever wanted to move closer to these four grandchildren, I would sure consider it. After all, I said, she had paid her dues.
She didn't believe me because I had been pretty much involved in Jacksonville for four decades, and we have two other grandchildren who live in Jacksonville. And, to be honest, I am not sure I believed it myself...and part of me thought it would never happen anyway. To raise the bar, I said we would need to find a place where we could live with our then boarded horses, and it would have to be very near a state forest or park where we could trail ride without hauling. That criteria, I felt, would be extremely difficult to meet.
Oops.
Next thing I new, Natalie and her mother were on the hunt, and somehow, they found what is today Spirit Woods Farm, sitting right there on 55,000 acres of the Withlacoochee State Forest and tons of beautiful horse trails. It was a run down piece of property that would take a ton of loving care and sweat. It had potential, but you really had to look hard to see it.
Back then, less than a year and a half ago, this weed infested place in Brooksville was a very long way and very different from the golf course house in Jacksonville. But, not today, thanks to the incredible hard work and dedication of Annette, along with the help of some neighbors who were thrilled for us to be there.
The Thursday night before we closed on the farm at the bank, I told Annette once again that we did not have to do it, we could walk away and it would be just fine. I also said that if she decided to go forward, I promised I would at least get the entire place cut and mowed before the sun set on Saturday, the day after our closing. I had no idea how I would make that happen.
We closed on Friday morning as planned.
The next morning, a man named Bo Bo and his wife arrived with their tractors and set out to cut down the wild and runaway growth that in many places towered higher than the few fences on the property. By sunset, it still needed a lot of work, but our new farm had a buzz cut, and it did look better. To celebrate, Annette and I sat on the tail gate of our truck, drank some wine and watched our first sunset, something that has now become an evening ritual. It was a wonderful beginning.
You have to know that it is very very hot and humid in west central Florida during the first week of July. And, that was exactly the case when we bought this farm. Imagine, among all of the other ugliness of the place, a two stall barn sitting in front of the house and visible from the road that looked as if squatters had been living in it for half a century. It was depressing.
Now, in my line of work, one of the first things I preach to my clients who want to make changes is that they need to send an immediate signal--an undeniable sign--that things are going to be different. They should demonstrate that hange is coming and it is starting right now, not tomorrow. You have to also understand that my line of work is cerebral, not physical, and I have never been given to doing things like building stuff or working in the yard, especially when it is hot. But, I looked at that depressing, ugly brown barn and said I was either going to tear it down, or paint it. Right then.
It was paint, I decided. Red paint with white trim. I went to Lowes and I bought as much red and white paint as I thought I would need. It turned out not to be enough so I bought more. And more. And I painted and painted. And, I drank water and more water. And there were times during that 100 degree Saturday when I thought I would just simply fall over dead.
I didn't die, and before the day ended and we had our second sunset of wine on the tailgate of our truck, the barn was no longer nasty. Instead, it was a bright and sparkling red with white trim.
The next day, that red barn and our mowed pastures and paddocks were like magnets attracting neighbors up our driveway to welcome us...and to thank us for making a difference in their small rural community. One of the visitors we will remember forever is when a lady who lives across from us came up the drive in her horse drawn buggy. It was the first of many of those kinds of joyful sights we have come to enjoy.
Now, if you want to get some idea of how our little farm looks now, you can check out the pictures over there on the left. It is sort of a testament to my wife, Annette, and her love for Spirit Woods Farm and everything that is associated with it, including and probably especially me.
Often, we stop off here after trailering a couple of horses to North Carolina's western mountains and back to our home in Brooksville, FL, or when bringing a horse back from somewhere after we've made a new purchase, or like this time, taking a horse for delivery that we have sold. Stopping here is a way to break up a long trip and to see my folks at the same time. They are in their mid-eighties. And, like most parents, they are glad we come, no matter what the reason.
My mom and dad live in a modest house in a modest subdivision about 7 hours from our small farm in west central Florida. They've lived here for more than forty years...since right after I graduated from Opelika (AL) High School in 1962. And, I guess I am fortunate that they have a decent sized back yard that is fenced where we can stick a horse or two overnight.
A couple of years ago, we stopped off here with a pair of black and white Spotted Saddles, and when we woke up the next morning, one of them was up the street in a neighbor's back yard. We still don't have a clue as to how he got out.
And, sometimes when we are here with a horse or two, the neighbor children come over. This is pretty cool, they think.
And, every time we are here, the next door neighbor's dog starts barking the minute we arrive and does not shut up until after we are gone. It makes me wish I owned a gun.
I wrote in an earlier blogging that neither my wife Annette or I are given to sitting still very much. It seems we are always on the go, and I think this is an indication of that. About five days ago I returned from a 7 day trip that began in Tampa, took me to Minneapolis, then to Winnipeg and on up north in Manitoba, Canada to the Port of Churchill on the Hudson Bay. In case you don't know, that's on the southern shore of the Artic Circle. Then, I returned home by flying into Denver before flying back to Tampa and driving the one hour to our farm. It was a long trip and extremely cold, especially for a Florida guy with thin blood. In a way, it is nuts that I hardly caught my breath before we loaded up three days later with this pony and set off on this trip, which will end on Friday afternoon once we get back to the farm.
We love our farm, and any time I get back there from one of my business trips, I feel extremely fortunate. It is not large and certainly not fancy. Next week we will celebrate our second Thanksgiving there.
When we purchased it in June, 2006, the property was a total mess. In fact, when we did our final walk through late on a Thursday afternoon, Annette cried and I had this sick feeling in my stomach. It had been several weeks since we had last visited, and in the meantime, its condition had worsened considerably from the bad state it was in already. We knew when we decided to buy that it would take a lot of work. But, the site of it on this last check was almost more than we could take. And, I told an upset Annette that she had until 8 a.m. the next morning to decide if she really wanted to take this step. Our closing was scheduled at 9 a.m.
We bought the place and moved here mostly because our daughter, Natalie, her husband Hutch and their four children Carson, Connor, Coleman and Ashton live about 20 minutes away. Annette and I were living in Jacksonville some three hours northeast in a gated community on a golf course. One day, as a throwaway line and thinking it might make me some points, I told her that since she had retired after 38 years of teaching, if she ever wanted to move closer to these four grandchildren, I would sure consider it. After all, I said, she had paid her dues.
She didn't believe me because I had been pretty much involved in Jacksonville for four decades, and we have two other grandchildren who live in Jacksonville. And, to be honest, I am not sure I believed it myself...and part of me thought it would never happen anyway. To raise the bar, I said we would need to find a place where we could live with our then boarded horses, and it would have to be very near a state forest or park where we could trail ride without hauling. That criteria, I felt, would be extremely difficult to meet.
Oops.
Next thing I new, Natalie and her mother were on the hunt, and somehow, they found what is today Spirit Woods Farm, sitting right there on 55,000 acres of the Withlacoochee State Forest and tons of beautiful horse trails. It was a run down piece of property that would take a ton of loving care and sweat. It had potential, but you really had to look hard to see it.
Back then, less than a year and a half ago, this weed infested place in Brooksville was a very long way and very different from the golf course house in Jacksonville. But, not today, thanks to the incredible hard work and dedication of Annette, along with the help of some neighbors who were thrilled for us to be there.
The Thursday night before we closed on the farm at the bank, I told Annette once again that we did not have to do it, we could walk away and it would be just fine. I also said that if she decided to go forward, I promised I would at least get the entire place cut and mowed before the sun set on Saturday, the day after our closing. I had no idea how I would make that happen.
We closed on Friday morning as planned.
The next morning, a man named Bo Bo and his wife arrived with their tractors and set out to cut down the wild and runaway growth that in many places towered higher than the few fences on the property. By sunset, it still needed a lot of work, but our new farm had a buzz cut, and it did look better. To celebrate, Annette and I sat on the tail gate of our truck, drank some wine and watched our first sunset, something that has now become an evening ritual. It was a wonderful beginning.
You have to know that it is very very hot and humid in west central Florida during the first week of July. And, that was exactly the case when we bought this farm. Imagine, among all of the other ugliness of the place, a two stall barn sitting in front of the house and visible from the road that looked as if squatters had been living in it for half a century. It was depressing.
Now, in my line of work, one of the first things I preach to my clients who want to make changes is that they need to send an immediate signal--an undeniable sign--that things are going to be different. They should demonstrate that hange is coming and it is starting right now, not tomorrow. You have to also understand that my line of work is cerebral, not physical, and I have never been given to doing things like building stuff or working in the yard, especially when it is hot. But, I looked at that depressing, ugly brown barn and said I was either going to tear it down, or paint it. Right then.
It was paint, I decided. Red paint with white trim. I went to Lowes and I bought as much red and white paint as I thought I would need. It turned out not to be enough so I bought more. And more. And I painted and painted. And, I drank water and more water. And there were times during that 100 degree Saturday when I thought I would just simply fall over dead.
I didn't die, and before the day ended and we had our second sunset of wine on the tailgate of our truck, the barn was no longer nasty. Instead, it was a bright and sparkling red with white trim.
The next day, that red barn and our mowed pastures and paddocks were like magnets attracting neighbors up our driveway to welcome us...and to thank us for making a difference in their small rural community. One of the visitors we will remember forever is when a lady who lives across from us came up the drive in her horse drawn buggy. It was the first of many of those kinds of joyful sights we have come to enjoy.
Now, if you want to get some idea of how our little farm looks now, you can check out the pictures over there on the left. It is sort of a testament to my wife, Annette, and her love for Spirit Woods Farm and everything that is associated with it, including and probably especially me.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Looking out the window; seeing my soul
It is just before noon here on a sunny and beautiful Friday...and I am already tired. If you live on a farm you will understand. Keep in mind that I don't do that much of the work around here. My wife is the heavy lifter, mostly because of my travel schedule. In fact, I leave tomorrow morning for Winnipeg and posts north of there for a whole week. BRRRRRRRRRR.
But, this morning I took it upon myself to pitch in. It began with putting out hay for our 20 or so horses; going to the feed store for 1,000 pounds of grain and unloading it in the barn; and moving a 17 month old filly and 7 month old colt to a bigger pasture where they can play together for a while. The filly was pretty easy. The colt was another story all together. So much strength and power for something so very young. By the time we made it to the pasture, my 63 year old arms were very tired and there was a new and distinct pain in my back. No question we must get Spirit, that is the colt's name, into some ground work pretty quickly.
Spirit's mom is Whiskey. She is the very first gaited horse I ever rode and the first one that I purchased after spending my horse life on quarter horses and paints. It was instant love. Now she is one of the horses my wife rides while I maintain my steadfast loyalty to Rebel, a wonderful black and white gelding. We bred sweet Whiskey to a black and white stud named Cocoa, and she presented us with a beautiful black and white colt, Spirit.
This is one of the great joys of moving from life on a golf course to life on a farm. Whiskey was in her 11th month of pregnancy and doing fine. We knew that she was getting close to giving birth and on a Sunday night in March, just before we went to bed around 11 p.m., I checked her once more. It did not appear to me that she had dropped enough so there would be no baby on the ground that night.
I was wrong.
We kept her isolated from the other horses in a paddock just behind our house. And, about dawn on Monday morning, when I stepped out of bed to go to the rest room, I happened to look out the window on my side of the bed. Oh my God. There stood Whiskey, so close I felt I could almost touch her. And by her side nursing was this new born. It was the kind of moment that you never, ever forget. When we rushed outside, we quickly noticed that Whiskey had dropped the colt in another part of the paddock, out of sight from my window. It was to us as if she had walked that baby over and planted herself and him there at my window so that I would be sure to see him at the first opportunity.
Before we bought this farm and moved here, Annette and I went to dinner one evening at a restaurant in an old farm house in Pine Mountain, Ga. Off the back dining room was a large window that gave wide open views to the pasture right behind the house; a pasture with several horses all grazing right up close for us to see.
Wouldn't it be great, we thought, if someday we lived in a place where you can look out of your window and see your horses. Guess what. Now we can. In fact, we can look out most every window in our house and see a horse, partly because we have too many horses.
Right now, sitting here at my desk and writing this, I can see the filly and colt grazing together where I just moved them. I can also see a gorgeous Spotted mare named Fancy in the round pen where my wife is about to work with her. And, off to the right, I am able to see one of our two TWH brood mares, a slick, black beauty who is the mother of a 5 month old black and white weanling filly we call Sugah. Put all of that with a day like we are having here in west central Florida and you can understand why concentrating is difficult sometimes.
There are times I feel that when I am looking out my window like this, I have a special view of my own soul.
But, this morning I took it upon myself to pitch in. It began with putting out hay for our 20 or so horses; going to the feed store for 1,000 pounds of grain and unloading it in the barn; and moving a 17 month old filly and 7 month old colt to a bigger pasture where they can play together for a while. The filly was pretty easy. The colt was another story all together. So much strength and power for something so very young. By the time we made it to the pasture, my 63 year old arms were very tired and there was a new and distinct pain in my back. No question we must get Spirit, that is the colt's name, into some ground work pretty quickly.
Spirit's mom is Whiskey. She is the very first gaited horse I ever rode and the first one that I purchased after spending my horse life on quarter horses and paints. It was instant love. Now she is one of the horses my wife rides while I maintain my steadfast loyalty to Rebel, a wonderful black and white gelding. We bred sweet Whiskey to a black and white stud named Cocoa, and she presented us with a beautiful black and white colt, Spirit.
This is one of the great joys of moving from life on a golf course to life on a farm. Whiskey was in her 11th month of pregnancy and doing fine. We knew that she was getting close to giving birth and on a Sunday night in March, just before we went to bed around 11 p.m., I checked her once more. It did not appear to me that she had dropped enough so there would be no baby on the ground that night.
I was wrong.
We kept her isolated from the other horses in a paddock just behind our house. And, about dawn on Monday morning, when I stepped out of bed to go to the rest room, I happened to look out the window on my side of the bed. Oh my God. There stood Whiskey, so close I felt I could almost touch her. And by her side nursing was this new born. It was the kind of moment that you never, ever forget. When we rushed outside, we quickly noticed that Whiskey had dropped the colt in another part of the paddock, out of sight from my window. It was to us as if she had walked that baby over and planted herself and him there at my window so that I would be sure to see him at the first opportunity.
Before we bought this farm and moved here, Annette and I went to dinner one evening at a restaurant in an old farm house in Pine Mountain, Ga. Off the back dining room was a large window that gave wide open views to the pasture right behind the house; a pasture with several horses all grazing right up close for us to see.
Wouldn't it be great, we thought, if someday we lived in a place where you can look out of your window and see your horses. Guess what. Now we can. In fact, we can look out most every window in our house and see a horse, partly because we have too many horses.
Right now, sitting here at my desk and writing this, I can see the filly and colt grazing together where I just moved them. I can also see a gorgeous Spotted mare named Fancy in the round pen where my wife is about to work with her. And, off to the right, I am able to see one of our two TWH brood mares, a slick, black beauty who is the mother of a 5 month old black and white weanling filly we call Sugah. Put all of that with a day like we are having here in west central Florida and you can understand why concentrating is difficult sometimes.
There are times I feel that when I am looking out my window like this, I have a special view of my own soul.
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