Ah, Youth!

It's summer! It has been a bit of an arduous process getting to this moment, this year. What moment? You know...those moments we talk about as the "lazy days of summer". The moment we wait for all year long, it seems. At least, I do. And I always have. There has been a lot going on in my life, and most of it has been very difficult. I won't go there, today. I will just breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that we are now on the other end of that.

When thinking of the "lazy days of summer", I can't help but think of the days of my youth when I was a pre-teen and even just turned teen. My 2nd favorite thing to do (Riding horses in the neighborhood, was my very first favorite thing to do.) was to climb up in my brother's tree fort which he had built by himself in the big ole locust tree of the back yard. I loved to spend the morning, or afternoon there reading one of my books. 

My brother just recently reminded me of the soft, aromatic scent that wafted across the lawn when that tree was in bloom. He said he remembered smelling it from his upstairs bedroom window as he slept at night or when he woke in the morning. I didn't have that memory, but I certainly remember it from playing or working in the backyard. And I certainly remember it from sitting in the tree fort as I read. I don't think it gets better than that. Taking it all in as I read, and feeling secure and happy believing no one knew where I was, was pure heaven. At least I thought no one knew... It probably wasn't too difficult for my mom or siblings to guess.

Another favorite thing for me through all my grade school years, was when we had "book day"! All the students would get a little leaflet with all kinds of books to choose from designed for our individual grade level. We were to take the pamphlet home to show our folks to get permission to place an order if we wanted. I would excitedly take it home and ask my mom which books I could buy this time. She never said no, and I was able to get all the books I wanted...within reason of course. She did have 4 kids that wanted to buy too, probably. At least I remember this service during the years my brother and I were in school. We were closest in age, the other two each being a book end of about 3 years apart from us. So I am not positive they had the same advantage when they attended our little country grade school.

Now, here I am an old lady, decades later - I won't say how many decades; but you can probably get an idea. lol I recently took a moment and looked at some of the books I had bought and read during that time. Yes! I still have them! Or at least some of them. Thus, the photo. So fun!! 

Decades later, I think it is time to read them again. They all look so interesting!! I am only missing the tree fort. Might have to do something about that, too!

The Cowgirl Rides Away

We will burn those branches today, if the wind dies down,” he decisively told me.

“Ok”, I agreed as I lingered over my 3^rd cup of morning coffee. I wasn’t about to argue; I had been wanting to do it since the last wind storm we had, too brought them all down. There was a fairly big branch out of the Mountain Ash that had broken off, and several both large and small branches out of the Quaking Aspens. This was going to be a work day, and I was thankful. Truthfully, some of my best days ever, are when we are working together outside on a project, or doing yard work. It was even better when our son, was here too. I always told him, “Son, these are some of the best days of your life.” Lol Pretty sure he didn’t agree then, and he absolutely wouldn’t agree now! lol 😆 Ok, I get it; so it was a slight exaggeration. But he would agree that the best days of ones life are spent with ones kids.

Anyway, we had taken most of the branches to the burn pile in the pasture, last week, just after the storm had wreaked her havoc. It wouldn’t be a real difficult work day, because most of the hard work was already done. 

I did have a little more clean up around the Mountain Ash. As I began my work there the smallest little chickadee sat and chirped at me from a limb. Oh goodness, I thought, I hope I am not disrupting her nest. I didn’t see a nest, but that would be the last thing I wanted to do. I got out of there as quickly as I could. I don’t like scaring my birds!

I carried over the last of the branches and joined Sam, in the pasture. We had a burn pile out by the barn, where he was already adding more branches, which he had earlier loaded on to the four-wheeler. 

Arly (German shepherd and Blue-tick Coon Hound) was bouncing around like an excited pup, because he was allowed to join us. He doesn’t usually get to go out to the barn unless we are with him. He could easily escape under the wire, with nose to the ground and be gone for good. Since losing my mare, Juliee, last fall, he hasn’t been able to go out there much at all...because I haven’t gone out there much either. Too many memories that I wanted to leave dormant there, for just a while longer.

I hate to admit it, but as an addition to the task at hand, I also had to empty Juliee’s water trough. It had filled with rain and melted snow throughout the winter, because I had left it sitting out, right side up. I could have at least turned it upside down last fall, but I didn’t even get that done. I guess it was that staying away thing that got the best of me. Fortunately, I had been out to the barns a couple weeks ago and did some clean up there. So actually, there wasn’t much to do today in the way of cleaning things out. We had a couple hay bales left, that we needed to burn and that was about it. Sam found an old pallet he also threw on the pile. It wasn’t long before that fire was roaring. It felt good. The warmth, yes; but mainly just to be getting it done.

I decided since we were out there, I might as well get my riding lawn mower started and move it over to the yard where I keep it in summer months. Spring is here early and it won’t be that long before our lawn will need to be mowed. I paused for a moment as I went into the big barn, taking in the ambiance. Yes, barns have an ambience. I always thought my pole shed barn didn’t have near that same aura that my grandpa’s old wooden barn had, but surprisingly today I felt it. I felt it the moment I opened the gate to enter. It’s like an old friend put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me in to the place where things always stopped for me, and said, “Here...just breathe.” Feel it? There’s the scent of hay, and the warmth of memories and work that actually always turned to pleasure. There were tears that this barn held, and laughter and love. It held accomplishment and failure, and memories of a life so long strived for, ending too soon.   

There sat my mower, and Sam’s sprayer tucked away for the winter. Apparently the birds had had a nest in the rafters, because there was bird poop on the hood of my rider. I looked up...sure enough. I smiled. I liked that some bird may have wintered here.

I looked at the wall that I had decorated several years ago, making a little corner of the barn into a “she-shed”. I mentioned that once on Facebook and several friends encouraged me to post a photo. But I never did. I was a bit embarrassed by it. It wasn’t a fancy normal type she-shed. It was just my little corner of the world - a corner of the barn, where I drank my morning coffee and ate rhubarb pie all by myself on rainy days. It’s where I kept my mounting block, that as I aged I really, really needed to even mount my small 15 hand, Juliee. I had decorated my corner with plastic plants and an old dial telephone, connected only to the past. It was from my folks house in the neighborhood where I was raised. The telephone that helped four kids and two parents through life, bringing good news, and sad news and no news...just life in the 1960’s.

The walls here in my she-shed also held two decorative thermometers that Matt had given me when he was just a kid. I loved each of them, though neither no longer worked. Oh and there were two cute little solar lanterns that were meant to be in the sun, so they would light up at night. They didn’t work either...especially in the barn; but they looked so doggone cute.

I took a peak into the tack room that was really just a closet that Sam had added when we first had the barn built. It encompassed just enough room for 3 saddles and our bridles. I about lost it then. There was my Aussie saddle that Matt had passed on to me when he bought a new one. Both saddles he bought with his own money, as a kid while still living at home. How I love that saddle! It was so light for me as I aged and so simple to tack up. Plus it was just so doggone comfortable. Ain’t parting with it. Never! No how; nada, never! They always say “Don’t sell your saddle.” I kinda believe that; gonna live by it anyway. I'm not much of a cowgirl; but I am at least that much of one.

As I thought about that saddle, I realized I must be getting better. I was able to push the tears back down my throat, and instead, get to the task at hand - starting that John Deere riding mower. Last year it started at one turn of the ignition. This year, it took a bit more. But that’s ok...everything is getting older. Once started, and I let it warm a bit, it ran like a champ.

I took it over to the house checking out and closing all the gates. Why is even that little task fun for me? I don’t know. It just is. It feels good and gates squeak the right note and provide protection to the things the soul loves; and it offers a feeling of doing the right thing. And it only takes a moment.

Back at the fire, Sam was finishing things up. I took a look back in the hay barn and felt that same feeling I did earlier...memories, with ambiance and aroma. Juliee’s bridle was still on the hook, but her halter and lead rope were gone. I didn’t ask anything about the last time I had put them on her and waited for the vet to come. And I still don’t want to know any more than I already know. Sam took care of the hardest part for me.

With the barn looking pretty clear, and the fire now roaring with nothing more to add to it, I pulled up a chair Sam had brought over to rest just a bit. It was all under control, Arly was back in the yard, and time was all we needed now. An idea came to me as I sat and watched the now waning flames. This post and that little video below.

So the photo below is AI...well, not the photo. That’s me on Juliee several years ago, when I was out for a ride with our son, who must have been riding his mare Tobi when he snapped the picture. I had a little fun with AI and created a little video from it. I had no videos of Juliee and me on a ride. Now I do. I’m going to think about that instead of memories swirling through my mind, trying to leak out through my eyes. "Whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are pure; think on these things." This is where the "cowgirl" rides away.

Someone To Start My Orange

"I just want someone to start my orange." Not sure why that thought came into my head, today. I guess I am struggling a bit and reminiscing of better days gone by. When one gets 70+ years old, I think that is probably a bit normal as the aches and pains one has earned in life, start to catch up with us. 

But my mama…

Gone from us now, almost ten years; and though she was ninety, it was still far too soon. She was the comfort of all comfort when I was a kid. She always knew just what to do. A particular memory flooded my heart today, leaving me in silent  tears, while tightly holding my breath. This, in order to keep my sadness silent. But, in truth, the memory also brought a smile.

When I was little and attending our small town, grade school, I was a bit shy. I often couldn’t do things, because I was afraid to try...until I got mad and then I could do anything… But I digress.

I was so shy, I was afraid to ever utilize the "hot lunch" service at our school. The price was only a quarter; and if one didn’t want to carry a lunch packed from home, the student could get a hot lunch, with milk. A student could also just get the milk for 6 cents. I didn’t do that either. I didn’t like milk.

I only remember getting "hot lunch" one day, in my entire 8 years at that grade school. Yes, it went to 8th grade! And then we were bussed to the larger junior high school, south, and then to high school as sophomores. 

One morning when I was very young and in grade school, my mom was very sick. She wasn’t up to making lunches for my siblings and me. As she handed me the quarter and told me I would have to get lunch from school that day, I balked. I told her I didn’t want to get "hot lunch". She didn’t understand that the reason was because I was afraid I wouldn’t know how to do it and that I would be embarrassed by not knowing what to do. Poor Mama. She basically begged me to just take the quarter and get hot lunch. 

I still remember stumbling nervously through the hot lunch line, not knowing what to pick up, or which way to go. I picked up a milk carton, at the front of the cafeteria line, even though I didn’t like milk. And then I heard someone lecture me… "No, no, no! You will get your milk at the end of the line. These are for the kids simply wanting milk only, for 6 cents."

Ugh...I knew I would do it wrong...and then I headed the wrong way. Someone else pointed me the right direction. Somehow, I made it through the rest of the line, as they filled my tray. After eating, I had to figure out how to return my tray and make sure I cleaned it correctly and put it in the right place. Sounds silly, I know; but to a shy little girl that was basically afraid of everything social, it was devastating. I do remember liking the lunch and telling Mama how good it was when I got home from school that day. Sometimes, as I look back, and think of how shy and uncertain I was, I wonder how I ever made it through school at all.

I don’t think I ever “took hot lunch” again. I like things the same every day. I do better with routine...even as an adult. Routine for me then, was carrying a lunch box. Eventually, as I got older, I also became embarrassed about that. It wasn’t cool to carry a box. It had to be a brown paper sack. My mom willingly obliged. I still remember that package of small brown lunch sacks that we had to pick up from the market from time to time.

That little story is to set the stage for the memory that made a visit today. But oh my goodness, the stories I have about that school cafeteria!! And they flood my mind as I try to relay even just the short one. This post may get way distracted from my intent. But that cafeteria!! I can literally smell it, and feel it as I write. It was in the basement of the old gymnasium, where I also have a ton of memories! Carnivals, cake walks, school dances, graduations and "Go you Chicken Fat, go!" But that is for another post I guess. You can read some of that here, and here and here. Oh, and here. Too much?? lol

Back to my lunch box. My lunches from home were often the same. Usually a tuna, or bologna sandwich on white bread, (often homemade) a cupcake or cookie and a fruit - usually an orange or a banana, because I didn’t like apples that well. My siblings and I were thrilled when we would have one of Mom's homemade cinnamon rolls show up in our lunchbox. 

As I said, Mom would often pack an orange in my lunch, as our fruit. If I remember correctly it was always a whole orange. We never had "baggies", ourselves, back then. Mama always wrapped everything in wax paper. I don’t think wax paper would be strong enough to prevent the juice of an orange leaking everywhere. Without a baggie or plastic container, juice would get all over everything if the orange was sliced.

But anyway, this memory is about a whole orange. One school year, several times in a row, I left the orange uneaten, bringing it home in my lunch box at the end of the day. Finally one day, Mama asked me why I wasn’t eating my orange at lunch.

“Because I can’t peel it, Mommy. I can’t get it started." At home, Mom always either started the orange peel for me with her thumb, or she just sliced it and gave it to me that way.

I will never forget the look on my mom’s face when I said that. Her face lit up in understanding and maybe just a bit of a look of motherly failure. I hate to call it sorrow, but as a mom, it kind of is that. You know the feeling you get when you know you have let your child down...even if it is something as small as an unpeeled orange – yeah, that look.

After that, every time I had an orange in my lunch there was always a little notch out of the peeling, probably started with her thumb or maybe a knife. That was the only way I was able to peel my orange the rest of the way by myself. It didn't have to be sliced and I could eat it without juice being all over my sandwiches and cupcakes. Mamas are the best for fixing everything.

So as I struggled today with what ever little thing it was that I was doing, this is the thought that came to me. “I wish I had someone to start my orange.” I hadn't thought of that in years - probably decades.

I don’t need a lot. But today I need someone to start my orange. And her name is Mama.

Pine Cone Messages

It was a warm, moonlit summer night and my best friend was spending the night. We were about 13 at the time and now at age 71, the clarity of the memory has faded. I’m sure we were sleeping out in the back yard of my family’s modest home. We loved to do that after the long, hot days of summer and we took turns spending the night at each other’s homes.

My bestie, Cathy, and her family were horse people. They raised Tennessee Walkers and some of my fondest memories of childhood revolve around those days.

Her family was probably one of the wealthiest members of our small, tight-knit community. Because we lived in what was then a rural neighborhood, the families in our little community were known as the “country bumpkins” to the kids from the schools of the larger city, further south. But to us, we had it far better than any of the “city slickers”. We had a mountain to climb, a lake nearby to swim, a pond to skate on in the winter, two little grocery markets, woods to walk in and a hill with woods where we loved to ride our horses. We also loved to ride them around the neighborhood, where traffic was minimal and paths along side the roads were many.

Cathy was smart, pretty, and feminine. I was just an average kid, and a bit of a “tom-boy” at that age. I was a big fan of the Trixie Belden book series when I was young and to me, I was Trixie Belden (all except for the short, curly blonde hair) and Cathy was Honey Wheeler to a T - the rich, pretty, best friend who had horses, a fancy stable, lots of property with woods and everything else a kid would want to grow up with at their disposal.

Cathy's family had three horses that I remember. Sandy, Midnight and Go-Go (yes, after the Go-Go Girls of the 1960’s). Sandy was the aging Palomino mare, that in the beginning we rode the most and who I was allowed to ride on my own. Next, Cathy got Midnight; a big, black Tennessee Walker that we rode together on all kinds of adventures. And then there was Go-Go the young Palomino filly who I only remember riding once. And in all honesty, I was a bit frightened when Cathy (with her Dad) allowed me to ride Go-Go in their large pasture. She was young and spirited. I only took this little filly a ways down the pasture, quickly returning, telling them “I had better not ride her, I don’t want to ruin her training.” lol     That was a kid’s way of saying: “Get me off here. I am scared!” In reality, Go-Go was as good as gold, or they wouldn’t have let me ride her alone. Fear has always been the emotion that has held me back the most, it seems, no matter the issue. Oh to be 13 again and do it all differently! Oh to be 71 and do the same!

But on this particular night, as we laid out our sleeping bags in the back yard of my safe, childhood home, an idea came to us. The next door neighbors’, whom we did not know at the time, had horses that seemed to be beckoning to us. Why, I don’t really know, as often as we got to ride Cathy’s horses.

“Let’s sneak over there and ride those horses!” Cathy was already plotting all of it out in her mind. Me, being not the leader, but the follower, willingly agreed; not stopping to have even one care about the fact that we had not one idea about the rideability of these horses. (Double negative for emphasis!) We didn’t know if they had ever been ridden or not; we didn’t care if we had a bridle or halter, or rope; and we most certainly had not one concern about a saddle. We just went. We crept under the fence and into their pasture. I don’t remember all of it, but I know Cathy told me she would mount first. As young teenagers it was easy for us to jump onto a horse’s back, stomach first and then swing our right leg over. With her getting on first though, this wouldn’t have been possible for me to mount that way, and I don’t remember exactly how I mounted. Perhaps she extended a hand and I somehow managed to mount without pulling her off. Or maybe we found a tree for me to grab onto and pull myself up. I just don’t remember. I only remember my friend, who was already an expert horse woman, guiding that horse around the pasture, lit only by the light of the moon. I remember riding past the big old tree that sat along the side of the road at the furthest edge of their pasture and ducking under a branch. I remember thinking excitedly, “We did it!” The horse was obviously well-behaved, and though there was another horse in the pasture as well, we rode together. I don’t remember anything after that...only this short scene that feels like it is fighting it’s way out of my mind, seemingly not wanting to stay. But it is one memory, that I absolutely treasure, so I hold onto it just as fiercely, as it tries to leave.

I have so many fond memories of this childhood friend – the day she got her first high heeled tap shoes as she continued her dance lessons; galloping Midnight across their pasture singing “Scarecrow, Scarecrow”...a popular Walt Disney movie of the era… “Don’t tell Dad we do this,” she had often warned me. 

And I remember one time at the pond, which the owners so graciously let the entire community use, we found a dead horse. She was distraught, but knew just what to do. She went up to get help and told me to stay there with the horse. (Not sure why) The owners of the home didn’t answer the door, so apparently she went on to her own home. But it was taking so long that I got scared, (big surprise) so I left. Kinda regret to this day not waiting for her to come back. 

I also remember camping out alone at the base of their mountain in the woods...in the dark...alone...in our homemade shelter, Did I say alone? At night? We got scared. I think we eventually went in to her house before the night was over. Not sure she was too happy with me about that. She was obviously the brave one, I think.

I also remember letting her down another time. We would meet each morning before school so that we could walk the mile to school together. I lived on the last street in our neighborhood. At that time, our street was sometimes called “Foothill” and she lived at the base of the mountain, and perpendicular to our street, with their house as the center point, directly across from their huge pastures. Every morning she would walk across that big pasture to meet me at the corner of my street. There were two big pine trees there, and we were to place a pine cone at the bottom of the biggest tree if one of us was late and the other got worried the friend was not coming. That way if one did come late, we would know the other one had been there, but gave up waiting...so we should just continue on to school. Well one day, I was pretty late...and I waited a few minutes, and decided there was no way she was coming, so I had better get going. But I couldn’t be bothered to leave a pinecone! I was so convinced she had already gone and had simply not left me a pine cone! I regret doing that to this day!! Because I later found out she hadn’t been there! And when she did get there, she trusted me enough to wait for me, being certain I hadn’t been there, because there was no pinecone! A good friend would have left a pinecone. Her waiting for me had made her late for school and it was my fault! What kind of a friend does that! I guess, I do. Suffice it to say, that was the end of the pinecone messages...and maybe just a bit of a loss of trust.

Anyway, we shared a lot more friendship after that. We were Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy together for a school party. We shared secrets and hopes and crushes on the cutest boys. We called each other every morning and stood by one another through thick and thin, We separated a bit in high school, when she was popular with a different crowd than I was, but we came back in full measure as adults. She comforted me through divorce and being newly single; and I cried with her when she lost her favorite horse, then close family members and finally her biggest tragedy of all – the loss of her only daughter in a tragic traffic accident at the age of 13. Cathy was also seriously injured.

I don’t think Cathy was ever the same after that; understandably so. Though a few years before the accident, she had moved to the southern part of the state, we always stayed in touch through letters. But I never saw her again. 

Finally, one day I got a call from her little sister telling me that she had passed away. 

After her memorial which I could not attend, her husband sent me the beautiful memorial, a  picture of her when she was young and a poem her daughter had written her when she was just a little tyke. A bit later, her husband called out of the kindness of his heart with a message, which I kind of look at now as kind of a “pinecone message”. She had gone on ahead, but she had thought of me. 

When their daughter had passed away, I had given Cathy a locket which held a photo of their daughter. He wanted me to know how much that meant to her and that she had never taken off...even for a day. I knew this was true, because when Cathy received it, she called me and told me how much it meant to her because it told her that I understood... Her grief, of course, was about losing her daughter; not about her own injuries. 

When her husband made that phone call to me, he also wanted me to know that she had often told him that some of her fondest memories were of time spent at my modest, childhood home, where she always only felt safety and love of family.

I don’t remember too many phone calls meaning more to me than that one. And I most certainly know and will forever remember that she was always the one to leave the important messages...

When Sorrow Is Offered Hope

 

It was a bright, sunny March day, and it seemed spring had arrived early. I knew it wouldn’t be long until my bluebirds arrived for the season. Their normal arrival date is around March 11^th , only 1 week away. I suspect due to the mostly mild winter and apparent early spring, they will arrive early. I knew I had to get out to clean their boxes before they arrive. I didn’t really relish the task, but I also knew from past experience it wouldn’t take long and it isn’t at all difficult.

I felt the warmth of the sun, without even a slight breeze and everything was so still, as I walked out the back door. It was actually a perfect day to have a small job outside. But as I started my task, I became a bit discouraged by the condition of the boxes. They are old and it is probably time, to replace all of them. I realized they were no longer as safe for my birds as they should be.

A walk through the
Raspberries.

The first boxes that I worked on went easily. But the last box that I cleaned, took longer than the other 4 all put together. It was in rough shape and the nest that was left over seemed to be stuck to the floor of the box. I had been negligent in getting to this box last year. Too, the box was a bit higher than the rest of them and I was foolish enough not to bring a step stool or ladder and too stubborn after already getting started, to go get one.

For no reason, I started to cry in frustration. It didn’t really have anything to do with the task at hand, or my difficulties in finishing it. It was due to the moment I walked out the back door, and I had felt the stillness, I felt only the emptiness. “It feels like death”, I told myself. It was all due to the fact that my little Arabian mare, was not there to greet me. And she never would be again. 

I know it is past time to be over the sorrow of losing her. But I also knew all winter long that I would feel like this come spring. I didn’t, however, expect it to be this bad. I simply cannot get over the sorrow and regret. Not only have I lost a loving, little friend who was my favorite creature to run away from life with, I have lost my life style. This is the first time in 21 years this property has been without a horse. Even as I write this, the tears come and the despair is great. As I went about my first outside chore of the spring season, I actually began to feel like I no longer even wanted to be here. Too many changes, nothing is the same. Too much work, which I am left alone to do. And all the hopes, dreams and desires from the past, now only linger in memory...much of it unaccomplished. It is now too late for a future.

There will be no more horses, because we cannot out live one, and it would be wrong to do that to an animal. I am too old to get an older animal in hopes that I might outlive it. An older horse requires far  more care and I would simply be putting myself in the state of worry I have lived the last few years, all over again.

I sometimes know it was right to put Juliee down, last fall. She was 30 years old, with suspected Cushings disease. She was missing 8 teeth and restricted to only a diet of soaked grass pellets and grain. I couldn’t throw down extra hay at night that she would have to eat to help keep her warm through a cold winter night. She was so fragile the harsh winter before, that I did not want to put her through that again. And yet, she had come through the winter remarkably. The prior two winters had been difficult with her suffering from a colic in March both of those years. It wasn’t due to indulging in too much rich green grass that often happens to horses in the spring. It was due to her not being able to chew her hay well enough for it to digest properly – thus the colic. She was doing well on the soaked pellets but for 2 prior winters I had readied myself for putting her down in the fall. This was the 3^rd year of feeling that way. When she came down with a leg injury, I felt we could no longer justify the expense. We tried wrapping it for ten days with a round of antibiotics and bute, but at the end of those days, it wasn’t any better. In fact, it actually looked worse. I couldn’t justify putting any more money into her. But I will always regret that decision. I should have given it just a little more time so that I would know I had given her every opportunity and not just given up on her.

I have carried on too long with the regret, I know. But it wasn’t just myself that I was letting down. It was my grandsons, and my little neighbor kids, my nieces and nephew. My son… We all wanted her to stay. I still haven’t been able to tell my little grandsons, letting them believe she was in the barn the last few times they were here. We can’t tell them. They had just lost their own two horses (not to death, fortunately) and a kitty. I simply cannot stand to see them sad, especially the older one who has fuller understanding.

Anyway, these were all the thoughts that ran through my mind as I cleaned my boxes for the birds that give me so much joy. But I only became more sad, and then frustrated as I tried to walk through my raspberry bushes, in order to get to the last box that I needed to clean. 

After I was finished with that box, I decided to go get the clippers and clip the bushes all away. I thought I would get them ready to have my husband come till them all away later this spring. In that moment I just wanted them gone. I wondered if I could get hubby out there to do it. That made me sad too. These were my mom’s raspberry bushes, but they too have been let go too long and they have spread until they are really unmanageable.

As I went to get the clippers, I had walked past the bleeding heart bush that when we first moved here, my mom had given me from my childhood home. It had thrived for over 20 years, But last year, it started doing poorly. I believe it was from when we stained our house, I hadn’t protected it properly. It was struggling and then I made a grave mistake of planting a flower next to it that I shouldn’t have. By the end of summer, it became apparent it was no longer going to make it in the spot it had always done so well. So I transplanted it that fall. What I saw now as I passed by where I had transplanted it, was that my beautiful bleeding heart no longer lived. I am heartbroken. 

So again back at the raspberries, I clipped and clipped and clipped with a powerful vengeance and still I didn’t get them all. (That may be a good thing. I guess I would like to keep a remnant.) Attacking the raspberries with every spark of anger in me, only helped a little.

And then realizing the futility of it all, I stopped. Letting out a sigh of surrender, I relinquished my mad attack on the raspberries, remembering instead how Juliee had loved to lean over the fence line and nibble at these raspberry bushes. And the silent tears I had been softly releasing all along turned to torrents….anger, sorrow and regret all wrapped up in a tsunami of destruction intent on washing everything that lived here all away.

I couldn’t do any more. I told myself I don’t want to live here anymore. Nothing is the same, nor ever will be. In exasperation, I threw down my tools and stomped off to the house. I had to pass by the magnolia trees I had planted a few years ago. Now still bushes, I had been watching them patiently every year, excited for them to become flowering trees.

I had asked a friend when I planted them, “Will I ever live long enough to see them become a tree like yours?” I had asked her.

“Oh yes”, she assured me, “you will see it in your life time.”

In spite of my anger and tears, something caught my eye and I stopped for a moment, to take a closer look. “They are turning green already”, I whispered in surprise. The snow is barely off the ground and they even have what looks like buds! I was absolutely amazed. In that little speck of green life, I found hope. Just enough hope to help me correct my perspective. Thank you, Jesus.

And then I heard the meadowlark sing. Pause. Breathe.

It was a God Wink in an otherwise ultra sorrowful day. I was glad I had cleaned the boxes. The raspberries can be for another day. I guess we will be around for that.

To be continued...

The Heart That Heals

I simply stood in silence, watching both directions unsure from which way they would come. I couldn’t believe the stillness. It is always quiet out here, but it was uncommonly still. As if everything had shut down; and there was no wind at all; not even a breeze.   

In better days.

My mare, Juliee, whom I had come out to spend some quality time with, came to us 14 years ago. She came with that name and spelling and we decided to keep it, though I had never really liked it. Until recently, she has always been an easy keeper and an excellent companion. Now reaching 30 years of age, she had only begun to present us with some challenges in the last few years. 

Today, as I spent time with her, she suddenly decided to lay down. I could tell she had had enough. She never lays down when she's with me. Of course, the vet who had been called for an appointment yesterday was a few minutes late. That is expected, and one can't really blame them because there's no way to predict how the prior appointment might go; or how traffic might take a turn. But as I stood there watching her, I couldn't help but wish they would just hurry.

As I waited, I quietly watched one of my favorite birds, the Northern Flicker, who flew clumsily into the Mountain Ash tree. Those silly birds! I caught the sound of geese crying overhead and marveled at them as they flew in their perfect V formation. Their cry is so very forlorn and yet at the same time so beautiful and warm. It seemed appropriate for this moment. It's one of my favorite sounds. And geese are another of my favorite birds...perhaps you prefer foul or game bird.

I had been texting on and off with my sister who was so kind and thoughtful to help me through this crummy situation. She helped me pass the time as I waited for the people that would come to help my horse peacefully leave this earth. My sis helped assure me I was doing the right thing.

My niece had just been here with her kids to say their final goodbye. And I let the kids give Juliee as many treats as they wanted. She was eating it up. ;-) (Pardon the pun.) It helped having them here. I noticed my niece took several photos which I know I will be glad to have, someday.

I wondered about my son and if he was doing okay. I kind of felt that he wanted me to wait just a little bit longer for this day. But then he hadn't seen the new decline in Juliee's leg...

The man who was to haul her off after being euthanized was here first. And he couldn't have been kinder and was another distraction for which I was very grateful. Juliee didn't get up when he arrived. That was a sign for me. Prior to this day, she would always get up when someone came.

I knew what I had done to cause that. I had let her eat too much, trying to baby her and spoil her before this dreadful hour. I had a vet once tell me, "Oh she can eat as much of the pellets as she wants; it's just grass." I feed her a combination of soaked Alfalfa and Timothy pellets. I knew better when she said that. Because both Timothy and Alfalfa are rich and could colic a horse almost as easily as grain. But this time I gave way; using her advice as an excuse, and I let Juliee eat to her heart's content. I shouldn't have done that, but I wanted to distract her from her friends down the pasture, so I gave her another bowl of mash. The neighbor horses had finally come out to see her, which I've been wanting them to do. I wanted her to be able to go down and see them a few times before she passed. It is a big part of her life and the things she loves to do. Today, however, I didn't want her down there because I didn't know how she would fare with them, or how she would do on the trek back. So I fed her to sidetrack her from her neighbor friends. I didn't want to see her longing for something she couldn't have in her last hour.

Anyway, the vet got here and I could tell by the way she pulled in and rushed to get her stuff, that she felt bad about being a tad late. I think she was surprised to see Juliee on the ground, because it was scheduled and not called in as an emergency. It's just not normal behavior for a horse to stay down when there's action going on. The vet, like the gentleman who had arrived, was very kind and attentive and got quickly to the job at hand. I couldn't be more thankful for the two people appointed to this task.

I had asked my husband who would come out to join us, to bring the check I had written for the man (undertaker, of sorts) who would take Juliee's body away. But apparently hubby didn't listen when I told him prior that payment would be on the table and to please bring it when he joined us. I got the message quickly when I asked him to give the man the check and he had no clue as to where it was. So after they gave Juliee the first injection, I had to run back in to the house to get the check. This broke my stride a bit and my ability to pass some love onto Juliee before she left. Perhaps that was for the best. When I got back, they were ready to give her the final injection, so I simply and quickly thanked them all; gave Julie one last goodbye hug and whispered in her ear, that I would see her on the other side. I turned my back and walked away, never to look at her again. I just wasn't able to stay for the remaining moments. I didn't want to have that as my final view of her. The sleepy Juliee and the pain in her eyes as she received the first injection to make her sleepy was bad enough to have to remember.

Well I meant this post to be more hopeful and meaningful and inspiring. Instead it's just a bit way too sad. Perhaps it's too early; or perhaps because my hip is sore I didn't sit at the computer and instead chose to use the microphone to put down my thoughts. There's something better about fingers on a keyboard when you want to write… I will clean it up a bit later.

After it was all over my husband and I decided we needed a distraction. We couldn't quietly sit and think about what had just happened and look all day at an empty pasture. So we decided to take a drive to the place North that is always our comfort spot. Or at least my comfort spot. And my husband is always gracious enough to take me. We visited my parents' grave; had lunch at my favorite restaurant and went to our favorite bakery. We bought all the foods we should not eat and our favorite bread, meats and cheeses. Then I bought toys for the grandkids and something for our son and daughter-in-law. Anything to keep a cooling salve held in with a tight wrap, to keep the hot grief from spilling out.

Articles I had read to find answers, said the day before is actually the worst day before putting down a horse; and I absolutely found that to be true. I think the initial decision is the hardest of all - the worry that you're not going to do the right thing. And in the end, I'm still not sure I did make the right decision. I was worried about getting her through winter; about her suffering; about not able to eat any hay; about being too cold; about being able to walk through the snow; and on and on. Then too, I'm not as young as I used to be and I have a new hip problem coming up which is extra sore today. But of course it has been a mild November and by forecast it's going to be a mild December. So perhaps this would have been a winter she could have gone through. But how does one ever know? The doubt rages, the guilt overwhelms.

I will always wonder if I acted too quickly. But I chose that over the possible regret of being too late. I’ve been too late, too...with a cat.

On our ride home from our comfort spot, I received a text from my niece. A friend of hers who is a "horse whisperer" and lover of all things equine had at one point told her this. It helped explain my feelings. It read:

"It is believed that the magnetic field produced by a horse's heart is stronger than that of a human heart, and that this field can have a positive effect on the human body. Some people believe that being in close proximity to a horse's heart can help to improve circulation, reduce stress and anxiety, and promote feelings of well-being and relaxation. In fact, many people who work with horses or spend time around them report feeling more grounded, calm, and connected to nature when they are in the presence of these majestic animals."

This is all very true, and probably why I have always said, cleaning stalls when your horse is there is the best job in the world and I never want to stop! But that magnetic heart is also why we worry more about them than other animals while they are here if we see decline.

Finally then, when it's time to go, it doesn’t end up being about them as much as it is about us… It's about more than just missing a beloved companion. We will miss us! The rides, the challenges, the part of us that we have poured into that life. It's a part of who we are and it is suddenly gone. When one gets to be my age, that is never coming back. We are too old to start with another. It would be selfish. 

That quote explained everything for me. A magnetic heart that draws us in, is gone! It explains why the grief seems so unbearable. But I guess that is also why it will heal more quickly and completely. I think that strong heart they lend us in life is also why we will heal more easily when they are gone. Maybe...

Thanks for the years of love and obedience, Baby Girl. Everyone knows you didn't have to do what you did - that you were actually the boss, but you chose, instead, to let me pretend to be.

Love Is Alive

 

Love is Alive by "The Judds" came on my radio this morning, as I was driving into town. It brought back some immediate memories. And I knew I wanted to share them. 

I've done some really stupid things in my life, and sometimes regret plays over and over in my head making me quite miserable. One of those memories came to me while I was listening to this Judd song; and believe me when I say, this isn't the worst of what I've done, by any means! But it is something I shouldn't have done and long regretted. 

When my niece was about 10 or 11, (I guess I don't really remember how old she was) I wanted to take her to her first concert. And the Judd's were coming to town. Now the Judd's were one of my favorite entertainers at the time; and I don't really remember if they were one of her favorites too. But she certainly knew I loved them and maybe because of that, she loved them too. 

Anyway, I was able to purchase some tickets and I wanted to make it a special event for her. The concert was in our area at what was then called the Opera House. It's just really a small venue, that hosted various events. It was going to be just us two. I wanted the one on one. So I'm sure we excitedly picked the clothes we wanted to wear and I told her we would go out to dinner first, at the Mexican restaurant right next to it. That way we could park just once and then easily walk over to the event center, after dinner. I almost remember where we sat at that Mexican restaurant, but I don't really remember what we ate. 

Of course at that time, there were no cell phones but I had snuck a camera into my purse (they didn't check purses back then either). I wanted so badly to get a picture of the Judd's for my niece. Wouldn't you know, the only camera I had, required a flash. Cameras were not allowed and certainly flash cameras were not allowed at that time. But I was not about to let that stop me.

I don't remember who warmed up for them, or if anyone did, but I know I started taking pictures once the Judd's started playing. It didn't take very long before one of the women who was monitoring the aisles and seating for the event center came over and motioned to me to get up and come to her. She was rather adamant with her hand signals. 

We were somewhere near the middle of the row, so getting up and going to her would have required going through and inconveniencing a row of people. I just shook my head no, I wasn't coming. I was just as adamant as she. She relented and let me stay and I mouthed a promise that I would be good and wouldn't shoot anymore photos. I guess I lied.

I don't remember if I tried to capture any more photos during the rest of the performance. I do remember letting my niece stand on the seat because she was too little to see over people's heads - especially if they were standing too. I let her hoop and holler and I hooped and hollered right along with her. In light of everything, I think we had a fairly overall fun concert experience. One I hoped she would remember. 

Just as they were ending their performance, when I knew it was the last song, I decided I would take one more photo. I wanted to be certain I got one that would be clear enough for my niece to enjoy. Back then, you couldn't look on your phone to see if it was a "keeper". The film had to be sent away to be developed before you would even know if you captured the image you wanted.

If I had it to do all over again, I certainly would have tried to set a better example. I was certainly not a good example for a 10-year-old, 11 year old, 12 or 13 or whatever age she might have been. I probably would have still let her hoop and holler. And I even would have let her stand on her seat; but I most certainly wouldn't have flashed a lightbulb in the eyes of the entertainers! Nor would I have blinded the people who were sitting around us. Hmmmm Maybe it was me I was concerned with when I refused to walk through them. lol

Anyway, I would not have taught her that it was ok to break the rules. And I would have demonstrated to her that we were guests and should behave accordingly. I would have preferred that I was a better example for her and taught her something worthwhile.

I did get a photo. And if I remember correctly, I put it in a frame for her to accent it for her to keep. It wasn't the best photo from that little, cheap camera, but at least it was a memory. 

But back to the present. As the tune on the radio kept playing, more memories filled my mind. I reflected on when Naomi died many decades after that performance that I had shared with my niece. I probably cried over that loss, even though they hadn't recorded anything together in a long time. They were just starting out when we saw them, and it was well past the end of their career when Naomi passed away. Broken-hearted, I called my niece, who is now in her 40s, to share with her the sad news. Naomi had passed and I still felt the connection with my niece because of that concert. I didn't even know if she still listened to them or liked them anymore. But I wanted to call her and experience that talent with her and feel that connection once again. I don't know if that was silly. Maybe. I just know even in Naomi's passing, Love is Alive and I had to let my niece know. It wasn't really about Naomi Judd or one of my favorites, "The Judd's"  It was about my niece! And a special moment in time we had shared together. Woo Hoo! Love is Alive!

Missing the Signal

I saw the sweetest little video on Facebook today. It showed a farmer in his field probably haying his crop. And it showed his little grandson running out to the tractor with his grandpa's lunch and a cool drink to quench Grandpa's thirst from the hot sun. 

It almost brought tears to my eyes (or I guess I did cry a bit) because it was so sweet. It showed the grandpa getting off the tractor, and the little grandson running to his grandpa for a big old hug. And of course the grandpa hugged him right back. 

I can't remember the caption on the post right now. But it was in regard to growing your son's up to be "country" and Jason Aldean's song "Let Your Boys Be Country" was playing in the background.

It was the most touching thing to watch because that's my lifestyle too. That's everything I believe in. But it also moved me because it brought back memories of my own grandpa. 

My little sis and I would try to help him out when we were little as he was haying his crop. When it was time for a drink of water, he would put his thumb to his lips with his little pinky extended making a flexing motion that demonstrated he was drinking. (No, not that kind of drinking! ;-)) That let us know he was ready for a drink of water. That was our cue to go in and get a cool glass of water from Grandma. We loved that! Then we would excitedly run it out to the pasture where Grandpa was working so hard...proud that we were now helping.

My youngest sister reminded me of that memory several years ago. I had forgotten all about it, but ever since she brought it to my memory, I can see Grandpa as clearly as if he was standing right in front of me right now, letting us know it was time for him to have a cool drink of water.

As I watched the video, and it caused me to think about this today, it also reminded me of another memory when Grandpa had signaled to me. He had a car that wouldn't start. Back then most of the cars were probably standard/stick shifts and much easier to self start than an automatic. But anyway, as he tied the car that wouldn't start to the pickup, he asked me to ride along with Grandma. 

I was supposed to watch him as we drove down the little hill near our house. When he signaled to me with a wave, I was supposed to let Grandma know. I can't think what that must have meant. I guess that meant he had been able to get it started, as he popped the clutch going down the small incline... She was supposed to pull over, I guess, so he could unchain. But I missed my signal and I just waved back thinking how sweet it was Grandpa was waving at me from his car. I don't know why in the world I didn't make the connection. Finally I think Grandma said something like "Isn't he waving yet?" 

And so proud that I had his attention, I replied back to Grandma,  "Oh yes, Grandpa has been waving at me!" And then I heard a sigh from Grandma and finally understood the furrowed brow and frustrated look on Grandpa's face that I could see through the car windows and I knew I had blown it. 

I guess I wasn't the smartest crayon in the box. I was shy and awkward and probably often missed the instructions because I was always thinking about how uncomfortable I was. Even as much as I loved my grandma and grandpa, I was shy and awkward with them too. I was never totally comfortable around anyone when I was little. Well, yet still. 

But anyway, those are just a few little memories from my childhood about my grandparents that the cute country video from Jason Aldean brought back to me today.I was raised country too; but I'm a girl.  And of course the song is mostly about sons. But that doesn't mean the emotions aren't every bit as strong and every bit as important. 

And the lesson in my post? Don't miss the signal when you're raised country. Ya gotta do it right! 

Enjoy this song from Jason Aldean. "Let Your Boys Be Country". 

I love this song and video...especially that Jason included his family in it. I want my boys to be country, too...'cept I don't want my boys to get too "wild with the boys". And I want them to stay away from "cold beer". ;-) 

One more thing I don't want them missing any signals, like I did! ;-)

Tired

I read today that Toby Keith posthumously broke all records for his songs...including Elvis. I am not surprised. What a talent! And we are going to miss him bigtime.  

He had a song for all of us! Patriots, moms, death, faith, love, hopes and dreams; and fun, humor...my goodness! Did he miss anything in his poetic lyrics? No. He did not. And one thing he sang about most was the working man; and our troops. Oh and hurt and pain and trials and friendship...I could go on and on and list a song for each topic.

And he did each one so beautifully. 

I thought I had heard all of Toby Keith's songs. And I do mean ALL. I found out today I was wrong. Here is one I missed.

This one is for the working man...especially the ones who are about to give up. You can see a whole of tired in each ones eyes.

Leave it to Toby to capture that...and care about it.

Man, I love that guy!

The Best Part of Life

It’s January 1, 2024. It’s early. The Christmas tree next to my computer, will probably be glowing for the last time this holiday season. I have fed my horse and dog. I sit in the silence doing one of my favorite things – drinking coffee. It is very, very quiet this morning. The quiet. That is one of my favorite things too. The fog is fighting with the sun for domination of the sky. Should be an easy win and of course it is. But from here, it doesn’t look like that the sun is winning at all. 

I am drinking my coffee this morning in a brand new mug, that I received for Christmas. This is the first time I have used it. The people that gave it to me know me well enough to know I love birds. The cup has a beautiful little etched bird sitting on a branch...He is looking up...as he should be. It warms my heart that they considered me and the things I like. That is the spirit of giving. Oh and they must know I love coffee. I think this will be my new morning coffee mug. One must drink coffee from the right mug, right?  

That brings me to the message of this post: My Favorite Things...or to be more nuanced, Creature Comforts. Here are a few:

• Coffee is best from a heavy mug.

• Tea is best from a tea cup, or a thin, fragile mug.

• I like table manners. First the blessing. I like the table set properly fork on the left; spoon and knife the right. Food must be passed from left to right all the same direction. Seems no one does that any more. But it certainly makes for much easier distribution.

• I like fires in fireplaces on crisp fall mornings and most certainly on cold winter nights.

• I like little strings of fairy lights and burning scented candles

• A dog at my feet is nice, but Arly would rather be on his bed. Sometimes I miss Bella who was always at my feet and Bullet who was usually on my lap. Every once in a while Arly will sit on my lap.

• I love rustling Bible pages. I had never given it much thought when one day in church Matthew mentioned it. He was about 6 or 7. “Listen to the rustling pages, Mama. Isn’t that pretty.” I never forgot that. It is one of my favorite memories ever.

• I love deep study of Scripture and morning reading. But I love deep study the best.

• I like memories. At least the good ones. I try to hold onto them and chase the bad ones away with prayers. “Hold every thought captive,” becomes more clear these days.

• I like reading glasses by every place, I might read. By my chair in the living room; on the night stand by my bed; on my desk by my computer; and on my kitchen shelf, where I read a recipe or instructions. I despise looking for my glasses, so I try not to move them from there designated spot...oh and a pair in my purse of course for our restaurant visits.

• I like hand sanitizer for those restaurant visits, and I like one in each of my car doors, so it is available after pumping gas; or for my passengers needs.

• I like lotion and Kleenex and lip balm by my chair. My niece gifted me with some wonderful hand cream and lip balm this year. That warms my heart.

• I like to read in silence.

• I like to think.

• I like to study.

• I like to write.

• I like to do what God has me to do in the moment. It isn’t obvious. I just do it, when I know it.

• I don’t know my gifts. Discernment, I believe, but one must know how and when to use that. Writing, I have been told...I don’t know about that.

• I do nothing well and never have...one might call me a “[Jill] of all trades; a master of none.” But I don’t even come close to a “[Jill] of all trades.” I try. I like that.

• I like hearing from people from my past.

• I like fresh, clean sheets and lots of blankets.

• I like down pillows and only down pillows.

• I like riding my horse. Interestingly, that is secondary to taking care of her.

• I love watching her get a long drink of water.

• I love to hear the munch of hay.

• I like cleaning stalls and putting down pine shavings.

• I absolutely love seeing her covered in pine shavings in the morning, because I know she has been sleeping in the bed I try to make for her for long winter nights.                

• I love poetry. Always have. These are my favorite poems most of them from the time I was a kid.     

1. Barefoot Boy - John Greenleaf Whittier
2. Stopping by Woods - Robert Frost
3. Somebody’s Mother - Mary Dow Brine
4. The House with Nobody in It - Joyce Kilmer
5. The House by the Side of the Road - Sam Walter Foss

• I love birds and watching all of them. But I especially love Bluebirds, Meadowlarks and Northern Flickers.

• I love the smell of freshly cut hay.

• I love the smell of rain and the sound of it falling on my roof.

• I love sitting in the she-shed in my barn watching it rain while eating rhubarb pie.

• I love spending time with my kids and grand kids. But that isn’t a creature comfort. That is life and the best part of it. I guess it is a favorite thing.