Change
Hibiscus
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It’s easy to tell it’s almost full-fledged fall. I get three distinct reminders:
- The horses start shedding their summer coats
- The dinner plate-size hibiscus burst into bloom
- The skunks make their dusk or dawn presence known
Twice in the last week I’ve been jarred out of sleep by the pungent scent of Peppy LePew wafting through my open bedroom window. The first time it happened I could hear the low rumble of Gus growling in his crate. Gus typically doesn’t make a peep during the night, but his highly tuned nose put him on full alert. The scent wasn’t too horribly strong, but there was no mistaking that a skunk had wandered across our property. When this happens in the spring it’s usually the young skunks who don’t have full control over their scent glands yet. But when it happens in the fall it’s more likely a full-fledged adult, which is a little more worrisome. It’s been years since I’ve had a dog get skunked, but it’s something you never forget. The smell that you usually associate with a skunk meandering through the area is nothing like the full force stench of them using their smell for defense. It’s got to be one of the most gagging, God-awful, eye-watering smells on earth. And it’s dangerous too. The dog who got skunked took a close-range shot to the face and I’m still not convinced that didn’t contribute to his blindness just a year or two later. With that episode in mind I’m not taking any chances. At the first indication that a skunk might be nearby the dogs get leashed and walked and there’s no running about freely until we’re sure the coast is clear. The pups are a little put out by that, but it’s far better than the alternative!
There are other signs of the approaching fall. The hummingbird feeder has transitioned from a dull roar to the occasional passer-by. We’re on the migration route so I’ll continue to fill the feeder until a couple of days pass with no visitors. The cardinals are getting very vocal. I’m not sure why because they’re here all summer, but every fall they become more active and noticeable. Could it be one of their food staples has come into season and they get more competitive over that? I don’t know, but I enjoy seeing the colorful pairs. Crickets are louder. I always end up with a few that get into my basement looking for what, I’m not sure! And the days have grown noticeably shorter. Our mornings stay dark now until almost 6:30 and the late afternoon sun slips over the ridge across the road by a little after 7 PM. The changing of seasons happens so fast that if I didn’t have nature to remind me I might miss it altogether.
Friends
Bullet & Rascal
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I’m attending another funeral this morning. I’ve lost count of how many this makes in the last 18 months. This time a very dear friend of my mother-in-law died. I can’t remember a time when this woman wasn’t helping someone or doing something for someone else. She was one of the sweetest, most selfless ladies I’ve ever known, and a very beloved friend to mom. I know how hard it is for my mother-in-law to lose another close friend. I’m lucky to say I count a few of my friends as true sisters to me. And my own sisters are always there for me too. I can’t imagine my life without any of them, yet every time I go to one of these funerals I get a sharp reminder that the clock ticks for all.
In the hallway of one of my childhood homes there used to hang a small plaque that said:
This is the day the Lord has made.
We shall rejoice and be glad in it!
As a child I used to ponder the meaning of that plaque. Nobody ever explained it to me and I didn’t know the verse was scripture. But I know that now. And with each passing year I feel the urgency of those words with a greater understanding.
Get out there and make the best of your day today. Rejoice in it and be glad you are alive to experience whatever your day brings. And here’s to friends who always have your back, no matter what.
Wish You Were Here
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When I’m not home I miss my critters more than anything.
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(Beanie: We both wish you were still here….)
The Right Stuff
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When I bought my camera in June of 2010 I’d never had any interest in taking photos. I didn’t own a smart phone and I hadn’t used a point and shoot more than a half dozen times in as many years. I simply woke up one day and decided I needed a new hobby, and settled on photography. I sat down at the computer and started doing some research on digital cameras, which is sort of hard to do when you don’t know the first thing beyond pushing a button and getting a mediocre result. A few years earlier I’d tried reading the instruction manual for the point and shoot camera we owned and it lost me after explaining how to turn the camera on. As a result, wading through the endless narratives about which camera and what brand would best suit me was a monumental exercise in frustration.
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I finally settled on the Canon 7D for no other reason than the fact that it was (at that time) a new model and most people were raving about it. I didn’t stop to think that I might be getting in way over my head rather, I thought I’d eventually “grow into” my camera. I reasoned that once I knew what I was doing it would be better to have everything I wanted in a camera than wish I’d bought the next model (or two) up, right? Well it’s been three years since I bought it and I’m still not sure if it was the right decision.
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The first year I had my D7 was a spectacular year for taking outdoor photos. I didn’t know that then, I just thought I had a big fancy camera and every picture I took would (therefore) turn out great! Wow. It’s kinda hard to believe I was that naive. Truth of the matter is, by sheer dumb luck I’d just happened to buy my camera at a very good time. I’ve since learned that great shooting conditions are rare and you can go an entire season (or year or two) and not have more than a few days where the conditions are great for shooting. I didn’t use to care about that and I took lots of pictures anyway, but they weren’t the same quality and I (eventually) knew it. As hard as it is for me to look out the window and see beautiful fall colors in the trees and surrounding landscape, I won’t grab my camera unless the conditions for shooting are just right.
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Perhaps that makes me sound like a snob or far more of a professional than I really am, but the truth of the matter is, I’m lazy. The days of taking a roll of pictures and dropping them off to be developed are gone, and while that gives me lots of creative license, it’s a huge time-suck to have to process my own photos. I’ve become far more discriminatory about when and what I’ll shoot and even which pictures I’ll keep. So the fact of the matter is, unless the conditions are perfect for what I want to shoot, I won’t even bother to try.
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I’ve watched the days turn into weeks, then months as my camera sits untouched. I admit, that makes me a bit uncomfortable sometimes. I worry that I’m being TOO discriminatory or lazy. I feel guilty about the money I’ve spent on equipment that isn’t getting used. But eventually I know I’ll wake up to a morning when I can instantly tell that it’s going to deliver everything I want: light, color, subject and the right conditions. The photo above was taken on one of those mornings.
Balance
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Certainly not my best effort, but I get a kick out of the symmetry of the Great Blue Heron and it’s reflection in the pond.
Country Road
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An early morning jogger on a colorful New England country road.
Spiral
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It seems my car has been in a bit of a downward spiral lately. It doesn’t have overly high mileage, but it’s fifteen, almost sixteen years old and certain things are starting to wear out. In the last few months I’ve replaced the brakes and a drive shaft, repaired the exhaust, and last week I bought a new battery when it wouldn’t start.
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Today Gus and I had an early morning appointment at the vet and guess what? The car wouldn’t start. Last week when I got the new battery there was some talk about the starter being the problem, but it was easier to replace the battery and hope for the best. Besides, the old battery was, well … old. So it’s not like that was just a wild guess, but I was hoping it was the problem. Apparently not.
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So today, and until further notice, I’m grounded. All errands and appointments must come to a halt. Once I get past the inconvenience of not being able to drive anywhere I’ll just focus on getting some chores done around the house.
Flaunt It?
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I have two wonderful old garden rose bushes that burst into blossom every spring. The interesting thing is that I haven’t done a single thing to deserve such a glorious and fragrant display of beauty. In fact, I often wonder why these bushes have been so dependable and stunning for the last thirty years since I’ve probably done just about everything to kill them? When I’ve pruned them too late in the season they’ve rebounded with even more blossoms than the year before. When I’ve failed to fertilize or water them during the dry summer months they’ve respond with vigorous new growth. When I’ve ignored various pests or unfavorable growing conditions they’ve rallied and pulled through on their own. In short, I’ve been terribly negligent with these rose bushes, yet every year my reward has been an amazing floral display.
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Thinking I’ve been blessed with a mysterious talent for growing roses, I planted several more rose bushes. After all, my theory about gardening is do more of whatever works. So over the years I’ve bought more rose bushes and, thinking I needed to be more attentive, I carefully tended them. Some years I even followed a strict protocol for feeding, watering and pruning the newer shrubs. And I’ve been rewarded with less than stellar results. Meanwhile, the old garden roses (that I still completely ignore) continue to blossom profusely every spring.
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Obviously, I don’t have half the talent for growing roses that I thought I had. And as I’ve come to suspect all along, the old garden roses are simply so well established that they’re practically impossible to kill. It seems they’re impervious to my negligence and lack of gardening skills … thank goodness!
Rock Me, Baby
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I used to think I was pretty well-grounded. Believing you’re a rock with a good grasp on your life; where you’re going and that you can get there on your own, is almost a rite of passage for the young. But as the years go by I’m beginning to realize I’m not an island, and there’s a danger in thinking I have complete control over my destiny. I once had somebody tell me that when I avoid asking for help I’m denying someone the opportunity to serve me, which blesses them and helps them grow emotionally and spiritually.
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Deep down I know that’s true, but I still tend to hesitate to ask for assistance. Yet, when someone comes to me for help I usually feel privileged that they’ve put their trust in me. So why shouldn’t I be willing to allow someone else the same opportunity? Is it because I think I might look stupid if I ask for help? Am I afraid of being vulnerable? Am I arrogant, thinking I should be capable of solving all my own problems? Do I hesitate because I might risk feeling connected? Or is it really just easier to go it alone?
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There’s a part of me that stubbornly clings to the belief that if someone loves me they’d know how and when to help and I shouldn’t need to ask. I don’t know where I got this foolish idea, but it’s one of several thoughts that prevent me from seeking help when I need it. Most people aren’t mind readers and don’t always see when a friend or family member needs help. Others need to be given a very specific request to fulfill or they’ll waffle and hold back until you provide them with a clear directive. For example, I think one of the worst things you can say to someone who has recently experienced a trauma or tragedy is, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” That’s pretty vague. And it puts the affected person in the position having to ask for and even delegate help later, which they may not be capable of doing in the aftermath of an event. Better, would be to simply ask, “How can I help?” and wait for a reply. The person still may say they don’t need help, but at least you’re giving them the chance to ask specifically for what they need at that very moment.
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Life is full of opportunities to learn to ask for help and to offer assistance to those who need it. It’s up to us to get out of our comfort zone, wade through our awkwardness and use these lessons as stepping stones for growth.
Just Beachy
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I’m not a beach person. Many years ago I made it a point to visit the Rhode Island shore a few times every summer, but those days have long since been replaced with other weekend chores and activities. I’m not exactly disappointed either. Around the same time I stopped going to the beach it started getting very polluted, over-crowded and populated by roving groups of kids sporting boom boxes. (Yes, this was pre-iPod days.) It was no longer the peaceful commune with nature that I liked to think it was. Being a bit anti-social, the idea of leaving the tranquility of my farm for a big dose of chaos wasn’t exactly my idea of a day well spent. Besides, once you have animals it’s tough to get away for an entire day.
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Two years ago a massage therapist friend invited me to accompany her to a client’s house who lived in a very exclusive neighborhood on the Connecticut shore. Thinking this might offer an opportunity to do some photography, I accepted her invitation. While my friend worked I walked the area nearby and took some pictures. The large cluster of grass in this photo towered six or seven feet above the edge of a boardwalk that led out to a pier, the sandy beach and ocean shore completely hidden just yards beyond the live border.
Something Different
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I’m a big dalylily fan. Daylilies were one of the first flowers I mastered growing when we bought our farm back in the mid ’80s. My veterinarian swapped a dozen or so of his daylily seedlings for some of my Siberian Iris and the rest is history. Daylilies are hardy, prolific perennials that require very little maintenance and come in a variety of shapes, sizes and blooming seasons. They’re so common in this area that in early summer you can find waves of orange daylilies growing wild along country roads and open fields. In fact most homes have at least one or two gardens where the common orange daylily resides.
Eventually, I was so impressed with my daylily success that I decided to explore some new varieties. I went to a local nursery that grows some unusual, native types of flowers and I chose a few pink and plum colored daylilies. I planted these flowers along a fence, and in a year or two I had another lovely garden full of flowers. Inspired by this success, I’ve vowed to add a few new daylilies to my gardens every summer. If I select carefully, the colors and heights should create some interesting contrasts and extend my blooming season well into the fall. Oh, and did I mention that daylilies reproduce? Yeah. Like bunnies! I may have to join a garden club so I can pawn my excess plants off on others!
This summer I added Dragon’s Beard (above) and Ruby Sentinel (below). These are tall, stately daylilies that bloom a little later in the season. I’ve been very happy with this addition and I’m already starting to think about what will go well with them next spring!
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Still Water
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I almost didn’t post this picture because the resolution is absolutely abysmal unless you click on the picture. I don’t know what’s up with WP, but this format is making me not want to blog. What’s the point if the resolution stinks?
This photo reminds me so much of the Adirondack Mountains that it makes my heart hurt. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there. I miss it terribly.
Old Soul
Hazer
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The crooked apple tree by the pond is beginning to drop it’s fruit, a yearly signal that another summer has passed and fall is slowly approaching. If I look around, I can see other signs too. Crickets and cicadas buzz with increased intensity, spiders spin webs that sag heavy with morning dew and swamp maples are starting to glow with the golden-orange promise of more color to come.
When I pause to watch the dogs root for apples in the damp grass, a twinge of melancholy creeps up on me. I’m reminded that they’re growing older too. In September Neena and Hazer turn nine. Young, by Cattle Dog standards, but no longer adolescents. I don’t see much change in their demeanor unless I think back several years to all the activities I used to do to channel their drive and energy. Daily long hikes in the woods. Herding and agility classes. Hours of Frisbee and ball tossing. Today, all but the latter have been left behind. Even the backyard games have been honed down to a couple of ten-minute sessions a day that bear little resemblance to the flurry of intensity of years gone by.
Whether it’s the adolescent dog in the group that makes the seniors appear older or having to attend (another) wake for a parent of a good friend, I’m acutely aware that time passes much too quickly.
Hanging Out
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This was quite possibly one of the largest webs I’ve ever shot, and it was a bonus that the architect happened to be home. The weather has switched back to hot and humid. That means some early morning fog, which can make for some interesting photos.
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Up, Up and Away
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It was a great summer for some of my flowers. This balloon flower is now several seasons old and it produced an abundance of beautiful purple-blue blossoms. This is the first year I’ve noticed that it’s starting to spread a bit by casting seeds. That excites me! I look forward to moving some of the new plants to fill in a gap here or there in other gardens. I have other perennials that have fully matured and need to be split and relocated. Not an easy task, but it keeps me on my toes. Thinking about what can be moved where and fantasizing about how things will look in the future is something all gardening geeks do!
Royalty
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Some horses just look more “regal” than others. This young stallion from the recent Royal Lipazzan performance had that special “something” about him that really “wowed” the audience. He was magnetic, charismatic and the epitome of controlled power. And yet, he was small in stature and gentle of heart. Truly, a horse to be admired.
Motherhood
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In nature, motherhood comes in all shapes and sizes. While not my favorite, this mom stuck around for hours after her brood hatched, watching over them. And it was quite a brood!
Get Down
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I’m inclined to want to search the trees for hawks to photograph, but occasionally it pays to look down. I found this little salamander making his way across the back yard one drizzly, humid day last week so I focused on him instead.
Twice As Nice
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Not only are the butterflies visiting in droves, the re-blooming lilac is living up to it’s name! That’s a win-win for them and me!
Channeling Mom
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Every couple of years we get a pair of hawks that mate and nest somewhere close to our property. Two years ago a striking pair of hawks raised their young in the woods across the street. This year, they picked a big old white pine out behind our new barn and built their nest in the crotch of the tree. There’s always lots of activity when the young are being raised, but it’s nothing compared to the racket once the chicks have fledged. Apparently, like teenagers today, the juvenile hawks stick around for the summer and harass their parents into feeding them. They chase their folks from tree to tree, calling out pathetically for morsels of food and parental attention. The result is four loud, frantic, very large birds flitting from tree to tree all day long. At first I thought it was pretty cool. No matter what time of day I stepped out I was likely to find one or more hawks perched on a low branch nearby, screeching back and forth to each other. But that was back when we were in the throes of a heat wave, when all my windows were closed, the air conditioning was on and I was spending as little time as possible outdoors. Now the heat and humidity have moved on and I’m trying like crazy to get caught up on the gardening and lawn projects that got shelved during the heat. To say the hawks are distracting is a mild understatement. I’m torn between throwing down my gardening tools and bolting for my camera or grabbing ear plugs. I thought it would be easy to capture a few photos of the family, but so far I’ve traipsed all over tarnation and I’ve had very little success. A few days ago we had a grey, misty morning and as luck would have it, I heard one of the youngsters calling plaintively from the willow tree out back. I grabbed my camera and tripod and holding my breath, crept out the basement door. Would the hawk sit still long enough for me to fire off a couple of frames? Barely, but this is one of three photos I got. I would have liked a few seconds more to really get the camera better focused, but it wasn’t to be. Young hawks are especially leery of people and it didn’t stick around long enough for me to make any corrections. Better luck next time I guess!
Note: I don’t know why, but you have to click on a photo now to see better resolution. Anyone know what’s up with that? Annoying …..
Carry On
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All went well with the re-do yesterday. Aside from a computer glitch that turned what should have been a short, sweet, but minor irritant into a three hour ordeal, it went fine. Thanks for all the well-wishes and words of encouragement. I’m relieved to know the hoopla was for naught and I can resume my regularly scheduled program; the annual regime. The whole experience gave me lots of opportunity to pause and reflect on the multitude of women who haven’t been as fortunate as me, and as a result I spent some of my down-time in prayer on their behalf. I’m very thankful and feel quite blessed to have a clean bill of health.
I lost a day of riding though, so I’ll look forward to hitting the trail today!
Testing! One! Two! Three …
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Anyone who has been reading my blog for the last year knows I went through a buttload of eye surgery and problems. I’m glad to report that a few permanent changes aside, the affected eye is doing good. Translated, that means it sees pretty well most of the time. Occasionally it hurts and I’ll get a day where it’s achy or feels like there’s a grain of sand in it. The rods and cones that make your eye adjust to different levels of light are significantly damaged. So, for example, when I come inside on a bright day it’s a bit like walking into a black wall. I’m trying to learn to give my eye time to adjust to changing light levels, but sometimes it catches me off guard and I get frustrated. Especially if I’m moving from room to room looking for something. But considering what I went through I’m relieved that I have any vision at all. I dodged a bullet there.
While trapped in the continuous loop of repeated eye surgery, I was forced to post-pone a couple of the preventive tests that the average woman will routinely endure to assure optimal health. Let me just say one thing now and get it off my chest: Men, you have NO idea. None. About any of it. And I’m pretty sure there isn’t a woman alive who, in the midst of a mammogram or PAP test isn’t thinking the same thing. I know women are supposed to get used to having their bodies poked, prodded and palpated by complete strangers, but really, who does? So guys, next time you break out into a cold sweat at the thought of a five second prostate exam just know that no woman alive feels you or cares. Get over it.
Last week, like any well-trained middle-age woman, I went for my slightly overdue mammogram. I’ve been going to the same imaging office since I started this yearly pilgrimage eight years ago. I went somewhere else the first time and was totally and thoroughly traumatized. I mean, who created this torture anyhow? The radiology tech was young, impatient and rough, and it took everything in my power not to kick her in the shins. I promised not to come back and didn’t. Instead, I found an office with a slightly older than middle-age tech. Having been though a mammogram or two herself, Cindy is compassionate, professional and very good at her job. I’ve been going there ever since.
Over the years a few things have changed. For one, x-ray images are now digital, which means they’re “processed” in the same room where they’re taken, and it takes a lot less time to know if you’re done and can be off on your merry way. What hasn’t changed is how the images are taken. The patient steps up to a machine with two small, square plates that close together like a vice. One by one each breast is then stretched out and placed on the lower plate as the tech moves the coordinating arm and shoulder either into or out of the way. The idea is to get not only a picture of the breast, but as much of the surrounding chest wall as possible. This is not an easy feat to achieve, but try they must. Yes, its a little weird to have to watch a stranger manipulate your private parts. It’s not like you can look away. I mean, it’s easier to accomplish the job if you cooperate and …. well, gee … they’re right there under your chin! Sheesh! When the tech finally has your body contorted into the right position she steps on a foot petal that lowers the top plate toward the lower plate and literally flattens your breast between the two plates like a pancake. Yes, it fucking hurts. And if that’s not enough indignity for you to endure, she then has to take a second view from a different angle. This time you turn sideways and step toward the machine so it can squeeze your breast from side to side instead of from top to bottom. Good times, not. Then you get to repeat the whole procedure for the other breast.
The other thing that hasn’t changed is that the tech can’t tell you anything about the x-ray. Now I’m not idiot; I worked in dentistry long enough to know that the person developing the x-ray can probably read it just about as well as the radiologist. Especially someone like Cindy, who’s been taking mammograms since the beginning of time. But her opinion isn’t worth diddly squat and by law, she’s not allowed to share it. But, that doesn’t mean every woman won’t ask. I did. I always do. And she kindly and compassionately deflects. It’s a game every woman probably plays to break the tension. Otherwise it feels a little too much like going to see a palm reader who pours over your hand, then smiles and says, “Thank you very much” and dismisses you without ever telling you what she saw. So we make small talk and babble about the hot weather while I try pretend the whole procedure is really quite routine. Actually, it’s not. There’s nothing routine about getting your breasts manhandled and smashed, then not knowing the results for a week or more. However, once the test is done and I’ve left the office I’ve never worried about the results. I don’t have any real reason to be concerned and I’m usually just so glad to have it over that I tend to put the whole experience behind me for another year. I’ve always gotten a letter in the mail about a week later telling me everything is hunky-dory and they’ll send a reminder to schedule an appointment in a year. It’s kind of like going to the dentist only it’s booby recall.
So now I’ve crossed one thing off my “to do” list and in two weeks when I go to see my doctor for my semi-annual PAP test (another wildly enjoyable event) I can say I had my mammogram done. Dr. C will be so pleased. And I was pleased too, until yesterday when I came inside from riding and found a message on my answering machine. It was the message no woman ever wants to get: the hospital asking me to call and speak to Lesley in radiology. Shit. Your mind just kind of wigs out. You have to call, but you don’t want to call. Finally the suspense is killing me so I dialed back and asked for Lesley, who, after the initial pleasantries says I need to come to the hospital to have “more views” taken. “Why?” I ask. Lesley can’t say. “Right” I think, “you’re scaring the crap out of me, but you can’t say why.” Makes no sense whatsoever. Leslie patiently went on to explain that this is not uncommon and it happens a lot. “What … so this is some kind of breast lottery and my number just got picked?” There’s a small pause in the conversation while Leslie thinks about that. “No” she says finally. “Sometimes the breasts are dense (as in stupid?) or sometimes the radiologist wants a different view.” (Ding! Ding! Ding! Red flag alert! I’m not fooled! How many different ways can you squeeze a breast? I’m guessing that means they think they see something and they want to clarify! ) Leslie didn’t know what my specific case was, but those were the two reasons she gave to help alleviate my fears. (Not!) I scheduled an appointment. They could see me the very next day and oh, by the way, the radiologist will read the films right then and there so I’ll know what’s going on before I leave. Nice touch.
I really don’t have any reason to be worried. Thing is, I’m sure plenty of women thought the same thing and were wrong. But worry never made anything better, so I’ll put on my big girl panties and get myself over to the hospital today to have my boobs assaulted. Again. After all, how much fun can a girl stand?
Dancing With Horses
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I went to see the Herrmanns’ Royal Lipizzan Stallions at a fundraiser for a local horse retirement farm. It started out as a cloudy, humid afternoon that threatened to rain, but the sky eventually cleared and then it got quite warm. The stallions were amazing! This was an all female team of handlers and riders and I was very impressed with their handling of the horses and the way they were treated. The horses behaved so impeccably that you could almost forget they were stallions.
Lipizzans don’t mature until they are 7 or 8 and consequently are not worked before then. They are a long-lived breed that often lives well up into their mid 30’s or early 40’s and their oldest stallion lived to be 45! The stallions in this performance had a wide range of ages, the youngest being one of the most gorgeous, but he also was the most spirited. This was his debut show and while he looked to be a bit of handful on the long lines, he did very well under saddle. (He’s in the photo above.)
The women in the show were very personable and affectionate with their mounts, often talking to them and encouraging them through the performance. It was easy to see how each stallion had their own distinct personality. Some were steady-as-she-goes while others were a bit feisty. One was even a bit bratty and the ring mistress didn’t try to hide that fact, but pointed out that he too was young and gaining experience. You could tell the stallions were a part of their extended family and each rider knew their strengths and weaknesses.
I was very surprised to find these were not particularly big stallions. I would guess they ranged in size from about 14.3 – 15.2 on the average. For some reason I had the impression they would be bigger. And some where big bodied while others were more refined. Manes, tails and their presence or absence of freckles were all different too. I have to say that being around that many gray horses had me a bit on the brink of tears at times. It really made me miss Tia.
I highly recommend you see a Lipizzan show if you ever have the chance. The Herrmaans show schedule is on their website.
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Waiting for the show to begin
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The Levade
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Warming up
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The Courbette. (You can’t see his hind legs because there’s a big giant head in the way, but all four feet are off the ground.) A war movement, this was performed mounted also.
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(Not the best photo!)
The Capriole
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Another pretty face!
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Tandem work
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Amazing Graze
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Horses live for the green grass of summer. Unfortunately, it’s been so muggy and buggy that they haven’t spent much time in the pasture. They venture down between rain storms and graze for maybe an hour or so, then head for the shelter of the loafing shed. I feel a little sorry for them. I know they’d much rather be out grazing instead of hovering around the barn. But with bugs the size of a small dog I can’t blame them for giving up. I’d like to think it will get better soon, but the weather pattern has set the stage for a very buggy second half of the summer, and it will probably continue well into the fall. Oh well. Better luck next year!
CurTales 
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