Wednesday, January 17, 2018

uneventful

Right now, we're about as exciting as creeping moss.

creeping moss is creepy
New Years Day ride

The first of the year was sunny, and allowed for a nice, uneventful ride (always the goal for New Year!). Then it decided to give us a months worth of rain in two days. So it got very soggy.



Then the fog came in (on little cat feet) and sat in the valley. Cold and clinging, the fog ride was damp and made everything quiet, except for the soft snorting of Major as we headed out. Two weeks off may have been too much even for a pastured horse, but he has learned to mostly behave himself, and we came home, uneventfully.

cookies?

always better share with friends
So Major and I go hiking after work (hills are much harder from the ground). And he eats grass and I watch the deer graze. The tracking app I use sent me my 2017 statistics, but even that wasn't motivating enough to make any plans. I should probably prune the last of my roses, and clean my tack, and...

we climbed enough to be in the stratosphere!

should prune, but so pretty after rain

Sorry, I got distracted by this good book, cup of tea, and comfy chair (or some football games, great fun lately). There will be time for some more adventures later. Until then, I'll savor the uneventful (because it always changes…)

muddy face looking for change

Thursday, December 28, 2017

connected

I arrived at the stable, saddled up, and went to put my phone in my leg holster. Where was my phone? I had gone to work, then home, then the post office…nope, it's at home on the counter.

It felt weird. And unsafe. I ride in really remote areas, maybe only a few miles from civilization, but the only access would be helicopter or boat. Should I just change my plans and ride in the arena (ha, not gonna happen) or just up the road?

Nope. Life is too short. Some would decide otherwise, that it is too short to take the chance. I tend to go the other way: too short to not enjoy the moment.

So Major and I headed out into the forest. I couldn't turn on my GPS tracker per usual, we just started up the hill. At the top, the trail meanders. And a fluffy coyote crossed the path, then watched us warily. Instead of stopping and staring, and getting out my camera, we just rode slowly by. He watched us, not threatened as we moved along. Cool.

Closer to the lake, three deer grazed in a clearing. As we came around the bend, one startled and raised its head. We continued to ride by, they dropped even their wariness, and returned to munch the green grass.

At the lake, tiny birds hopped and twittered through bushes. Major ate grass. I looked at the lake, quickly rising, yet smooth and quiet under the blue sky, but there are no photos.

Later we startled an entire flock of turkeys. They ran, well, because they're turkeys. But I stopped and watched them go: smaller, almost toothless velociraptors, running through the green grass.

I don't use my phone when I ride, except to turn on the GPS and take the occasional photo. But I learned something this ride: having it seems to cause an impatience in me. Riding without it is not safe, but I'll work on evaluating my attention skills, being in the moment, connected to something larger.

Thursday, December 21, 2017

solstice morning






Dawn light in the persimmon tree on the shortest day of the year. Now is time for my solstice celebration: that the daylight will increase, that darkness will be held at bay while the light returns. It is still cold and damp and dark, but there is light. A minute more every few days, I am counting.


Happy Solstice. Stay warm and enjoy the incremental light my friends.

Friday, December 15, 2017

conversations with major: crazytown

You’re certainly full of it Major.
I know!
Why all the prancing dude? We're just heading down the road right now.
It's cool out, and I'm cool too, let's go!
Oh boy, I think I'm in for it today.

crazy hair day

Lets find it!
Find what?
Crazytown!
I have no idea what you're talking about, you need to chill.
If I go super fast, we can get there.
Um, no, let's pay attention to the slippery trail in the shade.
It's dry here, run!

I've got my naughty ears on

the last of the fall leaves

Major, we need to slow for runners. 
But they're running.
Nope, we slow for hikers, and that upcoming Scout Troop too.
But they're on the side.
Doesn't matter, blasting by is rude.
I only did it once, to the runner way on the side.
Don't care, you weren't listening, it's not acceptable behavior.
Fine.
 
trails getting green with first winter ferns
happy ferns frolic too!


Maybe it's up here Major!
It is? Let's go! 
Oh, too bad, not here at the top of the hill. Go back down.
We'll find it, I'm sure.
Let's look again from the top of the hill.
OK, let's go!
Gee, not here again.
Wait, I just went up and down the hill three times. There was no Crazytown. That was tricky.
Sorry not sorry buddy.



Glad we survived that one, what got into you?
The search for Crazytown, I'm sad we didn't find it.
Sorry buddy, will this rice bran help with that painful sorrow?
Oh, yes, for sure!
You could keep it in the pan dude.
I'm still a little sad.
Why now?
My pan is empty.

I love this tree

sadness is an empty mash pan…with a hoof in it

I've heard of another place to visit!
What's that? The dam site, the river?
Sillyville.
No Major, just, no.

Thursday, November 23, 2017

thankful

I almost forgot to be thankful the other night. Maybe because I had to ride home in the dark with only one intact pant leg…

Fitting in a desperate ride after work, Major and I shoved our way through the overgrown trail and up Barking Dog Hill, and as I ducked to avoid large branch, I didn’t see the one sticking out at saddle level…and stabbed my pants!

Guess the first reaction:
A: Oww, that really hurt!
B. Damn, these are my favorite pants!
C. Damn Major, why’d you let me do that?
pants sadness

 (It was definitely B, I loved those tights. I'm determined to try and fix them.)

No use in turning around, I continued down to the lake, where it got dark more quickly than I had thought. Stupid Daylight not-savings time. Our side of the lake was dark and in shadow, the golden sun was just leaving the far side. I was feeling desperate, no extra miles today, I wasn't prepared for a night ride.

worth it

Then I took a breath. And Major just stood there. And we looked across the lake. He put his head down to graze on the new green grass emerging from the dirt that had been patiently beneath the water for months. And we rode home quietly (though my leg was a bit cold).

So in the last week I've reworked my darkness anxiety. And found that hiking with Major is still satisfying. Rides with friends and peanut-butter sandwiches are perfect. Weekend trails in fall sunshine are wonderful (even when your horse is being a dragon). And green-glowing paths are delicious (and so are mandarin milkshakes).

Major sees all the food!

buddies patiently waiting

epic views

mandarin deliciousness (worth the cold hands!)

I just needed some transition time. There will be time enough for more adventures, but now I am reminded to be thankful for friends and family, books and fireplaces, short trail rides and warm mashes. And yes, every year I do the same thing to myself being anxious about the season. Maybe one day I'll remember (and also come home with intact pants.)

be thankful and feed me

fall sunset…before 5pm (sob!)

Monday, November 20, 2017

detour: coastal secrets

A few months ago, I visited a magical land. I think unicorns roam here. There was scant evidence, but decide for yourself.

I found dense impenetrable fog and perfect blue skies. 



Secret cave-like trails and hidden vistas.


Alien lichen and bees buried in thistle.


Shipwrecks and spiders.


Jagged rocks and delicate shells on smooth sand.


A dancing tree in a dancing forest.



Straight paths on land and water.


Hidden trail markings and secrets behind fences.


And evidence of baby unicorns, who shed their first horns in the sea. 


Saturday, November 11, 2017

detour: autumn leaves

Fall flees, and winter comes early to the Sierras. So a quick trip up into the mountains was necessary to catch the last of the fall color. While I love the foothills, we lack the colorful displays that Tahoe puts on.

the view doesn't get old

Turns out we were a little late. An early snow storm blew down the last of the aspen leaves, leaving empty groves of white bark, and some trails covered in a fine dusting of snow, just enough to crunch through.

a little late, but still lovely

hiking trail: no one else seen all day

a tiny plant warms the snow around it

late season flower
After hiking, a trip to the lakeside. The lake was snow free (and often stays that way) but the icy water was best viewed from the shore. In the lee of a warm stone, I watched the lake and read my book. That is a pretty perfect fall day.

sparkly
through the water

old one of the forest

until next year

We were the first footsteps in the snow of the weekend, and our steps were soon covered by the next storm. Now we'd have to get the snowshoes out, but that is an adventure for another day.