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.

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.

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.