Category Archives: horses

Remembrance

On Monday night, it was a quiet night, and I thought that I should bring out one of the books you sent me. I opened my sewing dresser, to do some sewing, and saw The Cellist of Sarajevo. A nice light book (in weight), so I brought it to bed. This book captivated me, and I could relate greatly to the following:
Ten years ago, when she was eighteen and not called Arrow, she borrowed her father’s car and drove to the countryside to visit friends. It was a bright, clear day, and the car felt alive to her, as though she and the car moving together was some sort of destiny, and everything was happening exactly as it ought to. As she rounded the corner, one of her favourite songs came on the radio, and sunlight filtered through the trees the way it does with lace curtains, reminding her of her grandmother, and tears began to slide down her cheek. Not for her grandmother, who was then very much alive, but because she felt an enveloping happiness to be alive, a joy made stronger by the certainty that someday it would all come to an end.
It overwhelmed her, and made her pull to the side of the road. Afterwards she felt a little foolish, and never spoke to anyone about it.
Now, however, she knows she wasn’t being foolish. She realizes that for no particular reason she stumbled into the core of what it means to be human. It’s a rare gift to understand that your life is wonderous, and that it won’t last forever.
That passage certainly stuck with me, and I wish I had it in cursive written on my wall. I would like that quite a bit.
Well, the next morning I awoke early and got ready to go to the Remembrance ceremony south of town, a little old wooden community hall nestled underneath the mountains. I brought Suite  Francaise, and left early in the morning sunlight. I was the first one there, and so I read for a short time. Most intriguing, was the backstory on the book itself. How fascinating, and tragic. What a legacy, and I appreciated the succinct, and also well written, translator’s note.
I try, every year, to make Remembrance Day a beautiful and thoughtful day. It looks like I succeeded again. The Remembrance ceremony, again, was very special, and again my friend Frank Zieffle (93 years old) accompanied me at the ceremony, and I made further friends with some other locals, one of which had many war stories of her father, Arthur Ames.
 
After that, I got my horse and went for a bareback ride, that turned to be rather long. I thought, how nice would it be to make it to St. Henry’s church? And so we went along the highway towards… it got closer on the horizon, and we made it to the sign on the highway, but, looking up at the criss-crossing road up to the church, it was another 2.5 km. I decided, though it would be quite nice, I best save that pilgrimage for another day.

Mac

December

The sunrise on December 01 was particularly beautiful. A detail of orange and pink turning mauve to blue. Above the white diesels. After breakfast and a walk with Gigi I said hello to Mac and got his bridle. Hopped on and walked him through the snow, deep in spots. He was good in the snow. We walked up the driveway and down the road. The morning was peaceful. Walked past Quigg and to the crest of the hill and back down. Down the hill and a slight wind was blowing in my face, it must have been at least -22. My face was very very cold and so were my toes. So we rode back, fast, and I put him away quick. And then I made meatballs and brownies.

Then was Tini.  A ride up the road and back, in the cold as well. Tini was her usual Tini self.

Remembrance 2024

Monday, November 11, 2024

106 years marks the Armistice. The end of World War I at 1100h.  Woke to the orange light of the sky on the horizon above the trucks.

 

 

 

After breakfast and coffee Giulia and I went outside for a walk. Slightly cloudy and no wind. I got Mac and rode him on the lawn in a halter. Looked at the mountains stark there. 

Then I started the truck and we drove south in the light to the hall. The parking lot was full and the people all inside, the wooden walls of the community gathering place. Inside people sat in the little wooden school chairs, the old kind, like the one I have in the mud room that was left on the side of the road. I recognized people from town. And a woman came up front and talked about her son in the army, and a man played guitar in front of all. Then we went outside, to the monument, the names of all those who served. And their names were listed, many of them, and after that a moment of silence, but it was not 11 yet. There was no wind, there, then, and the mountains were magnificent as ever. And after that everyone gathered and chatted. I spoke to Frank Zieffle and asked him who Richard Zieffle was, the name that was mentioned, inscribed on the monument. His uncle, he said. We spoke for a time and went inside for coffee, gathered around some more. And then Giulia and I drove back. In the peaceful November light.

I gathered Tini and brushed her and got her bridle and got on. Walked her around and trotted and loped. And it was so good and so peaceful. Watching the mountains. Thankful. And thinking to Ina with her son my age, at war. Vitalyk, whose lungs were burnt of gas, granting him some weeks home, away from war, before returning again. How brutal are the machines of war, instilling fear in thy neighbour, atrocities most of us have only heard about, and never seen. 

    

 

 

 

 

 

In the evening we watched All Quiet on the Western Front, a movie I purchased on Saturday night without thinking to the date. How fitting it was, a movie set on the days leading up to the armistice, chilling and surreal, unfathomable. The movie made me shake. And afterwords, in the dark of night, I took Giulia outside to look at the mountains, unmoving, once more. Lest We Forget.

All Quiet on the Western Front (2022)

All Quiet on the Western Front (2022)

 

October Rides 2024

Thanksgiving Ride in the sunshine

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

October 19, 2014 in the wind

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

October 20, 2024

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

October 24, 2024. In the wind

 

 

 

 

Blessed Saturday Morning- May 04, 2024

 

Saturday Morning before 10 a.m Mac and I head to the hills. Walking down the road in his new braids with his new halter, me dressed in black, head to toe, and we kinda match. I like it, this.

At the south end of the road where it bends we go for a lope in the halter and he is good. I think he wants to keep me good and well though why he sometimes cow-bucks I do not know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Friday night ride March 15, 2024

 

Drove out in the beautiful evening light, so warm. With Frankie, after eating an iceberg salad, with walnuts and quinoa, and buying chocolate, the salted dark that I like. The evening sun was glorious, Frankie and I so happy, listening to music, driving down that road. We turned towards the farm, the gravel road newly graded and gravelled, turning up big plumes of dust, glorious. Frankie was very happy to play with Skip, as always. I got Mac, brushed him while Amanda brushed Pal. We saddled and bridled them, Frankie went into the truck, and we rode down the road, trotting some. I am mesmerized by those mountains at sunset evening, the colours; blue and white mountains, like the Kokanee mountains, the picture on the beer cans, coupled with a sky that is yellow, orange, pink and blue. How it never gets old. Riding in the evenings is a beautiful thing, all out in the open. We walked down the road, to the picture above, and back.

It was near dark when Frankie and I left. The windmills so stark and tall against the night sky. I felt so alive.

Thoughts from a horse

It was hot and sunny today. I rode my bike out to Mac. Amanda was playing outside with her baby. We talked while I got Mac. Groomed him and tacked him up. He didn’t like the saddle being put on. Fair enough. When I brought him out of the paddock, Amanda put her baby in the saddle. He was smiling, happy to be on a horse. His legs were too short for the stirrups, even when they were rolled up. The baby smiled, and then he cried when she took him down. He liked the horse. I got on Mac and rode out to the edge of the property, where the round-pen will someday be. We walked around. He was better at being alone. He trotted and I let him, tried to keep a rhythm. He seemed a bit stiff, I hoped he was sound.  Then he cantered, and I grabbed mane. It was fun. Simple as it was. The ground there is uneven. Here we are in the country. I, riding a western horse, in dressage tack, and cowgirl boots, with sunglasses and no helmet. A mix of both worlds, English and western, so different from where I came from, to here, the foothills of Alberta. I realized then, that at that moment I was living my childhood dream, that this was it, riding a horse with no rules, in the wide open- God’s Country.

After the canter, we trotted around. I tried to get him to loosen up, to relax. We walked around in circles, small ones, to get him bending. And then we went for a walk down the road. Away from home, and he trotted yet, and cantered. It was fun, to canter down the road. When I tried to slow him the second time, he bucked. I laughed. We walked a ways and then turned back. That was a good ride.

thoughts from a horse

Look at this sweet fellow. His name is Mac. He is an 18 year old Quarter Horse gelding. 15 hand high. I haven’t met him yet. This afternoon we’ll go for a ride. I’ll ride him in my dressage saddle, probably, and he may find that interesting. After all, this is Quarter Horse Country. Where western riding and cows abounds.