... and clinging tight to this wild ride. "Widen your tent pegs" we're told, and I'm trusting for the resources to steward that growth.
Expression is now flung to far-reaches of the web. SCA and medieval reenacting stuff goes to www.medievaldiva.com. Horse musings go to www.natural-horse-training-methods.com. Photos saunter over to Smugmug and farm stuff finds its way to www.wvhorsetrainer.com.
Dissecting myself is an interesting discipline born from a business model. I look forward to reaping that harvest.
But I've really missed it here.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Not only am I remembering how to form a phrase, I'm dusting off my trigger finger. Took a bunch of pix at my brother's wedding last weekend. The lighting was difficult, the joy was infectious, and my heart sang to see the world through a viewfinder again. Bit by bit I'm getting them up on my jumbled SmugMug site....
Blink. STRRREEEEEETCH!!!!!!!!!!
One thing weddings are good for is getting back in touch. I haven't talked to Matthew in way too long, yet he cuts right to the root of restlessness: "been writing much?"
Um. Hum. Uhhhhh...
And I know that's the keystone that I've cast aside. Or at least the slightly rancid frosting on the current tasteless cake.
"Life to you is a dashing and bold adventure" reads my fortune cookie after way too much Jumbo Buffet. Living to tell the tale adds both anchors and wings. (Not to imply I'd exaggerate....) Life encourages expression, expression generates life.
Looking forward to this particular dashing chapter to wind to a close. Not the wedding stuff, though Wolf and I are sore tempted to elope again (guess that would kinda defeat the purpose of a public wedding.) Just the everything else which stifles the very expression that would breathe bright life into stale and desperate spaces.
A few weeks ago Paul talked about climbing on his tractor as the storm clouds threatened. "Please, God, hold off 'til I finish mowing!" Wolf and Ginny and I laughed and laughed, having lived out the story verbatim in the very same storm. Paul's message was on the mowing. Getting things right and ready for the life-giving rains. Right now I am mowing... and being mown.
Just hang on tight and dance into the deluge, whooping defiant delight. If we can survive the mowing, the rain will bring lush harvest indeed!
Um. Hum. Uhhhhh...
And I know that's the keystone that I've cast aside. Or at least the slightly rancid frosting on the current tasteless cake.
"Life to you is a dashing and bold adventure" reads my fortune cookie after way too much Jumbo Buffet. Living to tell the tale adds both anchors and wings. (Not to imply I'd exaggerate....) Life encourages expression, expression generates life.
Looking forward to this particular dashing chapter to wind to a close. Not the wedding stuff, though Wolf and I are sore tempted to elope again (guess that would kinda defeat the purpose of a public wedding.) Just the everything else which stifles the very expression that would breathe bright life into stale and desperate spaces.
A few weeks ago Paul talked about climbing on his tractor as the storm clouds threatened. "Please, God, hold off 'til I finish mowing!" Wolf and Ginny and I laughed and laughed, having lived out the story verbatim in the very same storm. Paul's message was on the mowing. Getting things right and ready for the life-giving rains. Right now I am mowing... and being mown.
Just hang on tight and dance into the deluge, whooping defiant delight. If we can survive the mowing, the rain will bring lush harvest indeed!
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Green Thumb Sunday
Between the foggy, icemelt splattered lens and the yoga asanas I was going through to try and frame a clear shot in the underbrush, the picture itself is a mess. But imagine the leaves as we saw them: perfect replicas in ice, slid off of their parent leaves, clinging just a little longer before sliding away....
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Equine Slaughter Insight
Fran Jurga at the Jurga Report offers a rare voice of reason in the equine slaughter debate:
"What are your ideas for solutions? Please don't tell me you are "pro" or "anti" slaughter. Tell me what can be done to bring the American horse industry back together instead of splitting it apart."
"What are your ideas for solutions? Please don't tell me you are "pro" or "anti" slaughter. Tell me what can be done to bring the American horse industry back together instead of splitting it apart."
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
California Dreamin'
Today is prosaically productive. Not quite ready for sleep but not inclined to be active or verbal, I start to sort through pictures from our recent trip to Wolf's old stomping grounds in CA. My phone went on vacation while we were gone, and we had very limited web access-not a good setup for blogging in the moment.
I enjoy reliving day 1 and capturing a warm-up round of memories while posting pictures to Laughing Gypsy Photography.
We land in San Francisco to a bleak weather forecast, matched by equally bleak weather beyond the windows. Wolf upgrades to a 4-wheel drive rentacar, and I later learn the reason why. Now, though, moderate traffic and rainy roads lead us out of the dismal city and onto Highway 1.
I am swept away from my first view of the Pacific. I'm an oceangirl at heart. I love the wooded green solitude of the farm. A glimpse of waves curling in from the horizon slams me with longing so painful it knocks the breath out of me.
As we snake along craggy heights, the sea pounds and crashes beneath us. The sun battles rain and mists and after hours wins today's battle.
I enjoy reliving day 1 and capturing a warm-up round of memories while posting pictures to Laughing Gypsy Photography.
We land in San Francisco to a bleak weather forecast, matched by equally bleak weather beyond the windows. Wolf upgrades to a 4-wheel drive rentacar, and I later learn the reason why. Now, though, moderate traffic and rainy roads lead us out of the dismal city and onto Highway 1.
I am swept away from my first view of the Pacific. I'm an oceangirl at heart. I love the wooded green solitude of the farm. A glimpse of waves curling in from the horizon slams me with longing so painful it knocks the breath out of me.
As we snake along craggy heights, the sea pounds and crashes beneath us. The sun battles rain and mists and after hours wins today's battle.
Breadmaking 202
I'm in a rush when I load the breadmaker this afternoon and make a valuable discovery. If you put the flour in first into the Toastmaster Breadbox, the result is the carbohydrate version of frozen concentrated orange juice. Compact bread! I love it! Great for travel, perfect for people in cramped apartments.
I happily devour my "mistake."
I happily devour my "mistake."
One Breath Poetry Revisited: Frost
frost woos a weary
world, then swoon! disappears in
to sunshine's first kiss
world, then swoon! disappears in
to sunshine's first kiss
Monday, December 31, 2007
New Year's Eve 2007
New Year's Eve 2007 marks the end of a 40. 40 days in the desert. 40 years in the wilderness. Wolf and I head to Cornerstone for a New Year's Concert. Powerful praise with Michael Tyrrell, culminating in prophetic crossing over into 2008-- and new life! [Pictures]
Wolf rolls home to catch some zzz's--- he has to be up by 3 am-- and I head over to catch the tail end of the Uible's infamous New Year's Bash. I get the whole jam-packed New Year's Party Experience in under an hour! [Pictures]
Wolf rolls home to catch some zzz's--- he has to be up by 3 am-- and I head over to catch the tail end of the Uible's infamous New Year's Bash. I get the whole jam-packed New Year's Party Experience in under an hour! [Pictures]
Sunday, December 30, 2007
One Breath Poetry: Frost
cold crystal mask: frost
enshrouds in vain. the hot heart
lifebeats bold within
Blog Your Blessings Sunday
Some call it coincidence. Some call it synchronicity. I call it blessing!
My breadmaker was destroyed when Hurricane Charlie swept through southern Florida. At the time I was traveling a lot, and decided replacing it was not a priority. The past few years I have missed the simple joy and unspeakable delight of fresh, homemade bread. This winter I decided to do something about it.
The hunt began. Search as I might I couldn't find breadmakers anywhere. ANYWHERE!!!! None of the boxes under the tree held a breadmaker in its festive wrapping.
Sigh.
Some call it Goodwill. Some call it Salvation Army. I call it "The Boutique."
I pop in for a post-Christmas perusal and there it is. My breadmaker. Looks brand new, complete with recipe book. Thank You thank You thank You!
The ham and bean soup has been simmering since yesterday. It goes perfectly with the first loaf of fresh bread!
My breadmaker was destroyed when Hurricane Charlie swept through southern Florida. At the time I was traveling a lot, and decided replacing it was not a priority. The past few years I have missed the simple joy and unspeakable delight of fresh, homemade bread. This winter I decided to do something about it.
The hunt began. Search as I might I couldn't find breadmakers anywhere. ANYWHERE!!!! None of the boxes under the tree held a breadmaker in its festive wrapping.
Sigh.
Some call it Goodwill. Some call it Salvation Army. I call it "The Boutique."
I pop in for a post-Christmas perusal and there it is. My breadmaker. Looks brand new, complete with recipe book. Thank You thank You thank You!
The ham and bean soup has been simmering since yesterday. It goes perfectly with the first loaf of fresh bread!
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas Everyone!
May your New Year be full of growth, excitement and abundance!
May your New Year be full of growth, excitement and abundance!
Sunday, December 16, 2007
One Breath Poetry: A Kind of Beauty
forecasts scream "WARNING!"
burst out in the storm to find
beauty in menace
burst out in the storm to find
beauty in menace
Jet Li Moves On
Twilight, Jet Li the Refurbished Rooster is gone. The fox left a handful of feathers as goodbye.
I'm glad he died with a full belly.
I'm glad he died with a full belly.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Blog Your Blessings Sunday
Midnightish Friday evening. I'm getting a jump start on Blog Your Blessings Sunday.
Midnightish and I just bade goodknight to my sweetie, the love of my life, my knight in shining armor who in the not too distant future I will pledge my eternal troth to. He called to say goodnight for the second time. The first time I was dumping grain.
Dumping 12 bags of horse feed, 1 bag of barn kitty feed and yes, breaking new ground, rooster feed (tuck in, Jet Li!) More than enough of hundreds of pounds to smirk in the face of any weather threats the media might bluster our way (and tonight they are blustering indeed.) More than enough to cover any contingencies during my planned span away next week. More than enough to drive my overexhausted, aching body to draglifthauldumpdraglifthauldump for the sheer satisfaction of completion.
Late Friday night. I laugh. The name on bag after bag of feed is "Legends." I think of Will Smith, of his new flick which many people with normal lives are watching tonight: "I am Legend." I don't know what it is--Film Geek, can you fill me in?--but the moebius twist of my scewed parallel universe has me laughing in the rain of shooting stars.
Have I mentioned the shooting stars? Oh, this is the night, even running amuck in a holiday retail habitrail. The night for shooting stars. And over the evening, two in particular scream across the sickly city darkness and burn for eternities while I squeal and wish my guts out.
So the blessings of which I blog? Where to begin? For the body which God keeps renewing no matter what kind of crazy things and insane expectations I throw its way. At the prolonged end of a flatoutsincedawn day like today, that itself dances in the spotlight.
For results. For the fruits of todays labors, and the dedication of my co-laborers. Daylight hours packed with trial and error, energy and intention embodied. The horses in their new housing, with new fencing. The accomplishment of worlds of deceptively small details which can make or break weathering a storm, a season or an absence, however brief. The next layer of confusion cut away. The promise of a blank canvas dawning on the morrow.
For my diesel dually, which I have considered selling at least once a quarter. Thankfully even the bean-counter in my head (and on paper) agrees that is a foolish notion. That truck has been my alter-ego, my partner in crime, my brute squad, and the finest ally for a single-woman-conquering-the-world. Now I'm facing no longer singleness, no longer "my truck" but "our truck". And even that's ok, though it's taking getting used to. At least I know Wolf won't wear my sparkly truck-drivin tiara!
Which I do, with delight! Tiaras are mandatory after a full trip to town, driving home a full load. From feed for all manner of four- and two-leggeds, to 1x8x10's for replacement facia on the loafing shed, to batteries to stave off the threatened storm, to Christmas presents, to thermocouples, to heaters to hardware and yes, some beautiful candles "just in case the power goes out."
For provision. For abundance. For the faith to see beauty in menace.
Blogging my blessings early....
Midnightish and I just bade goodknight to my sweetie, the love of my life, my knight in shining armor who in the not too distant future I will pledge my eternal troth to. He called to say goodnight for the second time. The first time I was dumping grain.
Dumping 12 bags of horse feed, 1 bag of barn kitty feed and yes, breaking new ground, rooster feed (tuck in, Jet Li!) More than enough of hundreds of pounds to smirk in the face of any weather threats the media might bluster our way (and tonight they are blustering indeed.) More than enough to cover any contingencies during my planned span away next week. More than enough to drive my overexhausted, aching body to draglifthauldumpdraglifthauldump for the sheer satisfaction of completion.
Late Friday night. I laugh. The name on bag after bag of feed is "Legends." I think of Will Smith, of his new flick which many people with normal lives are watching tonight: "I am Legend." I don't know what it is--Film Geek, can you fill me in?--but the moebius twist of my scewed parallel universe has me laughing in the rain of shooting stars.
Have I mentioned the shooting stars? Oh, this is the night, even running amuck in a holiday retail habitrail. The night for shooting stars. And over the evening, two in particular scream across the sickly city darkness and burn for eternities while I squeal and wish my guts out.
So the blessings of which I blog? Where to begin? For the body which God keeps renewing no matter what kind of crazy things and insane expectations I throw its way. At the prolonged end of a flatoutsincedawn day like today, that itself dances in the spotlight.
For results. For the fruits of todays labors, and the dedication of my co-laborers. Daylight hours packed with trial and error, energy and intention embodied. The horses in their new housing, with new fencing. The accomplishment of worlds of deceptively small details which can make or break weathering a storm, a season or an absence, however brief. The next layer of confusion cut away. The promise of a blank canvas dawning on the morrow.
For my diesel dually, which I have considered selling at least once a quarter. Thankfully even the bean-counter in my head (and on paper) agrees that is a foolish notion. That truck has been my alter-ego, my partner in crime, my brute squad, and the finest ally for a single-woman-conquering-the-world. Now I'm facing no longer singleness, no longer "my truck" but "our truck". And even that's ok, though it's taking getting used to. At least I know Wolf won't wear my sparkly truck-drivin tiara!
Which I do, with delight! Tiaras are mandatory after a full trip to town, driving home a full load. From feed for all manner of four- and two-leggeds, to 1x8x10's for replacement facia on the loafing shed, to batteries to stave off the threatened storm, to Christmas presents, to thermocouples, to heaters to hardware and yes, some beautiful candles "just in case the power goes out."
For provision. For abundance. For the faith to see beauty in menace.
Blogging my blessings early....
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Rooster Refurb
"Ya wanna rooster?"
"Alive or frozen?"
"Does it matter?"
"Uh-huh. I'm a lover, not a killer...."
The cousins prepare for their annual migration. A neighbor willingly winters their laying hens. A bunch of the roosters have already found their way to autumn parties as entrees.
A trail of exhaust in the darkening chill marks the cousins exodus. I take a moment out of the flurry of work to bask in the sudden peace-- and see that the one rooster. Too skinny for the freezer, he remains on the outskirts of the barnyard, patiently waiting for the return of his flock. Or the fox.
Sigh.
His name is Jet Li. And he's really grateful for the slightly stale cereal....
"Alive or frozen?"
"Does it matter?"
"Uh-huh. I'm a lover, not a killer...."
The cousins prepare for their annual migration. A neighbor willingly winters their laying hens. A bunch of the roosters have already found their way to autumn parties as entrees.
A trail of exhaust in the darkening chill marks the cousins exodus. I take a moment out of the flurry of work to bask in the sudden peace-- and see that the one rooster. Too skinny for the freezer, he remains on the outskirts of the barnyard, patiently waiting for the return of his flock. Or the fox.
Sigh.
His name is Jet Li. And he's really grateful for the slightly stale cereal....
Monday, December 10, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Thursday, December 6, 2007
For no discernible reason, I pulled into Mickey D's today with an undeniable craving for a Big Mac. I haven't eaten one since I became a vegetarian roughly 17 years ago.
It was DALISHISSSSSSSS!
Good to go for another 17 years....
It was DALISHISSSSSSSS!
Good to go for another 17 years....
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
First Snow
the seasons first snow silences a cacaphonous schedule, and brings an agenda all its own.
i told pastor paul yesterday, "we're both 37, we both know what we're giving up by getting married." wolf later commends me on that comment, i'm still not sure why. tonight though, i wonder at the depth of it. wonder if i can keep claiming my sacred stolen moments or if i'm sacrificing them forever.
the cousins are off at conrad's birthday party tonight. i revel in having the kitchen to myself, revel in concocting the latest iteration of gypsy soup while catching up on the phone with people i love. great music fills the tiny space. my jingly hipscarf--hallmark of cleaning the kitchen-- is in the coldhouse. nevertheless i find myself, as ever, dancingdancingdancing while JEB leaps and prances counterpoint.
will i be able to "dance like nobody's watching" when wolf shares my kitchen? will i be able to "love like i've never been hurt" even if he brings the pain? i "live like it's heaven on earth," because it is. can i remember that when he tries to convince me otherwise?
i tumble into the night and discover the snowstorm's second casualty. i patch things up as best i can, fingers burning bitterly with cold. in this case daylight is mandatory for a complete repair.
i discover, to no surprise, that orion shines brightest between friesian ears.
JEB and i continue onto the night, into the oaks. we cross beneath the edge of the storm front, where an obscuring haze aglow with sickly city light gives way with 90 degree finality to black brilliance blazing with stars. i talk to God. His words are strangely silent tonight, but His presence has me on my knees, sobbing in fresh-fallen snow.
He's in charge.
He showers me with The Good Stuff. and He gave wolf and i each other. eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him (1 Cor 2:9). in other words, we ain't seen nothin' yet!
a single step in faith moves me through the darkness, the deep snows. a single step followed by another, and another, and another carries me through the silent night....
i told pastor paul yesterday, "we're both 37, we both know what we're giving up by getting married." wolf later commends me on that comment, i'm still not sure why. tonight though, i wonder at the depth of it. wonder if i can keep claiming my sacred stolen moments or if i'm sacrificing them forever.
the cousins are off at conrad's birthday party tonight. i revel in having the kitchen to myself, revel in concocting the latest iteration of gypsy soup while catching up on the phone with people i love. great music fills the tiny space. my jingly hipscarf--hallmark of cleaning the kitchen-- is in the coldhouse. nevertheless i find myself, as ever, dancingdancingdancing while JEB leaps and prances counterpoint.
will i be able to "dance like nobody's watching" when wolf shares my kitchen? will i be able to "love like i've never been hurt" even if he brings the pain? i "live like it's heaven on earth," because it is. can i remember that when he tries to convince me otherwise?
i tumble into the night and discover the snowstorm's second casualty. i patch things up as best i can, fingers burning bitterly with cold. in this case daylight is mandatory for a complete repair.
i discover, to no surprise, that orion shines brightest between friesian ears.
JEB and i continue onto the night, into the oaks. we cross beneath the edge of the storm front, where an obscuring haze aglow with sickly city light gives way with 90 degree finality to black brilliance blazing with stars. i talk to God. His words are strangely silent tonight, but His presence has me on my knees, sobbing in fresh-fallen snow.
He's in charge.
He showers me with The Good Stuff. and He gave wolf and i each other. eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him (1 Cor 2:9). in other words, we ain't seen nothin' yet!
a single step in faith moves me through the darkness, the deep snows. a single step followed by another, and another, and another carries me through the silent night....
Monday, December 3, 2007
One Breath Poetry: Container
skin, my container.
stories, creations, love-gifts
dancing through this world
stories, creations, love-gifts
dancing through this world
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
One Breath Poetry
sea of grains gather,
meld: dust, sand, stone. mountain sighs,
exhales: stone. sand. dust
meld: dust, sand, stone. mountain sighs,
exhales: stone. sand. dust
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
One Breath Poetry: Adventure
that first step...the world
explodes! who can explain? NAH!
dive in, be consumed!
explodes! who can explain? NAH!
dive in, be consumed!
Musical Test
Qaro posts this pitch perception test on her blog. The test, designed by a neuroimaging researcher at Harvard, "characterizes the patient’s pitch discrimination and musical memory abilities.... The test is purposefully made very hard, so excellent musicians rarely score above 80% correct."
I love music, but as far as singing and dancing go, I euphemistically explain that I participate with, ahem, far more enthusiasm than skill. With no delusions of success but a head full of flashbacks of playing "Simon" with Granny, I take the test.
And score an 83.3%
Hmmmmmm.
I love music, but as far as singing and dancing go, I euphemistically explain that I participate with, ahem, far more enthusiasm than skill. With no delusions of success but a head full of flashbacks of playing "Simon" with Granny, I take the test.
And score an 83.3%
Hmmmmmm.
RIfle Season Survival
Yesterday's cacaphony marked the beginning of rifle season. JEB HATES guns but the horses learn to take it in stride. The folks who hunt our property are very conscientious. I send these words of wisdom to those living in a more anarchic front line. Played on a cello, no less!
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Blog Your Blessings Sunday
Will has pretty much grown up with me in his life. We live on the same farm for about 9 months each year. I get to be the crazy cousin who falls somewhere between big sister, goofy friend, and non-parental adult. We share a strong bond of love, and a strong love of fantasy and the middle ages.
Each year since he turned 11 we have talked about going to the Renaissance Faire together, just he and I, no little sisters or parents allowed. Every year his soccer and my work have conspired to keep us from going together. This year we swore it would be different. This year we put it on the calendar. Then, I found out it was ending a week earlier then we were planning on going.
It takes herculean effort in the very last minute. He has to slither out of family plans. I have to juggle work commitments. Somehow we end up together, clad in our finest Renaissance garb, enjoying a stroll through the modern middle ages.
Driving home that night we excitedly chatter about the day, about the jousts, about his new wooden weapons. "What was your absolute favorite part of the Faire?" I challenge him.
His answer melts my heart. "Hanging out with you!"
Family bonds. Sharing a common passion. We have so many blessings to enjoy!
Happy Blog Your Blessings Sunday!
Friday, November 16, 2007
Feed The World, Grow Your Mind
How cool is this?
FREE RICE!
Thanks, Plain Fool, for the addiction-- I mean tip! Now, to figure out how many grains of rice will feed a family of 5... a community of 50... a nation of 5,000,000....
FREE RICE!
Thanks, Plain Fool, for the addiction-- I mean tip! Now, to figure out how many grains of rice will feed a family of 5... a community of 50... a nation of 5,000,000....
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Clarification...
Cousin Angus points out that "West Virginia warm weather Renaissance wedding" is a little vague. Perhaps this will clarify:
The Director's Cut
...In 4 part harmony, with feelin'....
It wasn’t the way he had planned it, but He planned it perfectly….
It wasn’t the way he had planned it, but He planned it perfectly….
A few months ago I laughed at the impracticality of diamond rings on hardworking farmgirl hands. “I always said I’d prefer an engagement Friesian!”
Now, for you sane, non-horsey folks out there, a Friesian is romance and power on the hoof. Remember Goliath in LadyHawke? (That movie had its way with me during my most formative years….) Remember ANY big, black, dancing horse with a mane cascading down to his shoulders and a tail that tames the wind? That’s a Friesian.
Friesians are a rare breed from the Netherlands, decendents of warhorses of old. They have a direct link with those primal curls in our DNA that make us realize happily-ever-afters are destined to prevail. I cannot remember a time I didn’t long for one of my own, with every fiber of my being.
Most of you knew my old horse, Knight. In his heart and mine he was a Friesian wannabe, and the embodiment of a dream of chivalry, romance and unity between a horse and his person. This summer, I had to put him to sleep. A piece of the dream went with him.
Back to the present, back to reality. Mark shocked me when he started sending me links to Friesians for sale. He’d call from work and we’d run YouTube clips, tears streaming at the raw beauty of the breathtaking horses. “Don’t you DARE even think about buying one…” I’d tell him, and follow up with a handful from among the 976 reasons we DON’T need another horse right now, especially a Friesian. Looking at the price tags on mature, saddle-trained Friesians, he agreed.
But Mark was committed to making a dream come true.
Now, we were also hunting for the perfect first horse for him. In my mind, that was top priority. He was looking on a Virginia horse classifieds site for Shires for sale, and did a search for Friesians… “just for fun.” That brought up the ad for Testimony, a yearling filly whose owner was going back to grad school. “She is our firstborn filly and a dream come true, a Testimony to God’s love and grace,” her owners wrote. “We will choose her new owner from among interested parties on November 1.” It was the first of November.
The front page of the Friesian’s website reminded me, “delight in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.” I watched the videos of the filly and her mother, sobbing, already feeling the hands of fate. Mark had emailed the owners an eleventh hour plea. “Coincidences” began to pour like rain.
We were heading down to that area on Mark’s next day off to look at a couple of horses for him. Mark insisted we at least go meet the horse and her owners. With all the signs and coincidences leading up to this moment, and with full realization that marriage was now galloping into reality, we were both shaking by the time we arrived.
The filly was every inch a beautiful princess–and she knew it. The horse trainer in me appreciated her regal bloodlines and her exceptionally free movement. I didn’t feel “IT” though, the warm oneness when you know you and your horse are together together. “That makes it easy to say no,” I told Mark.
Mark felt otherwise.
I spent the rest of the day trying to convince him NOT to buy this horse. (At one point I stood apart from myself and laughed hysterically at the incongruity of the situation: arguing with the Love of my Life NOT to give me the horse of my dreams.)
We talked. We thought. We prayed. The only thing God would tell me is, “be still and know that I am God. Be still and wait on Me.” Not words to overjoy a type A personality in the face of a huge decision, but strangely comforting. Perhaps this decision was not meant to be mine.
Meanwhile, I got a call from an old friend, Tam. She wanted the freedom to move to China. She wanted to do right by her horses. She wanted them to come back home to the Bower.
More horses. Wonderful horses. Angus, my first-born colt, now 3 years old. Pete, the patient Appaloosa who loves medieval games. TC, who I worked with before I even moved to the Bower. And most amazingly, Dolly, the perfect horse for my Love.
Dolly is 17 hands of golden Belgian. As Mark pointed out, “she’s so big if you want to fall off you have to bounce at least 3 times across her back before you run out of horse!” She is a champion charger for my shining knight. His face lights up when he even talks about her.
Back to the Friesian, back to our Testimony. When last we left off, I was obediently waiting. (“I HATE waiting!” ~Inigo in The Princess Bride.) I was trusting my LifeMate to make the right decision for the both of us in a situation that defied logic. Mark grew ever more adament, and I watched a dream emerge from a fog of fear and disbelief.
We went to pick her up Tuesday. I was beside myself with joy, with excitement, with the hugeness of the situation– but still no warm fuzzies between the filly and I. In the hubbub of sealing the deal, emotional greetings– and good-byes– and trailer loading a nervous, excited youngster, Mark didn’t have the chance to carry out his well-planned proposal.
The trip was pleasantly uneventful and brilliantly lit with blazing foliage bright against stormdark skies. The filly settled into the rhythm of the road and long hours eventually brought us home.
I’d just turned the rig onto Bower Road when my cell phone rang. Ginny was up at the Head of the Grove. Bold Step had been picking on D’Art, who fled through the fence. Ginny was starting the fence repair while D’art ran around the adjacent pasture, evading capture. I laughed at the ironic perfection of the situation. We might own a fancy Friesian, but we still gotta fix fence on a rainy night!
We settled the filly in the roundpen with hay and water. Mark had some things to take care of in the house, so I headed up to deal with fence. D’Art is such a mama’s boy– he stopped running and let me come right up to him in the dark. We got the bulk of the repairs done and I sent Ginny back to the barn while I finished up.
The crescent moon was leisurely sinking towards the horizon. It threw just enough light to set the ground-hugging mists aglow. The horses stood in silhouette along the hillside. Wow, I thought, this might be the last time I stand here as a single woman. I started up a conversation with God and soaked with Him in the still majesty of the night.
As I was heading back, my TrueLove emerged from the darkness. I brought him back to the crest of the hill, where the moon danced ever closer to the treetops in the Old Old Orchard. We held each other a while in the mist and moonlight, then Mark sank to his knees. Never in time has “will you marry me” been wrapped in such splendor and love!
We went back to the barn to tell Ginny and play with the new filly. Since my engagement Friesian doesn’t quiet fit on my hand, Mark wrapped an electric fence zip tie around my finger–in matching black. We spent the evening calling family, reveling and toasting with the last bottles of a raspberry melomel he’d racked 3 years before.
The next morning, the filly let me know she was Grace. She sighed and lowered her proud head against my chest for a long hug. If she had done this when first we met, I’d have fallen in love in a flash– and always would have second guessed if we made the right decision. In tough times I’d have doubted destiny and chalked it up instead to the starry-eyed dreaming of a horse crazy girl and the amazing man who wanted to make those dreams come true in the face of improbability.
It had to happen this way, just as it happened with Mark. There is no question in either of our minds that we were meant for each other since before time began. And there is no question in our minds that Grace is meant to be in our lives. Greater forces than ours are at play. We don’t know what the future brings, but we can’t wait to live it!
Happily Ever After begins now….
The Editor's Cut
Wolf and I are engaged! Look forward to a warm weather Renaissance
wedding at the Bower. With fireworks!
wedding at the Bower. With fireworks!
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
One Breath Poetry:Loneliness
loneliness: a lie
truth: tears warmed by gentle breeze,
sunshine, God's whispers...
truth: tears warmed by gentle breeze,
sunshine, God's whispers...