More late winter at Back Acres Farm

Let’s see - what’s new. Alas, not much - unless more snow counts. I wish we had gotten even more, actually, since it would cover the ice better. And speaking of snow, one of the adopted horses went down in the snow last week. He is a very old, very large draft cross who has little strength left in his hind quarters and a blown-out hock and continuous trouble getting to his feet once he goes down to roll.  He is usually pretty smart about this - choosing to roll so that his hind end is uphill such that he gets a gravity assist in getting back up.

This time, however, he rolled into the deep snow pack at the bottom of the hill, and could not get up. I first observed this situation out the kitchen window while noticing my house mate with a shovel busily working around a horse head located much lower to the ground than usual. I went out to see, and he was trying to lower the horse’s front end to help him up, but to no avail. A number of us gathered to try and push the old guy’s body at least over his hind feet (which were out to the side) but this also did not work since he seemingly weighs as much as a small car. And he was now swivelled against the fencing with his front feet sunk deeply into the snow bank, and getting more and more exhausted from his efforts.

I think this is one of the hardest things about winter and horses - an exhausted horse down outside, late in the day, with the temperature dropping. The last time this happened (to this same horse) it was two winters ago and he was down on a sheet of ice. We piled manure around him to try to give him traction, we pulled, we pushed, it was late Sunday afternoon with a blizzard on the way. I drove around the town trying to find someone with a large enough tractor to lift him up from his ribcage, and finally found a neighbor who was willing to come over.  Hours later, via industrial strapping around his mid-section chained to the tractor bucket, he was up. It was a very upsetting experience for everyone, even though the good outcome prevailed.

This time, I thought I would try using my own tractor before tugging on the neighbor’s sleeve again - it’s a fair distance through freezing cold air to ask him to come. God bless my little John Deere - even though it’s only 23 horse I was able to dig out the snow bank to reach the horse, and then gently snug the padded bucket edge under the horse’s hind end - and then lift the bucket. Hallelujah - it worked - the front legs were so buried he couldn’t slide forward off the bucket, and then he was up. Shaky, but up. My house mate and I actually raised our hands and eyes to heaven in thanksgiving, and I gave my heroic little tractor a lot of pats as well.  I love that thing.

Late winter at Back Acres Farm

My housemate has a morning ritual of counting down the days to spring, via the front hall blackboard. There are little chalk-drawn flowers, and a slowly lessening number of days until that blessed event. I don’t have the heart to point out that 30-odd days until Spring lands us in the middle of March - called the cruelest month for good reason. Still nasty cold and offering only mud season to look forward to. Of course a good perspective is to remember a few years ago after the 2008 ice storm. I was not very upset about the damage during January and February, since I couldn’t really see it. Then March came, and the melt revealed the extent of the devastation to trees and fields and fences, and I reeled back, totally overwhelmed. There was no place to which to avert my eyes, since the mess was 360 degrees - everywhere. It seemed that even if I hired every chain saw in Plainfield I didn’t have a prayer. Yada-yada-yada. Of course it got cleaned up, though it took about a year and a half.

And so far this year, we only have snow - and, er, ice - oh yeah. We are spreading shavings and stall leavings on it for traction, but nonetheless leading is done at a snail’s pace. I swear these horses are so plugged in. I talk to each of them in turn, reminding them that slow and steady wins the race and no fooling around, please - it’s not safe. And danged if they don’t listen. We take our time over the slippery bits, chatting and stopping as needed, and they get to their day turnout or night stalls all cheerful and ready for hay and water and whatever. Nice.

One of the cool things about owning this place is that I get a lot of choice over what happens here, and lots can happen since a Farm upside is that it is pretty large. One of the Back Acres trainers has organized a clinic for the 27^th - a Complete Spontaneous Liberty Dancing clinic with Bonnita Roy who draws inspiration from Klaus Hempfling, Carolyn Resnick, and Karen Rolfe. I did not know what this meant at first, but apparently it involves using body language to create "dance steps" with your horse, utilizing basic natural dressage movements at liberty.  It sounds wonderful - I am looking forward to seeing it.  The link is www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=190466440975840 for anyone who wants to read more about it.

More tales from Plainfield and Back Acres Farm

I am just back from Denver, visiting with an old friend who has spent quite a bit of time here in Plainfield at Back Acres Farm, Mark Seidler. He lived here, in fact, for several months this summer. I did not know at the time, and perhaps he did not either, that he was dying of cancer back then. But so it transpired, and three of us (friends for 45 years+) went out to Denver to spend time with him before he goes. It was a terrific time, albeit surreal. He is very unsentimental about his leave-taking, which is an enormous relief. No one has to pretend that there is no elephant in the room. He speaks naturally about when he is dead, and is spending his remaining time taking care of his estate arrangements (in which he is involving his friends) and doing what he can with the people around him. We had a party for him one evening which would have been a wake except he was there, we had a brunch, we took him for his last drive in the mountains, we talked current events, movies, art and philosophy, and we rubbed his feet a lot. He is painfully thin and can’t eat anything at all, but is still himself - still interested in everything around him and still capable of laughing. The guy is an inspiration - I hope I face my own death with as much courage and equanimity.


Things are good at Back Acres Farm, as well. There are two new boarders - a lovely quarter horse and a lovely Hanovarian (this last a refugee from the collapsed barn in Southampton). Both were very gentlemanly and well-mannered, even on the first day when everything was strange. Turn-out is a bear, of course, since the snow pack is so deep that venturing into it traps even the largest horses’ legs. We carved out areas in several fields with the tractor for the new guys to stand in, but the Hanovarian’s response to his new turnout was to LEAP into the snow pack and head towards the ladies in the next pasture over, who - of course - were trotting back and forth as seductively as they ever could. The poor guy got stuck, of course, and his owner (fortunately very light weight) had to tiptoe over the ice crust and coax him back. This morning the love-light was back in his eyes but he seems to be a smart fellow who is capable of learning - he only looked at them longingly and did not try it again.

Tales from Plainfield and Back Acres Farm

Terrible news about a barn/arena roof collapsing in Southampton. I am trying to feel the owner’s pain - though I am sure my imagination comes way short of what he must actually be feeling. Thank god no horses were hurt - I have spent my own share of sleepless nights during bad weather twitching with worry for the same reason. The newer barns at Back Acres were built with heavy snow loads in mind - very steep pitch on the indoor arena since the roof is so large. The cupola barn was built as a replacement barn and has the steepest pitch of all - the old barn nearly collapsed from the snow load, as well as being afflicted by frequent flooding in the spring.

Early on, after our first horrific flooding episode, we were fortunate to have our new neighbors streaming over to help us get the barn drained.  Good thing, since I was recovering from surgery and my then-husband only had one arm. I remember going to buy new shavings to replace the bedding lost to water, and having the store manager tell us "Oh yes, my barn floods every year, too". We asked how long that had been going on, and he reckoned since about the 1780's or so. We asked how come the situation had not been fixed yet? He said, "Well, in the spring it’s flooded, in the summer it’s dry and not a problem, in the fall we are too busy, and in the winter it’s frozen",  in a matter-of-fact way as if illuminating the obvious to not-very-bright people.

Anyway, liquid water is certainly not the problem now. I am wondering where we are going to put the remaining snow this winter, if it carries on arriving. We are keeping the parking lot plowed well enough, but its dimensions are dwindling. This morning in the tackroom, three of us were discussing what to do about the next weather-related thing, and as one - we raised a cheer for New England weather. Not for sissies.

From Christian at Back Acres Farm

One of my favorite moments to spend with my horses is at night. Cold winter nights. Balmy summer nights. Every night before hitting the bed (and I hardly ever go to sleep much before midnight), I head out to let my old Gambler (30 y/o retired Clyde-cross, ex-policehorse) out of his separate mini-paddock where he spends some 8+ hours a day by himself to have enough time to eat his grain and hay without everyone else stealing his much needed nourishment. I check on the herd, and give them all another flake of hay (much welcome in these long frigid nights). I walk up to my mare Lili, she meets me half way. Her whiskers touch my face. A soft nicker, almost imperceptible under her steamy breath. We stand in silence for a few moments, contemplating the starry sky, the majestic sillouettes of the ancient maple trees that border the pasture. Do you want some hay? We march up to the barn through two feet of snow. The night envelops us, slows everything down, and makes the interaction with the horses sweeter and more tender than at other times of the day. The snow leaves even the most moonless nights bright. But before the snow started falling, it was pitch black during new moon. I would just stand out under the stars until my eyes adjusted to the darkness. At first I thought I'd never be able to see a thing, but then my vision slowly opens like a photograph developing in the chemical. Bit by bit I begin to make out a shape. Is this Destry over there? Is it a tree? The tree begins to move toward me. It is Destry. We move carefully, tentatively. We cannot be as sure about the world as we are during the day time. I sit with them for a while and listen to the sound of their teeth grinding the hay, occasionally they blow their nostrils: the sound of a horse at ease, simple happiness. As I listen to them eat in the dark, I think: there is nothing that could make me feel more at home. Out under the sheltering sky, the sound and smell of eating hay. It is like a faint memory of something I once was. By the time I leave them for the rest of the night, I laugh at my initial temptation of bringing a flashlight. I would have deprived myself of this magical moment when the world slowly emerges from utter darkness around me. 

Tales from Plainfield and Back Acres Farm

Another week, another eight inches of snow. The horses are funny with it - particularly the big ones. The snow is so deep out in the pastures that they are reluctant to wade through it, seemingly because they fear getting their legs stuck. I try and put the hay a little further outside the trompled area every day, in order to increase the size of their walking "area". The disinclination to step into the snow is so strong, however, that it takes a while for hay-hunger to overcome it. I actually hired a snowmobile to come a few days ago to try and pack down an area in the pastures, but it was a waste of time. Even the weight of the machine wasn’t enough to make a real difference, and then it snowed another eight inches on top.

I walked up the hill to the upper barn last night to check on a horse with a tummy-ache, and the sky was startling in its beauty. Utterly clear, and stars everywhere - as bright as ice chips. Winter is very quiet, and winter at night even more so. The horse seemed better - her eye was bright and she was quietly eating her hay, so I was reassured that she would have a good night. The dogs were delirious with the unexpected walk, and whizzed around in circles up and down the road. My youngest dog does the Run of Joy which is very funny to watch - seriously fast with his tongue and tail streaming behind him, just for the sheer pleasure of it. In the snow, it is even funnier, since he has extremely short legs.

Tales from Plainfield and Back Acres Farm

January 24, 2011

Last Thursday the Plainfield What-Nots (a venerable ladies group dating from war-brides after WWII) had a Caribbean dinner. Very nice spread, and lots of tropical drinks. As the hostess said, if it hasn’t got rum in it, I’m not interested. We laughed a lot and got silly, and tried to decide what to spend our $600 kitty on.  As Town Moderator, I suggested a new Moderator’s podium since it is so low I have to hunch at Town Meeting - it is undignified. Unsurprisingly, no one voted for this. It looks as though we will more likely look into funding a local cabinet-maker to build a display case for the library, since there is an historic doll collection which needs restoration and then proper quarters.

Some of the town ladies put on a dinner Saturday night, and a few of us Farm people went. What a hoot!! Jake the Farm Intern had a fun time, since there were a group of Americorp kids there, and he got to hang out with people his own age, which was quite a treat for him. (He is an extremely cheap date). It’s all volunteer - the host ladies provided roast pork and roast beef, and the townspeople provided the rest of the side dishes - all sorts of vegetables and some soup and toothsome breads and rice dishes. Around fifty people sat down - we sat with some people I did not know and was glad to meet, since I had been passing the woman’s house for years and recently noticed that a series of cute sheds had sprouted up, housing goats. We had a good goat chat - I myself have a history of goats and it’s always fun to compare goat-notes. We just got two more here at the Farm, since - although they are annoying at times - there is nothing better for keeping weedy stone walls and odd corners free of unsightly weeds and scrub saplings. After the dinner there was a musical event upstairs at the Town Hall - I will let merciful oblivion temper my report on it, except to say that effort should be honored.

The cold has been severe. I wrestle with issues of horse comfort and safety, as I do every year at this time. Single or double blanket? What to do about blanket rips when it’s little too cold to take them off and send them out for repair - but the hanging bits constitute Xmas in July for bored pasture mates? How to keep water tubs clean when they are sunk in the snow? Fences shorting out, water tub heaters at issue, frozen buckets.....it’s all part of the life and thank goodness it’s only this cold three months a year. All the animals seem good, thank the lord - anxious to be out, and then anxious to be in again. They make me laugh. Lily the Appy mare (who had an eye trauma of mysterious origins in December and spent a week in the hospital) seems completely cured except that very bright light on the snow seems to bother the eye a little bit. We both got very tired of frozen meds and fingers in her eye, so I recently decided to leave her in peace since all discernable symptoms were gone. The vet will re-check at some point and tell me if there is anything left in the deep recesses. That event was interesting - the soundest horse on the planet - who had not even been footsore in ten years - came up with an eye injury for which there was no explanation. There was nothing protruding in her stall, no infection, no surface or adjacent laceration or bruising, just a trashed eyeball as if some Stooge had poked her with a blunt finger. We still don’t know what caused it.