Life on the Bayou

It's not every year that we have a bona fide winter here in southern Louisiana, but we're having one this year.  We've had gray days with ice and sleet and bitter north winds over the bayou.  The horses started putting on their winter coats early in September.  I wondered then if it meant that a cold winter was coming and apparently it did.

The bayou is teeming with beautiful white pelicans, cormorants, and even a few sea gulls - from regions that make our winter seem mild, I guess.  I bundled up in two jackets, hat, scarf, and gloves and stood on our little dock with my camera, hoping to get some good pelican pictures.  I thought I might scare them away, but they didn't seem to notice me.

 

 

They have what looks like a well choreographed routine.  They float along like swans for a while.  Then all of a sudden they all take wing at once and fly a little ways up the bayou where they skid back on to the water to float a minute or two.  Then they all take wing again and fly back down the bayou.  This goes on and on - back and forth.  It must be nature's way of keeping them warm - and keeping them fit enough to fly home when spring comes.  As a

bonus - while taking pictures of pelicans - I got a lucky shot of a heron having his breakfast.

There's not as much boat traffic on the bayou as there is bird traffic these days.  But this morning the birds had to make way for a very large tow passing by - large enough to need a tug in front pulling and one behind pushing.  The spiffy red tug reminded me of "Little Toot," the tug boat in one of my favorite childhood books.  I don't know what the large vessel on the barge is - probably equipment for one of the local chemical plants.

Our latest project is a renovation of the tack room and kitchen in the barn.  Chaos reigns right now since a lot of "stuff" had to be moved into the barn aisle so that work could proceed.  More about this in my next post.

 I'm off now to do a little work in the barn.  It's still cold, but the glorious sun is lifting my spirits after a string of gray dismal days.  Spring will be more welcome than usual this year.

 

The Mystery Hole

View from the laundry room window . . .

We had a rainy week-end.  In fact, we've had a wet summer.  Nice -  since we're so often experiencing drought conditions. 

Jerry called me out in the pasture this morning to look at the reappearance of what I'm starting to think of as the "mystery hole."  It's - I don't know - five or six inches diameter and about two feet deep - very likely to cause a broken leg if human or horse stepped in it.  The human would probably recover, but it would be a death sentence for a horse.  

The hole first appeared about a year ago.  At the time, Jerry had a pile of dirt somewhere on this quirky farm. (He likes to keep dirt on hand.)  He got on the tractor and filled the hole with some of this dirt.  After the dirt settled, he added more dirt.  He leveled it all off, and we watched it for a while.  The hole didn't reappear so we thought the problem was solved and didn't think much more about it. 

Now the hole is back and we have no dirt on hand.  Even if we had a pile of dirt, it would be mud after all the rain.  While I was wondering what in the world we were going to do to keep a horse from breaking a leg until we can get a load of dirt delivered, Jerry came up with a solution.  He used the tractor - I don't know what we would do without our little Kubota - to move an old iron pot and turn it upside down over the hole. 

Let's just graze around it.  That way we can sneak up on it.

Being prey animals, horses are very observant.  They notice new things right away.  As I groomed them in the barn aisle, they each in turn looked out at that pot.  Fay snorted. 

If you let a dog out in his yard, and he saw an iron pot that hadn't been there the day before, he would probably raise his leg and pee on it.  If he was concerned about it at all, he might stand a few feet away and bark at it. 

It's not moving.  Maybe it's harmless.

Horses take a different approach.  When we let them out of their stalls, they acted nonchalant - grazing near the pot.  Fay was the first to approach the pot while grazing.  Rocky and Tesoro were at the watering trough - discussing how to handle the situation, I suspect. 

Oh heck!  I don't think this is anything to worry about.

Eventually, all three of them decided it wasn't a horse-eating critter.  They checked it out by nudging and sniffing it.  Good thing it's heavy enough that they can't move it off the hole.

Actually, it's right tasty!

Rocky, being the pot-licker that he is, was the first to give it a lick.

So ---- we have a temporary fix for this problem.  But I have unanswered questions.  Why did this hole come back?  What happened to the dirt we put in it a year ago?  Will it come back again and again, no matter how many times we fill it with dirt?  Is this how sink holes start?  Oh, no!  Is it going to end up like the Bayou Corne sink hole that has caused people to evacuate their homes?  Somebody please slap me and remind me that this is a tiny hole!

Under a Buttermilk Sky

I was out in the pasture - on the tractor - early this morning to help Jerry with the routine manure-moving detail.  The temperature was bearable, and we worked under a perfect buttermilk sky.  I'm not sure what a buttermilk sky means weatherwise, but I like the atmosphere that it gives to all outdoors - and it reminds me of that old cowboy song called "Buttermilk Sky."

Bathing the horses was next on our agenda.  The fungal and/or bacterial skin infection that Tesoro developed a few weeks ago is cleared up now, but it took several baths in an iodine shampoo and regular treatment with an anti-fungal spray.  Summer is the worst season for the horses when it comes to skin problems.  They do a lot of sweating as they graze under the hot summer sun.  The salty sweat attracts all kinds of biting insects, and that makes existing skin problems worse.  The best prevention is frequent bathing and daily spraying with fly spray.

We've purchased a new washer and dryer - catapulting ourselves into the world of 21st century laundry.  These appliances are a far cry from the ones they replaced.  They're computerized and are, no doubt, smarter than I am.  I was most surprised by the washer's repertoire of sounds - falling water, pounding surf, airplane sounds (taking off and landing), and various groans and moans.  None of these sounds are loud.  In fact, these machines are remarkably quiet.  They are big - the size of small automobiles.  Ok, I'm exaggerating, but the dryer door definitely has the feel of a car door when it closes.  Will they clean the laundry better than the old appliances?  Maybe.  We'll see.  I can certainly wash and dry more clothes at a time in these big high-capacity machines.  That means I finish the laundry in about half the time - and that's a good thing!

Activity in my Addis post office box has increased lately. I've managed to find the time to send a few letters and do a little paper crafting.  I recently sent this summery watermelon card off to California.  In the last two weeks I've received letters from Texas, England, Australia, and India - and posts cards from Indiana, California, and New Mexico.  I like hearing about the daily lives of my pen pals.  No matter the geographical and cultural differences, we have a great deal in common - children and grandchildren, as well as homes, pets, and gardens to care for.

 

The twins are doing well, and their sister, Ellie, is adjusting to having them at her house.  I guess she's decided it's sort of like day-care at home.  Wallace and Arabella have started school up in north Louisiana.  Arabella texted me yesterday that she has ten teachers this year!  Was that a typo?  Can she possibly have ten teachers?  I'll have to text and ask for more information.  Texting with my grandchildren!  What would my mother and grandmother think of this new technology!

My current sewing projects are burp cloths for the new twins and crocheted doll clothes.  The tiny burp cloth on the top of the stack is for Ellie and her dolls.  My mornings and evenings are spent in the barn, but the blazing mid-day is a good time to be inside - sewing or reading or writing letters.

I've joined an online book discussion group, sponsored by the Trollope Society.  It's called "Take a Trollope on Holiday." Ha! The assignment is Anthony Trollope's Phineas Phinn - one of the Palliser novels.  Trollope is one of my favorite authors, and I read The Palliser series years ago.  But a good book is always worth re-reading.

 

It's true that August is the middle of high summer, but - along with the heat and humidity - it always brings hints of fall.  The angle of the sun is noticeably different.  The pecan tree in the pasture is shedding leaves.  It's always the last to put out new growth in the spring, but the first to send fall leaves raining down.  This morning as I walked to the back of the barn, I saw a large flock of birds along the bayou bank.  I startled them, and they all took flight at once.  I don't know what kind of birds they were, but their lift-off was a beautiful sight.  Migrating birds - another hint of fall.

Busy Summer Days

Our semi-tropical Louisiana summer arrived while it was still spring in northern regions.  As usual, I was sick of summer before its first official day arrived.  I'm already fantasizing about crisp, fall weather.  There's nothing like fall days in the barn.

But for now we're on our summer heat survival schedule - up by 6:00 a.m., in the barn from 7:00 until 10:00 a.m.  When my head is where it should be, I pray and read the lectionary after coming in from the barn.  Then lunch (our big meal of the day) and a siesta.  The afternoon is spent in air-conditioning - doing housework, laundry, desk work, etc.  Back to the barn from 6:00 to 7:00 p.m.  Then a light supper followed by a desperate search for something to watch on TV.  I've started crocheting while I watch TV so it won't feel like a total waste of time.  But it's not easy because I have to crochet with Teche, the resident house cat, on my lap.

Our youngest daughter kick-started the summer by delivering twin baby boys.  Of course, we all knew that twins were on the way, but they weren't supposed to arrive until mid-July.  Operating on their own time table, they made their debut on June 13.  They are still in the hospital although they are healthy little tykes.  They will come home as soon as the feeding tubes can be discontinued. 

Arabella

Wallace

Life will change for the babies' 16 month old sister, Ellie Kay, who is used to being the one and only kid in her household.  But she's a happy little girl with a sweet disposition, so I'm sure she will adjust.  Our grandkids, Ellie's cousins, from Bossier City - 15 year old Wallace and 10 year old Arabella - just happened to be visiting when the twins were born.  They're looking forward to coming back when the twins are home from the hospital.   Arabella is especially looking forward to coming back since she hasn't seen the babies at all.  She wasn't allowed in the hospital since she's under 12 - an unhappy circumstance.  After all, she's a very grown-up 10 year old!  It's incredible to think that, in less than two years, we've gone from two grandchildren to five! 

The horses and I have joined Pat Parelli's Savvy Club online.  We're progressing through the levels of ground work.  Each horse has an online page with goals to be mastered.  When tasks are done, they are checked off on the horses' respective pages.  I'm enjoying it and I think the horses are, too.  It's good for them - having something to do besides eat.

I miss getting personal mail.  But you can't expect to get mail when you owe everybody in your correspondence world a letter or post card.  The days have been so busy, and I'm woefully behind.  I'll have to forsake my fountain pens and resort to the computer to catch up. 

I've managed to get some reading sandwiched in between everything else.  I read The Shoemaker's Wife by Adriana Trigiani.  This was my first experience with Ms. Trigiani, and I've added her to my list of favorite authors.  Her descriptive passages are pure poetry.  The Shoemaker's Wife evokes both tears and laughter.  She breathes life into her characters, and I hated to part with them when I finished the book.

The Soul of a Horse by Joe Camp, creator and director of the Benji movies, is an exceptionally good read.  Joe is a dog lover who didn't get involved with horses until he was 66 years old.  The book describes the experiences he and his wife had as new horse owners.  Mr. Camp refers to Monty Roberts throughout his book, so now I'm immersed in Monty's book, The Man Who Listens to Horses.  I have trouble putting it down.

I'll stop my ramble here since it's time to be off to the hospital to take a gander at the newest members of the family.  I hope to have some good twin photos for the next blog post.

Rocky's Journal - Springtime in the Barn



Tesoro

Friday, Mar. 23, 2012

There's nothing like a cool, misty spring morning in the barn - especially when Judy (the groom) comes in and gives you the spa treatment.  We got a thorough brushing, and a lot of our old winter hair rolled off.  There was a great big pile of hair from Tesoro, the boss hoss, and smaller piles from me and Fay.  It's not hard to tell who the hairy beast is around here.



Fay

These pictures were taken right after our grooming.  As much as I hate to admit it, Tesoro's picture doesn't do him justice.  He's really better looking than this.  The problem is that he hates the camera so it's hard to get a good picture of him.  I guess maybe the paparazzi followed him around in his youth - although I can't imagine why.  Fay is her cute, red-headed self.  And there's me - the sorrel with the flaxen mane.  I may be at the bottom of the pecking order, but I think it's easy to see who got the looks in this herd.

Me - Rocky

Judy always lets us eat hay out of the aisle rack while she brushes us.  When she turned us out in the pasture this morning, we were expecting hay to be in the outside racks.  After all, Jerry (hay and feed manager) always has hay out there for us when he turns us out on the days we don't get a grooming.  But today the darn hay racks were empty!

We hung around the door to the hay stall, thinking surely some hay was going to make its way out to the racks.  But no.  Judy came out with a shovel and push broom and started cleaning the dirt and debris (nice word for poop) off the concrete wash pad.

The three of us gathered 'round and watched.  My head followed the broom, back and forth, while I listened to Judy talk about how we had been eating hay in the barn all morning, and we weren't going to get any more until after lunch.  She suggested that we do what horses do - graze.  She pointed out that hay counts money while grass is free.  Hmm.  I didn't know that.

After a while, Tesoro laid himself down on the ground and pouted.  Fay stood with her head down, ears back, and that disgusted look she gets on her face.  Me?  I'm a pragmatist.  I ambled off to munch on green grass.  Let 'em pout.  All the more grass for me!

Wednesday, Mar. 28, 2012

Dr. Chapman, the vet, and her two assistants came today to give us our yearly shots.  I don't like shots, but I handle getting a shot better than I used to.  Sometimes you just have to make up your mind to be a grown-up. 

The Yearly Exam

They did the usual prodding and poking that goes with a medical exam.   Of course, being poked by three pretty girls is not bad - better than being poked by some burly old men.

The good news was that we didn't have to have our teeth floated this year.  That's when your teeth have grown kind of pointy, and they have to file them down.  Boy! Do I hate all that!   They usually have to give me and Fay a tranquilizer when they float our teeth.  I don't much like the tranquilizer either.  It makes me feel drunk for an hour or so.  Tesoro shows off sometimes by letting them do his teeth without a tranquilizer. 

Well, this keeping a journal is all well and good, but I've got grazing to do. 

A Dispatch from the Barn

Whatcha writin'?

I don't know exactly when the swallows return to Capistrano, but they have returned to the barn at Bywater Farm. I'm convinced that it's the same Sam and Sally Swallow who took up residence here last spring. In fact, they've set up housekeeping in the same nest they built last year on a rafter over the barn aisle. They are not at all bothered by our presence. They circle and swoop and flit over our heads as if they own the place.

They're sprucing up the nest. When you've been gone from your summer place all winter, I guess things get a bit untidy. They've been shopping for building material - just as they did last year - in the hay stall. They do a lot of chattering to each other. I chat with them and their twittering responses sound sensible enough - even if they are speaking a different language.

I'm writing this in my barn "office." It's nothing fancy - just Jerry's old red desk chair and an old folding table in front of the window in the tack room. If the furniture is old and outdated, my writing equipment is the latest thing. I'm typing on my nifty Apple wireless keyboard and watching the text appear on my iPad in the "Pages" app.

The tack room window is open and there's a nice little breeze. The horses are grazing just outside the window. In fact, Rocky has already visited me by sticking his nose through the open window. He's not fooling me though. His visit is not as much affection for me as it is curiosity about what's going on in the tack room which happens to be where his feed is kept. Tesoro stopped by, too - and when Fay came, she lingered long enough for me to take her picture.

Equine Beginnings - a Memoir

Judy and Fay

Jerry and I were hovering on either side of sixty with very little horse experience when we decided to become horse owners in 2004.

I’m not sure what made us want to keep horses. Maybe it was the Westerns we grew up watching on television in the fifties - Gunsmoke, Rawhide, and Tombstone Territory.

Traveling photographers and their ponies nourished our love of the Old West. My husband grew up in southern Louisiana and my childhood was spent in northwestern Florida, but we both have pictures of ourselves at about six years old - each astride a brown and white Shetland pony with a fancy Western saddle and bridle.

Then too, I think Silver marked me for life. In the rural Florida of my childhood, stock laws - if there were any - were not enforced. Pigs, cattle, goats, and horses roamed at will. A big white horse frequented our neck of the woods. We never knew who he belonged to, but he often jumped over our cattle guard which was installed at the driveway gate to keep him and other roaming animals out. We called him Silver.

One of my earliest memories is waking to a noise I couldn’t identify. I could tell it was outside, so my tiny feet padded over to the open window. As I gazed out, Silver’s large white head appeared, illuminated by a full moon. He looked me in the eye as he munched on grass that had come from below my window. I cherished the nights when I fell asleep to the sound of Silver snorting and champing grass. His presence was comforting.

When I was about twelve years old, my parents started taking me to a riding academy on Sundays. It was run by a friendly young couple. They had several horses that they rented out to anyone who wanted to ride over their acreage which was bounded on one side by a sleepy bayou. They also gave lessons. I learned to ride at a trot and a canter and to weave in and out of barrels.

Sometimes we rode out on the trails in a group, and occasionally my parents joined us. My mother usually ended up on a horse named Toby who liked to try to get her off his back by rubbing her against a tree. Looking back, I doubt that these outings were much fun for her. But for me those were glorious days. I thought I was a great rider and nothing much scared me.

When my parents thought I was ready, they bought me a horse - a stallion that couldn’t have been more than three years old. He was reddish brown with a white streak down his face. I named him Blaze. He stayed with his previous owner - about five miles from our house - until we had a place ready for him. My father fenced a portion of our five acres. We cleared out an existing out-building and used it to store feed and tack.

While these preparations were going on at home, my father made arrangements for Blaze to be gelded. I didn’t understand exactly what this meant, but my parents said it would make him easier to handle and I figured that would be a good thing.

Every morning for two or three weeks after the surgery, my father and I got up at five in the morning and drove to the place where Blaze was stabled. We exercised him by walking him up and down a country road for thirty minutes. It was winter and cold enough that we could see our own breath as well as Blaze’s. We returned home every morning just in time for me to catch the school bus.

Eventually Blaze came to live at our place. His previous owner delivered him in a trailer. After that, I was on my own. I didn’t have brothers or sisters, and evidently my parents thought I was experienced enough to handle this young horse by myself. They didn’t know much about horses, and I think they believed that Blaze’s surgery would give him the temperament of the old seasoned horses at the riding academy. 

I remember taking care of Blaze's needs - feeding and watering him every morning before school and again in the evening after school. And of course I remember that fateful day that led to our separation.

I had saddled Blaze and was riding on a sandy road not more than a half mile from our house. All of a sudden Blaze arched his back like a Halloween cat and all four of his feet came off the ground at the same time. I was terrified. To this day I don’t remember if I rode him home or led him home. But when I got there, I told my parents what happened and said, with all the rashness of youth, “I’ll never get on that horse again!”

Of course, I didn’t mean it. I was frightened, but - more than that - my feelings were hurt. I couldn’t believe that Blaze had wanted to get rid of me. I thought we were friends, buddies, pals. How could my parents possibly think that I never wanted to ride him again? How many times had I been mad at my best friend, Anna, and swore that I’d never speak to her again? Surely they had noticed that I was often chatting with her shortly after making this rash statement.

No, I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t a quitter and neither were my parents. I fully expected them to say that I must not give up, that maybe I needed some help - some guidance - some support - but I must not give up.

But to my horror and surprise, there was no effort to talk me out of my resolve to give up my partnership with Blaze. It was decided immediately that he had to go. Before I had time to sort through my emotions, my father was on the phone talking to Blaze’s previous owner who agreed to buy him back.

The next day my mother tried to comfort me while Blaze was loaded into a trailer, never to return. But I wept bitter tears, and I knew in the depths of my young heart that this was unfinished business.

Takin' a Barn Break

I haven't forgotten about the Wise Men. They're on their long arduous journey from the far reaches of Parthia to Jerusalem. Meanwhile my research is ongoing, and there will be at least one or two more posts about the Magi before Epiphany - January 6.

Today has been a bleak winter day - and it's not even officially winter yet. The temperature was about 53 degrees this morning and fell steadily all day. This morning I was able to get in some barn time. Time in the barn is therapeutic for me. My life - like everybody else's - is filled with modern appliances, gadgets, computers, etc. These things were unheard of a hundred years ago. But grooming horses, cleaning stalls, and filling hay racks has been going on "since time out of mind," as my grandmother used to say. These kinds of activities serve as a balance to our fast-paced, high tech world.

There was a little biting wind coming out of the north, across the bayou this morning so the big doors on either end of the barn aisle had to stay closed. We usually keep nylon halters on the horses, but we've let them go halterless in the pasture for about two weeks. I thought they might take a dim view of their halters, but all three of them lowered their heads and stood perfectly still while I buckled their halters on.

I tethered them in the aisle, one at a time, next to a rack of hay so they could munch while I groomed them. They're putting on their thick, long winter hair. In the summer they're sleek like satin, but in the winter their coats look like velvet. Grooming horses is satisfying because they don't just tolerate it like a dog or cat does, they seem to enjoy it.

Rocky's long luxurious mane was a tangled mess. A mixture of water and Avon's Skin-So-Soft bath oil makes a good detangler and smells good, too. I sprayed some in Rocky's mane and it didn't take long to get the tangles out.

If the weather is nice and the big doors are open, Fay likes to move around while she's being groomed so she can see what's going on outside. She a nosey little mare. Since the doors were closed today, she wasn't as antsy as she usually is.

Tesoro loves to be brushed between his eyes and under his forelock. He moves his head up and down as I move the brush up and down. He thinks he's helping.

We've had two or three hard freezes this month - unusual for December in Louisiana. Our hard freezes - if we get any at all - usually come in January or February. The grass in the pasture is already brown so we're feeding a lot of hay.

There's no green at all left in the sugar cane fields that were planted in the summer. The freezes have turned everything brown - except for patches of some kind of clover that dot the landscape here and there.

In our mild climate the worst part of winter to me is not so much the cold, it's the bleak brown landscape. They say it's doubtful that Christ was born in December, but I'm glad that's when we celebrate his birth. Winter would be almost too bleak to bear without the cheerfulness of Christmas.

Back to the Barn

I'd rather do barn work than house work. I can't explain why. The barn work is not any easier. There's just something about a barn. It has a friendly, homey atmosphere, and that's where I spent this morning.

I gave all three horses a thorough grooming - for the first time since my knee surgery.  They really need a good bath, but I'm not sure I'm up to that yet.  I've decided this knee surgery was a good thing after all.  My recovery is coming along, and I'm getting back to doing some of the things I used to enjoy before my knees got so bad I was always looking for a place to sit down.

Grooming a horse is a satisfying thing because a horse likes being groomed.  As much as I love dogs and cats, I can't say that I ever got the feeling that they enjoy being groomed.  The dogs I've had were never the least bit cooperative when I got out the grooming tools.  And Teche, our cat, will endure being brushed for just so long before he lets you know he's had enough. 

Horses - like people - are built differently.  Tesoro has a skimpy mane, but a thick tail.  Rocky has a long luxurious mane and a not-so-thick tail while Fay's mane and tail are about the same thickness.

Tesoro stands patiently while I brush him, even leaning into the brush somtimes as if to say it's OK for me to brush a little harder.   Rocky's mane is so long it's prone to getting knots and tangles.  Sometimes getting them all brushed out is quite a challenge. 

Both the boys stand pretty still while they're being groomed.  It's another story with Fay.  Fay is the most curious of the three.  She's got to know what's going on, and sometimes that requires changing position.  If she hears a boat passing on the bayou, she must look in that direction.  If she catches a glimpse of the kids across the street jumping on their trampoline, she's got to turn so she can see.  A top-notch horse trainer would say that I shouldn't put up with her moving around, and maybe I shouldn't.  But it's due to curiousity and not for any malicious purpose, so I move with her.  I'm as curious as she is. 

When the grooming was finished, I put hay in the outside racks and turned the horses out in the pasture.  Then I filled the sink in the barn aisle with hot soapy water and let the grooming brushes and tools soak while I cleaned stalls.  Then it was back to the sink to rinse the brushes.  I set them on a stool in the sun to dry.  I don't want to give the impression that I clean grooming tools daily.  I don't clean them often enough, so it was a job that was long overdue.

Jerry took the box fans out of the stalls so we can clean them and store them for the winter.  In the summer, when it's 98 degrees, the horses appreciate a little breeze in their stalls.  Well, Rocky and Fay appreciate it.  Tesoro tolerates it, but he lets you know he doesn't like that darn fan by snorting and going to a corner of the stall that doesn't get too much of the breeze from the fan.

Spiders love the barn.  They think we built it for them.  I spent some time brushing down their cobwebs with a broom.  I hate spiders!  I just can't think of anything useful about a spider.  OK, I guess they snare a few mosquitos in their webs - but not enough to put up with cobwebs all over the place.  A wren perched on a rafter and fussed at me while brushed down the cobwebs.  If it was spring, I'd think she must have a nest somewhere in the barn and was afraid it would be knocked down with the cobwebs.   But do wrens nest in the autumn?  I don't know.