Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Silk Sky

I was standing outside in a light snowfall tonight, and I was poorly dressed. It was 20 degrees and snowing and I was wearing a three-year-old Carhartt plaid button up and some old cargo pants. The wind hit like a slap. I knew it was temporary so I ignored it. The greatest farming advice I ever received kicked in - don't prefer to be comfortable. The door to my farmhouse was 35 feet away and I had a task to do.

I was standing in front of 1200lbs of half Belgian Draft Horse/half paint. Compared to Merlin Mabel is a giant. I was buckling Mabel’s blanket against her thick coat. I don’t know if she needs the protection, but this is my first winter keeping her and the previous owner kept her blanketed on cold nights last year, so in respect of that person and promise - I cover her. She’s so big. I’m 5’2” and 180lbs. That is the height and weight of one of her rear legs. Merlin fits me like a glove but this mare is a beast.

I would be lying if I didn't admit my fear of her. We are still new to each other, and while we have spent a lot of time in saddle and trail together - I have spent about 500% more time with the British Lad. I would put your 2-year-old on Merlin. I would advise you not to stand too close to Mabel. That's not an accusation, just familiarity. That and a thousand years of sayings about chestnut mares...

I smile as I settled her into the final snaps. I can see the moon over her back. The weather is odd - a light snowfall but misty clouds and the moon looks like it is hiding behind black silk. I pull the hair out of my eyes and adjust the last strap - she’s protected. This is a Tuesday night and I feel lucky and sharp. Before bed I have more chores to do. I will bring in the hawk to perch indoors for the night. I will make a camp bed by the wood stove beside the bird and create nests for the dogs, too. I'll start the truck in the dark, slinging luck that it encourages it to start again in the morning. I'll set all the faucets on drip to keep water moving all night. I'll pour a glass of wine and watch strangers I have no business caring so much about talk about a romance novel - that is my reward for comfortable beasts and a farm on its haunches.

It blows my mind that there are people to which an eight degree night means nothing. They just adjust the thermostat, pour out some cat food, and order take out like any other night. They might consider the weather if they are going out to meet someone for drinks or dinner, have a class or kid to pick up from practice - but basically this single digit night means a slight inconvenience - at most. Here it is an event with more preparation and presence than most Easter Sundays. My only witness is that gauzy moon, some snow, and hope for tomorrow.

I am not sure I am better off but I am happy.

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