Losses and Gains, part II

The week of Dad's memorial service had many bright spots, namely the gathering of the clan. Well, most of us anyway. Kiley and Vivian were missed, but we get to see them at Christmas.


I'll admit, it's strange to look at a family photo with the patriarch missing; pretending that he's behind the camera works for the first few seconds then the reality squeezes in. I know this is part of the adjustment process but that doesn't mean it's welcome.

Having Ty and Caroline, and Bruce too, was a sweet bonus. I know well the feeling of separation that happens when you live across an ocean and there's a family crisis. My hat's off to them for putting up with the rigors of international travel for a short visit.

Bruce, getting to know Rowan.

We brought Ty and Caroline home with us and central Oregon didn't disappoint - there was some snow, a bit of drama on the Santiam Pass, brilliant sunshine and no wind. Goddy and Ty learned that a practice run with tire chains helps when it's cold and dark and the flashing sign at Santiam Junction reads "CHAINS REQUIRED." After a fruitless and surprisingly calm attempt, we drove off in 4-wheel drive, sans chains, and arrived unscathed. And had the snow tires put on the next day.



Ty, who previously complained about snow, claimed that getting rugged up and heading outside was bracing. It helps when you have sensible headgear.


Caroline hadn't experienced Thanksgiving before, so we did a typical feast. Oops -we neglected to share the story of the Pilgrims with her. Hmmm, so much for the educational aspect of it. Should have had my mom there...Sorry Caroline, you'll just have to come back for another one some day and we'll fill you in on the details of why we sit down mid-afternoon on the 4th Thursday of November and eat a big dinner.

When T & C were here three years ago, I'd planned for us to spread the ashes of my beloved Golden Retriever, Sheena, in the pasture at Camp Sherman. Ty ended up with the dog-loving genes and it seemed appropriate to share the moment with him. It never happened because we didn't locate the urn until after they'd left (it was packed in a box in the garage.)

All things work together for good, because in the ensuing years I'd written an essay about Sheena called "The Bond." It sums up the sweet relationship I had with her, a once-in-a-lifetime tie that even now, eight years after her death, brings me to tears. Ty, Caroline, Goddy and I walked to the back of the pasture, sat down under a tree by the river, and took turns reading the essay.


As I poured the ashes out of the urn, I thought about how she would have loved the pasture. It contains an abundance of her favorite things - water, trees and horse poop.


There was still some snow on the ground, so the kids lightened the moment by building the cutest snowman I've ever seen!



And no visit to the pasture happens without some face time with the horses.


Danny is quite the popular soul - he has a way of wanting to be with people that's very endearing.

Logan went riding with me the week before... another shining moment in a month of experiencing the highs and lows of being a mother and daughter of men.

Losses and Gains

Since my last post, my dad has passed away, we've had visits from children and grandchild, and life continues to roll on relentlessly.

I don't feel quite up to writing about the loss of Dad so will dwell on other aspects of past weeks.

Here's a highlight - taking Rowan for his first horseback ride.

All along I've wanted to be the Gremmy and Aunty Kathryn who is known and loved for her warm hugs, great cookies, interesting books but most of all, her horses. My mom used to tell me that her step-father, Les, would have made sure I had a pony to ride had he lived to meet me. I grew up knowing I wanted to provide plenty of warm, furry animal necks for my grandchildren to hug. A bonus is that the grown-up children now think the animals are pretty swell too.

Two years ago I got to share my beloved mare, Misty, with my niece, Vivian. This year it's Rowan's turn.

Never knowing how kiddos will react to horses, we brought Misty close and let him look at her over the fence while I saddled her. He was perfectly happy to look at her and get hoisted aboard for a short ride to look at the cows.

The next day we walked down to the outdoor arena where Logan was helping Goddy trim the alpacas' feet. We watched for a while then wandered off around the arena.

When I asked Rowan if he wanted to go a bit faster, it was no surprise to hear, "Yes!" A little squeeze sent Misty into a rolling canter, which was a bit unexpected since she is 27 years old and arthritic. But she was perfectly happy to go and Rowan was perfectly happy to feel the breeze in his face. I was just perfectly happy.

We went out in the forest for a bit too, and I'm thinking this riding deal is going to be a fun aspect of being a grandmother of men (and women. Can't wait for Katelyn's turn.)

Blue Collar Blessings

When we lived in New Zealand, we didn't use the term 'blue collar.' The rural society we traveled in had more of an Us (the landed gentry) and Them (those who made it possible for them to be gentry) classification. I guess as farm managers we were one of Them, and I'll confess it chafed a bit.

Over here, being blue collar is just fine. Maybe its the laid back way of the west, but it sure doesn't matter if you go to the grocery store in grubby work clothes. Here, we stare if someone wears a suit or heels (unless it's Sunday, a wedding or a funeral.)

I like the fact that we work hard and honest and go to bed knowing we made a difference. If we weren't on the job, the animals would go hungry, the grass would shrivel up and the fences would remain unmended.

But what does this have to do with the handsome animal at the top of this post? Well, he's my latest blue collar blessing. For many years I've longed for a mule, and Danny came to me by the sweetest of serendipity's.

I accidently clicked onto Dreamhorse.com one night (of course, it was bookmarked on my computer but I honestly wasn't going to look at mules that night.) But, since I was there I did end up looking at mules and Danny had just been listed. He's just the sort of mule I'd dreamed of,
well trained, experienced and personable. I'm looking forward to exploring our neck of Camp Sherman.

But back to the blue collar thing. Mules have always excelled at working, they get the job done without fuss, unless a fuss is called for, and they have a great capacity for fun and adventure.

I was riding with my friend the other day, who was on a high-class Friesian. Now don't get me wrong, Friesians are the most beautiful horses to look at, the're fun to ride and the ones I work with always smell good. Kind of like some people...

Danny is generally a sensible mule or has been so far in our short acquaintance. But that day he just couldn't cope with this fancy Friesian doing a dressage movement (the passage, for those of you who know dressage) in his peripheral vision. Every time the Friesian would passage, Danny would shot off to the right, as if trying to get some space between his blue collar self and this pretentious fancy-pants. It was somewhat funny, in hindsight, though it's not too funny to be on a mule who's unhappy.

Here's Danny, off to explore his new home.

Danny is now getting settled into the pasture at Camp Sherman. The horses he'll live with aren't fancy, but they're a bit shy of blue collar. More like what we'd call 'dole bludgers,' those who depend on welfare but don't do a lick of work.

Now the bludgers want to see what's around the corner.

Oops, Katie got left behind.

I suppose Danny will fall into that group as he moseys around the grass and trees, sniffing the air and drinking the pure water of the Metolius. But every now and again, he'll work for his dinner and we'll all go to bed happy.

Pasture Present

There's a place I go to when peace needs to invade my soul. Its the pasture where my horses live, which means I also go there to feed and groom my mares and scoop their manure. So this place serves many purposes.


It supplies the quiet of a place filled with trees and grass, quiet that gets deeper the longer you listen.

There's plenty of wildlife - squirrels that live in the barn and chew our stuff if it's not contained; twittering birds that appreciate the buckets of water we leave in the corral; deer wandering through because the pasture is in a part of the Deschutes National Forest that's a wildlife preserve so really, its their yard; a bald eagle that soars up and down the Metolius River, but also makes me nervous because my small dog putters around with me in the pasture.

And the most special treat of all...a river otter playing in the shallow riffles near the headwaters.



My brother and his wife spoke their vows to each other in the pasture, on a warm summer day with the horses grazing nearby.



It's a place that requires some work to keep it healthy, so dirt under fingernails and smudged across my face is a given.

When we lived in Camp Sherman, managing a lodging place there, I'd stop in at the pasture after town days to de-tox after the grind of Costco. Stepping into the sunshine, smelling the aroma of those pine trees, I'd feel all that town stuff roll off, replaced with a smile that started somewhere near the bottom of my ribcage and spread all the way to my fingers. The horses never minded when I twirled around with my hands in the air, thanking God for the gift of grass, trees, water and dirt.

Goddy and I walk the perimeter of the pasture a couple times a year, checking the fence and making repairs. (I'm really glad my practical husband knows how to do that!)



Though if the horses really, really wanted to, they could push it over in a few places, it's that old. But they seem content with the 60 acres inside the fence. The rare escapes have occurred when there's been some bullying going on, behavior that gets resolved in a few days. I guess its hard for horses to remain grumpy in the midst of all that peace too.


I share the pasture with two fine women who feel just as I do about this place. It's a joy to care for it and our horses, and we know we are the most fortunate of women to keep our beloved buddies in there. This field of grass and wild flowers tucks into the quiet places of my heart and I always feel better for going there.