The Death Card

In life there are cycles.  Two obvious ones: life and death.  And life, as I understand it, is not exclusive to the human form, or animal form for that matter, but to all living creatures, beings, matter, space.

The ranch seemed lifeless when we first arrived over two years ago.  The apple tree did not blossom, I didn't even know it was a lilac tree outside the kitchen door, the pastures were dried and yellowed, there were no visible creatures calling the ranch home, the air felt stale and still.

Then, the next spring, the apple tree had so many blossoms I wondered if the delicate branches would be able to support the fruit.  One crisp morning I got a faint scent of lilac and saw so many buds on the tree.  And look! A pear tree beside it.  Then the families of Mallards arrived.  The Canada Geese came. The feral cats started poking out here and there and then claimed the hay shed and the barn as their homes.  The wild birds sang and darted about.  This place was alive and so vibrant.

With any life, the next cycle has rolled in.

The negativity, anger and vindictive actions of late have permeated and choked the life energy here.

The apple tree had no blossoms this spring.  The lilac tree was bare.  The pear tree made a grand effort.

My little Negrita, my sweet sweet cat, was hit by a car.  I still cry when I look in her bed just hoping it wasn't her.  Her absence has forever altered the patterns of the cats.  I used to look out my bedroom window in the morning and see Negrita, Lynxie and Graysin stretched out on the hay soaking up the rising sun.  At night, I would turn on the light and catch them playing a literal cat and mouse game.  Now, I look out and all I see is hay.

Lynxie and Graysin stop in here and there, but the less than feral attitude has diminished.  I hardly see my Rayito, Little Grays and Twin who call the barn home.

The pond has taken on this incredible algae.  It has covered the pond surface like a bad color choice of carpet from the late 60s.  As it crept in, it pushed the Mallards out.  Now, the pond is surrounded by very tall prickly weeds, and topped with a chartreuse cushion.  Lifeless.

The Mallards used to follow me out to the pasture or up to the dry lot, "quack quack quack," they'd tell me.  Always saying they were ready for food.  It's remarkable to go from 50+ ducks throughout the day to none.  Not one. Not one true duck quack.

The pasture started drying up and browning because the water had been cut off.  Pickings were slimming down for the horses and goats.  The good blue grass was being overtaken by the noxious weeds.

The raised beds of the former vegetable garden became a garden of assorted weeds and undesirable grasses.

The round pen is Pippin's favorite place to escape to at night because his height falls just below that of the weeds and he can browse in stealth mode.  No horse activity in that pen.

Thankfully, the water was turned on again a few days ago and I started watering vigorously.  It's impressive how the combination of a little water and the bright Central Oregon sunshine can make anything grow in no time.  The growing season may be short, but it grows!  The pasture is greening.  The goats are wandering more.

With the rotation of water, I noticed the algae is shifting.  You would be stretching it to say it is going away; however, there are a few open spaces of water on the surface.

This evening as I was out feeding, I saw one Mallard hen sitting on the plank to the duck house in the center of the pond.  She had no companion.  Just her.  I called to her but she didn't respond.  A decoy? Her mood rang nostalgic.  It was as if she came to visit her former home just one last time.  As if she couldn't comprehend the "Do Not Enter" vibe of the abundant green foam.

I put out some food for her, and the chickens who followed me in.  I never saw her swim to the shore.  I never saw her fly away.  I looked and she was gone.

Tripper's Day

Tripper and Dad

Tripper is in spirit and he is 23 years old today, May 15.  We all celebrated him today, even the few who didn't know him on this earth.

He was a noble horse, so stoic, proud, full of horsepower and full of incredible love.  Tripper was my first horse.  He taught me to love in a fuller, richer and more open way.

I have said many times before and I most certainly will say it again, he was my friend.

My Friend (and Jess the dog)

When I brought Shadow home, his eyes looked up at me and they were alive with old souls.  I could feel them and I could see them in his eyes.

On occasion when Shadow and I are walking, he will come beside me and put his nose in my hand, just as Tripper used to do. Aside from the 1,000 pound difference between them, I sense Tripper.  Tripper is so present and Shadow is the generous host.

Tripper and Alibi

Alibi and Tripper were good friends.  When Alibi became my horse, I moved him and Tripper to the same pasture.  It was anybody's guess who would be the dominant horse.  Tripper gave Alibi a good run for his money and hung in as the alpha as long as he could.  Eventually Alibi moved in, as he does.  But there always remained respect.  Today, Alibi sighed a birthday wish to Tripper.

In my bedside table drawer is a braided heart of Tripper's tail hair.  It's beautiful and lasting.  Fitting for my friend.

The Fine Art of Layering

A clear crisp 34 degree day in Central Oregon is sheer heaven. The snow covered Cascade range pops out like a 3-D image silhouetted by the most pure natural blue sky. The air is light, effortless. The winter sun at 3,500 feet is energizing and soothing at the same time.

Sure, it's 34 degrees. But it's a dry 34. There is no humidity, so no bone chilling effect of the east coast or the southern hemisphere or southern California for that matter. Dress appropriately and everything is just fine, my friends.

It's been years and years and years since I've layered my clothing much beyond a turtle neck under my polar or a tank top under a vee-neck sweater. While 34 degrees is refreshing, one must be smart in survival dressing.

My new favorite Paradox liner pants are worn under my Wrangler ranch jeans, a turtle neck under my cotton jacket under my down jacket, a darling ice blue soft thermal cap to top it all off. And sometimes with the sun, shedding a layer is more than necessary. With one layer, or all 3, I can stay outdoors for hours and be super comfortable.

Now, think back to layering as a child. If you think about it, it's really 3 layers of pants alone. Most of us are used to 2 layers: panties and trousers. So, after a while of drinking water and being outdoors, the call to pee does knock. Try breaking that age-old habit of just 2 layers. Not so easy! That third layer sure does come as a surprise when time is of the essence.

Thankfully, with winter just beginning in Central Oregon I believe I've got plenty of room to perfect the fine art of shedding layers. Now just to perfect my timing....

Music to my Ears

Here it is, one week and one day since arriving back in Bend, Oregon. Much has transpired in the past week, not to mention the drive up from Long Beach with my sister Laurie and Pooker, my bird. Happy to report in, all is well.

I woke up this morning to a cloudless blue sky with bright sun and fully snow covered Cascade views of Broken Top and South Sister. Despite being groggy from an overly eventful day yesterday, I just had to get outside and greet the morning.

Leighsa and Randall, the ranch owners, went away overnight so I am caring for the animals--a much enjoyed responsibility.

I fed Alibi, Farimer and Tripper--3 Arabians, and then Pippin a jumping Thoroughbred. All greeted me with horse smiles and morning whinnies. Then I walked up to the paddock on the far end to feed Slammer and Mia--an Arabian and Saddlebred mix and a white Arabian. Ruby, an 8 year old Thoroughbred with the longest legs ever and just beautiful doe eyes, is in the middle paddock and she accompanied me from one end to the other.

On the way back, I stopped in the barn to let Felon and Jess, the hunting dogs, out for their daily patrol of every square inch of this 20 acre ranch. They gobbled up their food, said thank you and dashed off.

The morning is so incredible, I wasn't quite ready to go back in the house. Besides, Ruby needs some encouraging to eat. I climbed between the fence posts and walked out to meet her. Pippin, in the neighboring paddock, walked along the fence with me. The three of us hung out for quite some time. Ruby was grazing on anything resembling the color green and giving me an occasional nuggle and Pippin was lapping up a morning scratch while his eyes drooped and his breathing deepened. Horse nap time. It's magic. This enormous head weighted in my hand.

Trying to keep Ruby interested in food, the three of us walked down to her hay piles and I gave her her power snack of oats of some sort. She devoured this, and the dogs sat in wait for any morsel she dropped. I just stood there. What magnificent beauty.

Long gone were the sounds of the sirens, buses, laborers, loud cell phone talkers and noisy engines of Long Beach.

It is nature at her finest. Two red tail hawks dancing overhead--could they be mating? A few of the horses were chewing hay: first the sound of hay straws rubbing against each other followed by a wet smack as the horses wrapped their lips around a mouthful and then the slow methodical crunching. Each one took their turn drinking water which starts as a juicy slurp to get the siphon going: a beginning to the approximate 5 gallons they'll drink in one day. Then their great exhalations which vibrate their nostrils and full lips. In the background, countless birds announcing the impending spring. And just in case this wasn't enough, several times I heard the neighboring chimpanzees squeal as only chimps do. All absolute music to my ears.

The air is fresh and light. The sun is warm. I can't wait to get my new lounge chair to bring out there so I can just sit, bathed in the warmth and doused in the perfect surround sound system.