Sometimes, if you are lucky, someone is watching you carefully. They see what you need before you do, and deliver a dream you didn't even know you had.
John has been after me for months to keep my birthday weekend free. Our University has "Fall Break"---a random Friday that almost always falls in the week of my birthday. Purely selfishly, I cancelled my Thursday class, and took off when classes were over on Wednesday. That afternoon, we went to Golden Spike for a ride in the sunshine, we had a lovely dinner, and I received fun and thoughtful presents from John and Jo, including games to play the rest of the weekend.
So Thursday was a quiet day. We did lots of little projects (I finally finished the solar hot water heater for the wash stall, for example...), played games, and generally puttered around.
Friday morning at 11:30, Jo had a lesson. John was all fired up about cleaning out the garage, and left to take the recycling to the transfer station around 10:00 or so. At eleven-ish, he sent me a text to let me know he was stopping at Home Depot. At that point, I was pondering doing some work on my closet shelves over the weekend, so I asked him to get me some paint. I wandered out to the barn for Jo's lesson, and we got started in the arena.
About halfway through, I saw John come through the barn with a dark-haired woman. I thought, 'That looks like Colleen. Sigh. I miss Colleen.' but mostly, I was still working on explaining something to Jo. But then John and the dark-haired woman were at the gate at the end of the arena. I shaded my eyes and stared. "who is that?" I asked. "I've come for my lesson." she said, and it was Colleen!
I took off running for the gate, tears already in my eyes, covering 30 yards in a single breath, and threw my arms around her over the gate! Then I hugged John, and then Colleen again. Then I looked back at Jo, who waved me out the gate, and I was just beside myself. I couldn't really process the fact that Colleen was here! On my farm! And I had so much to show her and so much to talk about, and she was actually here! I couldn't stop staring at this fantastic person who means so much to me that I can't even really articulate it. I grabbed her hand and dragged her all around the farm, like I was a little kid---showing her everything as fast as I could, and just giving her spontaneous hugs, because I was just so happy to see her.
She stayed for 48 hours, and we got to ride together again, which we haven't done in years, and that meant I got to give her a little gift back. My lovely, beautiful, safe mare, in our flawless arena, with that spectacular view... Giving her back a little of what she's had to set aside in recent times. David (her three year old son) came with her, and we played with him, and talked and talked and talked. About our jobs, and friends and futures and David and Danni and John and Toby and dogs and goats and just everything under the sun. A little about old times in Seattle, when we went eventing together every summer, sharing a tent, getting up at dawn to walk the cross-country course together in the knee-high grass, drinking beers with th guys after cross country, when the adrenaline high had wound down to reasonable levels, sharing barn chores and dissecting our runs in the truck on the way home. Best times...
I feel like I've been wrapped in swaddling clothes. Like I'm tucked in under the covers with a fire going and a storm outside. Like hot chocolate and warm mittens and a blanket around my shoulders at the Christmas parade. Cherished and comforted and wrapped in love and warmth and the glow of candles and being read my favorite story. And so grateful to John and Colleen, for the best birthday present ever.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Wednesdays are hard...
Today was another ordinary day at work.
I got in just after 7:30. Which meant that I left the house a bit past seven. Which meant that I woke at 6, fed the horses and the dogs, opened the coop for the day. Then I made oatmeal, fed the dogs, ate my oatmeal, and realized I was running late. A quick brush of teeth and hair and I was our the door.
Leaving so much behind. Undone.
On the way to work, I found myself crying to these lyrics from Train:
'did you sail across the Sun?
Did you make it to the Milky Way
To find the lights all faded
And that Heaven is over-rated?'
And so I had to pull over for a minute until I could take a deep breath.
And then I went on.
I got to work, and got ready for class, planning out which problems I would do, that fit the humorous 'super-hero' theme I'm working on. In the past couple of days, we've been Superman, Spiderman, Bruce Willis in Armageddon, and the X-men. Also search-and-rescue. I checked email, and started to answer one.
Off to class, and for 50 minutes, answered, hinted and directed, with all the intensity that only I am capable of. They laughed, they cried, they made jokes and solved problems.
After class, I was swamped with students, one after the other asking the same three questions, demonstrating that they didn't pay ANY attention to last week's problems worked in class. For an hour and ten minutes, I asked the same questions over and over: 'have written down your variables? Where is your free-body-diagram? What is this letter on your paper? Where is the rest of your work?' and it's hard to remember that they were only 5 out of 86.
Then finding that I had no time to go over my notes, I headed off to class with the speaker for the afternoon seminar. I've known him since I was a post-doc, and he's new faculty at another University. He's come to see me teach, and get some pointers. So I start my lecture, and get to the second page. Where I realize pages are missing. Because I used them in another course last year, and never put them back. And didn't have time to check before class. So now I have to 'wing it', on the explanation of core-collapse supernovae, with photo disintegration, charge destruction and neutron degenerate matter. I'm thrilled when the class side-tracks me on magnetic fields of neutron stars, and this disguises the fact that I was completely unprepared.
Back to my office after class, a line of students waiting to hear me ask them 'Where's your free-body-diagram?'... But it's not office hours, so they just have to wait for me to be done with the visitor. He asks me about teaching for an hour or so, and I give him all my astro 101 materials, so he'll have some kind of help in his new job, and agree to mentor him when he needs it. Then it's time to take the guest to lunch. A student stops me in the hall, just to ask me a 'quick question', that turns into three. Which are all basically about the definition of the words in the problems.
So off we go to the Union Building, where the food ranges in quality from bleh to inedible. But it's what we've got.
Back again after an awkward hour of conversation between this newly minted faculty member and one of our professors (who should be emeritus by now) about the 'lost generation' of scientists, who obediently filled the pipeline, only to find that no one is retiring, and there are no jobs. Some things are bad, and others are worse. The average time a PhD astrophysicist spends in post-docs is now 8 years. EIGHT. On average. So some spend much, much longer than that.
Back to the building, explaining again that LAST year was the last ditch year for Science Olympiad. That it didn't matter anymore if it was good or if we wanted it, but that it couldn't be done. And yes, it was me that made that decision (and, goddamnit, if everyone cared that much about it, where in the hell were all of you when I was lying on the bathroom floor because I couldn't stand up because the stress had shut down my entire digestive system?!). Or maybe i've just been having this discussion so many times that every conversation about Science Olympiad feels like it goes like that...
Off to a poorly attended seminar. An embarrassment, when bringing people in from other places. Especially friends.
And the person who is supposed to shepherd the speaker for the rest of the afternoon is off to lab. So I take him up to show him the planetarium, completely forgetting my regularly scheduled meeting with my staff. And he's duly impressed that our 'little' planetarium has sold shows in 26 states, 17 countries, and they've been translated into 8 languages...
So away he goes, and I check in with my staff, and keep them going on their projects. The Physics Open House is Friday, and there are lots of preparations in train for that. Back to my office to send electronic copies of physics at home experiments, that need to go to the copy center, hopefully to come back before the Open House. It should have happened first thing this morning. And maybe they won't get done in time. But there was nothing I could do about it.
I check the rest of my emails, and my phone messages, which include a long list of people getting in touch with me about the parts of my job that I'm terrible at---accounting, paperwork, interim reports. And co-authors demanding instant responses. And who even knows why OSP left me two messages on my phone and an email asking for a meeting ASAP. I don't know what they want, but it probably means I'm in trouble. Again.
And I look at the clock and it's after 4:30. I've been here for nine solid hours, and the To-Do list just got longer and longer. That just seemed counter-productive. So I left.
And on the way home, I thought about what our visitor had to say about all the things I'm doing (teaching multiple classes, writing books, running an internationally recognized planetarium, running a Museum and multiple outreach programs reaching tens of thousands of people a year, and so on and so on...) and I thought about winding up in the emergency room last year. And i thought about having to pull off to the side of the road this morning. And I thought 'Ok. So it's a problem. Every problem has a solution somewhere.' And I made a plan. I'll make a list of what I do, over the next two weeks. And then I'll study it. And then I'll figure out how to cut it in half.
Because it turns out that I'm really good at saying 'No' to me, and to John, and to my family and friends, and the people and creatures who matter to me. But I'm terrible at saying it to people who have nothing to offer me but money. So that has to change. And it has to start with me.
I got in just after 7:30. Which meant that I left the house a bit past seven. Which meant that I woke at 6, fed the horses and the dogs, opened the coop for the day. Then I made oatmeal, fed the dogs, ate my oatmeal, and realized I was running late. A quick brush of teeth and hair and I was our the door.
Leaving so much behind. Undone.
On the way to work, I found myself crying to these lyrics from Train:
'did you sail across the Sun?
Did you make it to the Milky Way
To find the lights all faded
And that Heaven is over-rated?'
And so I had to pull over for a minute until I could take a deep breath.
And then I went on.
I got to work, and got ready for class, planning out which problems I would do, that fit the humorous 'super-hero' theme I'm working on. In the past couple of days, we've been Superman, Spiderman, Bruce Willis in Armageddon, and the X-men. Also search-and-rescue. I checked email, and started to answer one.
Off to class, and for 50 minutes, answered, hinted and directed, with all the intensity that only I am capable of. They laughed, they cried, they made jokes and solved problems.
After class, I was swamped with students, one after the other asking the same three questions, demonstrating that they didn't pay ANY attention to last week's problems worked in class. For an hour and ten minutes, I asked the same questions over and over: 'have written down your variables? Where is your free-body-diagram? What is this letter on your paper? Where is the rest of your work?' and it's hard to remember that they were only 5 out of 86.
Then finding that I had no time to go over my notes, I headed off to class with the speaker for the afternoon seminar. I've known him since I was a post-doc, and he's new faculty at another University. He's come to see me teach, and get some pointers. So I start my lecture, and get to the second page. Where I realize pages are missing. Because I used them in another course last year, and never put them back. And didn't have time to check before class. So now I have to 'wing it', on the explanation of core-collapse supernovae, with photo disintegration, charge destruction and neutron degenerate matter. I'm thrilled when the class side-tracks me on magnetic fields of neutron stars, and this disguises the fact that I was completely unprepared.
Back to my office after class, a line of students waiting to hear me ask them 'Where's your free-body-diagram?'... But it's not office hours, so they just have to wait for me to be done with the visitor. He asks me about teaching for an hour or so, and I give him all my astro 101 materials, so he'll have some kind of help in his new job, and agree to mentor him when he needs it. Then it's time to take the guest to lunch. A student stops me in the hall, just to ask me a 'quick question', that turns into three. Which are all basically about the definition of the words in the problems.
So off we go to the Union Building, where the food ranges in quality from bleh to inedible. But it's what we've got.
Back again after an awkward hour of conversation between this newly minted faculty member and one of our professors (who should be emeritus by now) about the 'lost generation' of scientists, who obediently filled the pipeline, only to find that no one is retiring, and there are no jobs. Some things are bad, and others are worse. The average time a PhD astrophysicist spends in post-docs is now 8 years. EIGHT. On average. So some spend much, much longer than that.
Back to the building, explaining again that LAST year was the last ditch year for Science Olympiad. That it didn't matter anymore if it was good or if we wanted it, but that it couldn't be done. And yes, it was me that made that decision (and, goddamnit, if everyone cared that much about it, where in the hell were all of you when I was lying on the bathroom floor because I couldn't stand up because the stress had shut down my entire digestive system?!). Or maybe i've just been having this discussion so many times that every conversation about Science Olympiad feels like it goes like that...
Off to a poorly attended seminar. An embarrassment, when bringing people in from other places. Especially friends.
And the person who is supposed to shepherd the speaker for the rest of the afternoon is off to lab. So I take him up to show him the planetarium, completely forgetting my regularly scheduled meeting with my staff. And he's duly impressed that our 'little' planetarium has sold shows in 26 states, 17 countries, and they've been translated into 8 languages...
So away he goes, and I check in with my staff, and keep them going on their projects. The Physics Open House is Friday, and there are lots of preparations in train for that. Back to my office to send electronic copies of physics at home experiments, that need to go to the copy center, hopefully to come back before the Open House. It should have happened first thing this morning. And maybe they won't get done in time. But there was nothing I could do about it.
I check the rest of my emails, and my phone messages, which include a long list of people getting in touch with me about the parts of my job that I'm terrible at---accounting, paperwork, interim reports. And co-authors demanding instant responses. And who even knows why OSP left me two messages on my phone and an email asking for a meeting ASAP. I don't know what they want, but it probably means I'm in trouble. Again.
And I look at the clock and it's after 4:30. I've been here for nine solid hours, and the To-Do list just got longer and longer. That just seemed counter-productive. So I left.
And on the way home, I thought about what our visitor had to say about all the things I'm doing (teaching multiple classes, writing books, running an internationally recognized planetarium, running a Museum and multiple outreach programs reaching tens of thousands of people a year, and so on and so on...) and I thought about winding up in the emergency room last year. And i thought about having to pull off to the side of the road this morning. And I thought 'Ok. So it's a problem. Every problem has a solution somewhere.' And I made a plan. I'll make a list of what I do, over the next two weeks. And then I'll study it. And then I'll figure out how to cut it in half.
Because it turns out that I'm really good at saying 'No' to me, and to John, and to my family and friends, and the people and creatures who matter to me. But I'm terrible at saying it to people who have nothing to offer me but money. So that has to change. And it has to start with me.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Modern medicine 2, or I'm just angry in all directions...
So here's a case where I think modern medicine could do better:
I've spent much of the last 18 months learning, in a sense, what death is about. From number 16 to our chickens to the 'perfect' hog, I've been figuring out, in my methodical and metaphorical way, what I think about death, what I believe about it, and what it's like to feel life literally slip through your hands.
And I'm with Temple Grandin: "Nature is cruel, but we don't have to be!" In the HBO movie, she (well, Claire Daines as Temple) repeatedly asks "where did they go?". A question with no answer, that gets to the point that first the animals are alive, and then they are not, and the difference is obvious and vivid. You can not mistake it when it happens. And it comes to all of us, whether we want to believe it or not.
So, I have now participated directly in the deaths of more than a dozen animals, from dogs to horses to cows and chickens. I once tried to kill an injured mouse by drowning it. That felt like it took forever, and I vowed I'd never do it again. A few weeks ago, my dogs had caught one, but didn't know how to do more than hurt it. So I took it's head off with a shovel. It suffered for maybe 15 minutes. Because I cared. And I didn't want it to suffer. But the decision had already been made that today was the day it would die.
So. What is this all about, and how does it relate to modern medicine, and what, exactly, am I angry about? Last week, my dad died. On Thursday, he was taken off of lie support. He had extensive brain damage, had been sick a really long time, and had so many things wrong with him that he was never going to be well again. Life support stopped on Thursday. Not until Friday did they start the morphine. Not until Friday night did his suffering finally end. The people who were there say his suffering was terrible. For more than 24 hours, he suffered. Even though the decision was made. Even though this was his day to die. Even though we would all rather go quickly, with dignity. I have treated my dogs better than this. I have treated mice better than this. This would have been allowed to go on for days, or even weeks, or even years.
How is this merciful? How is this compassionate? How is this right?
Suppose this had been a cow. Any number of animal welfare agencies (not to mention the sheriff and the H.P. up the street) would have been pounding at the door. A man was just cited in my town because he shot and dressed a cow in his driveway. (I'm not saying that's appropriate, exactly, I'm just making the point that at least that was quick, and humane!)
Suppose my dad had been a criminal on death row. He would have been put to death in a process that might be excruciatingly painful (as far as I know, no one knows for certain), but would last no more than a few minutes.
Can someone please explain to me why ordinary people are left to suffer agonizing pain for hours, days or weeks, but the worst of the worst are treated with dignity? Can someone explain why, once the decision is made, we can't help people out the door with the same compassion we show our dogs? Are we really that filled with hatred for ourselves that we would rather let billions suffer than be grownups and make the hard choices for those who can't help themselves? Do we really believe there would be a rash of people killing their friends and relations and next-of-kin, just because we can? Really? I mean, really, really? Wow. That's disgusting. I don't even know what to think.
Sooner or later, we all go through the door. Really. I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. And all I can say is that when it comes my time, and someone else has to choose for me (are you listening, J?), I want to be treated like my dog. Not like my dad.
I've spent much of the last 18 months learning, in a sense, what death is about. From number 16 to our chickens to the 'perfect' hog, I've been figuring out, in my methodical and metaphorical way, what I think about death, what I believe about it, and what it's like to feel life literally slip through your hands.
And I'm with Temple Grandin: "Nature is cruel, but we don't have to be!" In the HBO movie, she (well, Claire Daines as Temple) repeatedly asks "where did they go?". A question with no answer, that gets to the point that first the animals are alive, and then they are not, and the difference is obvious and vivid. You can not mistake it when it happens. And it comes to all of us, whether we want to believe it or not.
So, I have now participated directly in the deaths of more than a dozen animals, from dogs to horses to cows and chickens. I once tried to kill an injured mouse by drowning it. That felt like it took forever, and I vowed I'd never do it again. A few weeks ago, my dogs had caught one, but didn't know how to do more than hurt it. So I took it's head off with a shovel. It suffered for maybe 15 minutes. Because I cared. And I didn't want it to suffer. But the decision had already been made that today was the day it would die.
So. What is this all about, and how does it relate to modern medicine, and what, exactly, am I angry about? Last week, my dad died. On Thursday, he was taken off of lie support. He had extensive brain damage, had been sick a really long time, and had so many things wrong with him that he was never going to be well again. Life support stopped on Thursday. Not until Friday did they start the morphine. Not until Friday night did his suffering finally end. The people who were there say his suffering was terrible. For more than 24 hours, he suffered. Even though the decision was made. Even though this was his day to die. Even though we would all rather go quickly, with dignity. I have treated my dogs better than this. I have treated mice better than this. This would have been allowed to go on for days, or even weeks, or even years.
How is this merciful? How is this compassionate? How is this right?
Suppose this had been a cow. Any number of animal welfare agencies (not to mention the sheriff and the H.P. up the street) would have been pounding at the door. A man was just cited in my town because he shot and dressed a cow in his driveway. (I'm not saying that's appropriate, exactly, I'm just making the point that at least that was quick, and humane!)
Suppose my dad had been a criminal on death row. He would have been put to death in a process that might be excruciatingly painful (as far as I know, no one knows for certain), but would last no more than a few minutes.
Can someone please explain to me why ordinary people are left to suffer agonizing pain for hours, days or weeks, but the worst of the worst are treated with dignity? Can someone explain why, once the decision is made, we can't help people out the door with the same compassion we show our dogs? Are we really that filled with hatred for ourselves that we would rather let billions suffer than be grownups and make the hard choices for those who can't help themselves? Do we really believe there would be a rash of people killing their friends and relations and next-of-kin, just because we can? Really? I mean, really, really? Wow. That's disgusting. I don't even know what to think.
Sooner or later, we all go through the door. Really. I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. And all I can say is that when it comes my time, and someone else has to choose for me (are you listening, J?), I want to be treated like my dog. Not like my dad.
Modern medicine
So, this is exciting. Lance Armstrong is coming to town for the XTerra bike race. And that dove-tailed so neatly with an article I was reading recently at the CDC website that I have to tell you about it. (I have that plague 'thing', so I stop by there regularly to check up on the latest about y. Pestis---weird, I know, but that's just me!) As you probably know, Lance is hero to many people, because he fought testicular cancer and won. The particular type of cancer he had was caused by a virus that's transmitted sexually. And now there's been a medical breakthrough---a vaccine is available, that will keep young men from getting the virus, and no young men will ever have to suffer this particular cancer again, or lose their chance to have children! The CDC is recommending that they get it young, long before there's any chance of them being sexually active, since it's useless after they contract the virus.
Ah, see? It's a different story, isn't it? People would flock to get this vaccine for their sons.
I just made it up, by the way, as an exercise. I always do this when I hear about something happening to girls. I imagine it was a boy. Then how would it go? You'd be shocked at how often just changing the gender changes the whole scenario!
Because people would flock for a testicular cancer vaccine for their sons, but their daughters can just... Well... Suffer.
Thanks for that, Michelle Bachman. Not only are you ignorant, and sexist, but you have just done harm to an entire generation of girls. I lay every case of cervical cancer to occur over the next generation directly and squarely at your feet. nice work. I hope you are proud of it. There's you, and there are the religious zealots in Pakistan, who prevented us from eradicating polio from the entire planet, as we did for smallpox. As polio moves back into China, and India, and eventually back across the globe, I hope you think a little harder about the ground on which you've chosen to set your feet. Vaccines are one of the great achievements of human-kind. And anyone who doesn't think so needs to go back to school and read the accounts of pandemics, epidemics, and even just simple, ordinary instances of people being crippled for life by disease. If not for vaccines, you could never be so complacent as to think they weren't necessary.
Ah, see? It's a different story, isn't it? People would flock to get this vaccine for their sons.
I just made it up, by the way, as an exercise. I always do this when I hear about something happening to girls. I imagine it was a boy. Then how would it go? You'd be shocked at how often just changing the gender changes the whole scenario!
Because people would flock for a testicular cancer vaccine for their sons, but their daughters can just... Well... Suffer.
Thanks for that, Michelle Bachman. Not only are you ignorant, and sexist, but you have just done harm to an entire generation of girls. I lay every case of cervical cancer to occur over the next generation directly and squarely at your feet. nice work. I hope you are proud of it. There's you, and there are the religious zealots in Pakistan, who prevented us from eradicating polio from the entire planet, as we did for smallpox. As polio moves back into China, and India, and eventually back across the globe, I hope you think a little harder about the ground on which you've chosen to set your feet. Vaccines are one of the great achievements of human-kind. And anyone who doesn't think so needs to go back to school and read the accounts of pandemics, epidemics, and even just simple, ordinary instances of people being crippled for life by disease. If not for vaccines, you could never be so complacent as to think they weren't necessary.
Monday, September 5, 2011
County Fair, 4-H, and the hog of a lifetime
Each year, we are more enraptured by the County Fair. It's not the rides and the entertainment, although we take note of that as we walk by. And it's certainly not the Demolition Derby! No, we make straight for the livestock barns, where all the 4-H kids can be found brushing, feeding, watering and cleaning their animals. Tiny 8-year-olds leading thousand pound steers into the wash rack, corralling 300-pound hogs, and scolding stubborn goats. Sometimes the child leans her whole weight on the lead line, and the goat just digs her feet in and pulls back. A lesson learned there---sometimes the most obvious thing is not the easiest. A goat will go anywhere (away from you), if you even threaten to grab her tail!
This year, we were determined to help out some of these kids, who are learning to farm, one animal at a time. So we signed up for the Junior livestock auction. Here, all the 4-H animals are sold at premium prices, giving a helping hand to these kids. We had our eye on a couple of hogs that we thought were pretty nice, but thought we'd wait and see what happened.
The first animal on the block was the championship lamb. The bidding started at $3 a pound, and rapidly rose to $19 a pound. Uh-oh. Maybe we wouldn't be getting ourselves a hog after all!
After that, it quickly became clear that businesses were buying the champions, because it's relatively inexpensive advertising for them, at more or less every County Fair from now until the end of time.
Then the 'normal' animals started coming to the block. Prices were all over the map, and it took us a while to figure out what was going on. These were all blue-ribbon animals, so people weren't deciding what to bid based on the quality of the animal... Then a woman down the row from us bought a lamb. And her last name was the same as the last name of the child with the lamb, and we thought 'Oh. Of course. It's not about the food. It's about the child'.
After that, we had a blast watching bachelor uncles (who'd been having a few too many on a hot August afternoon!) get into bidding wars over lambs, hogs and steers. Grandparents would have their heads together, calculating how high they could go on Jimmy's lamb, and still have enough to bid up the price on Rachel's hog.
We watched as friends of ours---Famer Phil, Thayne the butcher, Curt the rancher---bid on animals that were going for too little. So we followed their lead. After a couple of hours of just watching, a hog came up with a nervous little boy, who was obviously doing this for the first time. Crickets were chirping as the auctioneer called numbers. The opening bid fell to $2.50. And we bid on it. That got things started, and the price quickly went out of our league. So we did that a few more times, until we reconsidered the maximum we were willing to pay.
Then came another little boy, no more than eight years old, clearly adopted from overseas. We bid on his hog, the price went up a few times, and then we won the bid! So I took the bidding card away from John, because you can never tell with him at an auction...
After a few more minutes, we made our way to the cashier. As we were waiting to pay, the boy's dad walked up to John. 'Son,' he said, 'this here's the gentleman from Bellwether Farm'. The boy was so nervous, but he presented us with a little gift bag of pancake fixin's. We made small talk for a few minutes, talking to the boy about his hog, and if he had fun raising it and would do it again next year. (Yes and yes.) As they turned to go, his father made eye contact and thanked us most profoundly for helping his boy. So that was worth $4 a pound right there.
We paid for the hog, filled out the form that said we wanted Thayne to butcher it, and went on our way, feeling like we'd made an investment in something really important.
That evening, Dale went over to help Thayne load the animals in the trailer. They went off to a slaughterhouse in Brigham City (about half an hour from here). Two days later, they were back down the road, and Rusty, Farmer Phil's son who is apprenticed to Thayne, cut up our hog. About ten days after that, Thayne called us, and I went to pick up ham, bacon, chops, roasts, hocks, and half a freezer-full of the best pork we've had since we left Iowa.
So yeah. We'll do that again. Everyone wins, and we get bacon too... Now, the only problem is to figure out how to fit the cow in the freezer later this month. Guess I'd better get those chickens out of there, made into broth and canned...
This year, we were determined to help out some of these kids, who are learning to farm, one animal at a time. So we signed up for the Junior livestock auction. Here, all the 4-H animals are sold at premium prices, giving a helping hand to these kids. We had our eye on a couple of hogs that we thought were pretty nice, but thought we'd wait and see what happened.
The first animal on the block was the championship lamb. The bidding started at $3 a pound, and rapidly rose to $19 a pound. Uh-oh. Maybe we wouldn't be getting ourselves a hog after all!
After that, it quickly became clear that businesses were buying the champions, because it's relatively inexpensive advertising for them, at more or less every County Fair from now until the end of time.
Then the 'normal' animals started coming to the block. Prices were all over the map, and it took us a while to figure out what was going on. These were all blue-ribbon animals, so people weren't deciding what to bid based on the quality of the animal... Then a woman down the row from us bought a lamb. And her last name was the same as the last name of the child with the lamb, and we thought 'Oh. Of course. It's not about the food. It's about the child'.
After that, we had a blast watching bachelor uncles (who'd been having a few too many on a hot August afternoon!) get into bidding wars over lambs, hogs and steers. Grandparents would have their heads together, calculating how high they could go on Jimmy's lamb, and still have enough to bid up the price on Rachel's hog.
We watched as friends of ours---Famer Phil, Thayne the butcher, Curt the rancher---bid on animals that were going for too little. So we followed their lead. After a couple of hours of just watching, a hog came up with a nervous little boy, who was obviously doing this for the first time. Crickets were chirping as the auctioneer called numbers. The opening bid fell to $2.50. And we bid on it. That got things started, and the price quickly went out of our league. So we did that a few more times, until we reconsidered the maximum we were willing to pay.
Then came another little boy, no more than eight years old, clearly adopted from overseas. We bid on his hog, the price went up a few times, and then we won the bid! So I took the bidding card away from John, because you can never tell with him at an auction...
After a few more minutes, we made our way to the cashier. As we were waiting to pay, the boy's dad walked up to John. 'Son,' he said, 'this here's the gentleman from Bellwether Farm'. The boy was so nervous, but he presented us with a little gift bag of pancake fixin's. We made small talk for a few minutes, talking to the boy about his hog, and if he had fun raising it and would do it again next year. (Yes and yes.) As they turned to go, his father made eye contact and thanked us most profoundly for helping his boy. So that was worth $4 a pound right there.
We paid for the hog, filled out the form that said we wanted Thayne to butcher it, and went on our way, feeling like we'd made an investment in something really important.
That evening, Dale went over to help Thayne load the animals in the trailer. They went off to a slaughterhouse in Brigham City (about half an hour from here). Two days later, they were back down the road, and Rusty, Farmer Phil's son who is apprenticed to Thayne, cut up our hog. About ten days after that, Thayne called us, and I went to pick up ham, bacon, chops, roasts, hocks, and half a freezer-full of the best pork we've had since we left Iowa.
So yeah. We'll do that again. Everyone wins, and we get bacon too... Now, the only problem is to figure out how to fit the cow in the freezer later this month. Guess I'd better get those chickens out of there, made into broth and canned...
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Ride number two. And three.
I know! You thought i was done talking about Danni... But wait until you hear how amazing she is!
My fantastic trainer Trisha was here on Wednesday, and that lined up with Danni's every third day work schedule. Since I'm still learning about long lines, I got a lesson from Trish on long-lining. This was lots of little corrections to my technique, which just make that work better. Trish hooked the lunge line to the bridle, then had me belly up, slipping back to the ground after walking around until all the blood rushed to my head. Then she had me slide my leg over and get on. Danni was unfazed, as usual. We spent a very long time (well, maybe 20 minutes---it felt long!) walking around, with Trish gradually moving out on the lunge line away from Danni. What we are teaching her is that she's not supposed to listen to the person with the 'string'. She's supposed to listen to the person on her back.
It's surprising to me, the things Danni doesn't know. Having never started a horse this young before, it didn't occur to me that they have to learn what 'pulling' on the left rein means. I would pull gently on the rein, and she seemed to have no idea that it COULD mean something! And I would put my leg on, and she would just keep doing what she was doing. No language here!
Danni several times was frustrated. She would stiffen, and fling her head up. She knew we wanted something. But she just couldn't figure out what it was. Then she hit that point. You know the point. She started offering things. Is this what you want? What about this? How about this? And that's the point you are looking for. That's the point you want to encourage. So we praised every offering, but the RIGHT offering got so much more praise that it was unmistakably the right answer. And by the end of the lesson, she knew that 'pulling on the rein' means 'go that way'.
Danni had several moments when she could have taken advantage of an excuse to be naughty. But she just took a deep breath, and walked on. Trish got out to about 5 feet away on the lunge line, and Danni started to realize that instructions were coming from somewhere else.
So today (Saturday) was the next work day for Danni. We worked on the long lines, then John and Jo helped while Danni had her third ride under saddle. Huge improvements today in her ability to recognize that I was 'talking' to her. She made as if to move off my leg several times. She recognized the outside rein. She went the way I wanted her to, even though it meant John was about 30 feet away. At one point, she took a trot step. I said 'no', and she went back to the walk. Later, she caught sight of some kids on bicycles in the street. Her head went up like a giraffe's! But I sat quiet, and asked John to come in toward her, and pat her and reassure her, so she just stared. Then we walked on. After about twenty minutes, I slid off, and we praised the heck out of her, and gave her a bath!
So at this point, the plan is to ride her every third day from now until the snow flies. Then she gets the winter off. Next spring, she will begin to work in earnest. If we get all three gaits this fall, so much the better. But there's no hurry, really. I need to just listen hard, to hear what she's ready for, and then do that. This is what teaching and learning is really all about. Feeling your way, every time, as though it's the first time. Which it always is, for one, the other, or both.
My fantastic trainer Trisha was here on Wednesday, and that lined up with Danni's every third day work schedule. Since I'm still learning about long lines, I got a lesson from Trish on long-lining. This was lots of little corrections to my technique, which just make that work better. Trish hooked the lunge line to the bridle, then had me belly up, slipping back to the ground after walking around until all the blood rushed to my head. Then she had me slide my leg over and get on. Danni was unfazed, as usual. We spent a very long time (well, maybe 20 minutes---it felt long!) walking around, with Trish gradually moving out on the lunge line away from Danni. What we are teaching her is that she's not supposed to listen to the person with the 'string'. She's supposed to listen to the person on her back.
It's surprising to me, the things Danni doesn't know. Having never started a horse this young before, it didn't occur to me that they have to learn what 'pulling' on the left rein means. I would pull gently on the rein, and she seemed to have no idea that it COULD mean something! And I would put my leg on, and she would just keep doing what she was doing. No language here!
Danni several times was frustrated. She would stiffen, and fling her head up. She knew we wanted something. But she just couldn't figure out what it was. Then she hit that point. You know the point. She started offering things. Is this what you want? What about this? How about this? And that's the point you are looking for. That's the point you want to encourage. So we praised every offering, but the RIGHT offering got so much more praise that it was unmistakably the right answer. And by the end of the lesson, she knew that 'pulling on the rein' means 'go that way'.
Danni had several moments when she could have taken advantage of an excuse to be naughty. But she just took a deep breath, and walked on. Trish got out to about 5 feet away on the lunge line, and Danni started to realize that instructions were coming from somewhere else.
So today (Saturday) was the next work day for Danni. We worked on the long lines, then John and Jo helped while Danni had her third ride under saddle. Huge improvements today in her ability to recognize that I was 'talking' to her. She made as if to move off my leg several times. She recognized the outside rein. She went the way I wanted her to, even though it meant John was about 30 feet away. At one point, she took a trot step. I said 'no', and she went back to the walk. Later, she caught sight of some kids on bicycles in the street. Her head went up like a giraffe's! But I sat quiet, and asked John to come in toward her, and pat her and reassure her, so she just stared. Then we walked on. After about twenty minutes, I slid off, and we praised the heck out of her, and gave her a bath!
So at this point, the plan is to ride her every third day from now until the snow flies. Then she gets the winter off. Next spring, she will begin to work in earnest. If we get all three gaits this fall, so much the better. But there's no hurry, really. I need to just listen hard, to hear what she's ready for, and then do that. This is what teaching and learning is really all about. Feeling your way, every time, as though it's the first time. Which it always is, for one, the other, or both.
Friday, September 2, 2011
So much...
Whenever I disappear for a while, you know it's because simply too much is happening! I'll try to spend some time this weekend getting caught up on the news...
First, Danni. Whose registered name (with the Dutch Warmblood Association of North America, thank you very much) is Eridani. Eridanus is a constellation, representing a river in the sky. Beautiful.
I've been working on her ground manners, and she's improving. She will now not only pick up her feet, but also let me hold them for a few moments before I put them down. This is a huge step for a prey animal. I'm asking her to give up her only means of escape. It takes a lot of trust. So that's going well. She's gradually learning not to flip her head all over the place when I put fly masks on or take them off. She accepts the bit and bridle, as well as the saddle. This naturally leads to... Riding.
Last Sunday, I rode Danni for the first time. This was the first time she ever had a rider on her back, and it went EXACTLY the way it should. I waited to tell everyone we were going to try it until I went to get Danni ready. This was a calculation on my part about how worked up they would get, and also how many questions I wanted to answer before it actually happened. I honestly didn't know for sure what was going to happen, so I didn't want to spend a lot of time talking about it. I just wanted to try it with an open mind, and all my attention on Danni.
So I put her in long lines (this is two lunge lines, so one goes to the outside 'rein', and the person stands in the center of the circle---it more closely approximates what happens to the bridle when you are riding) for a little bit, to make sure she was listening, and let her burn some energy.
Then it was time to 'belly-up'. I led Danni to the mounting block, took off the long lines, and put her halter on over the bridle. I already had a grab strap attached to the saddle. John held the lead line, and Jo stood on the off side, reassuring her with petting and scratches. I climbed up on the mounting block and leaned against her, leaning over her back, and patting her side. She was bored. so I leaned all my weight onto the saddle. This is danger point one. If the horse doesn't trust you, they will panic when 10% of their weight shows up on their back. Danni just flicked her ear back, and tightened her core to carry the weight. I stepped off onto the mounting block. Then I put my foot in the stirrup, and draped myself entirely across her back, with my head hanging down over the other side. Danni flicked her ear back, but that was all. So I told John to ask her to walk forward ONE step. This is danger point two, because now she has to figure out how to move when her balance is different. It's like the first step you take with a loaded backpack. You will either figure out how to engage your core, or you will fall. Danni flicked an ear, and took an unsteady step. So I asked John to take two steps, and she took took two much steadier steps, and didn't even flick an ear. So three steps. And then several.
Then I said to John and Jo, I'm going to move around up here a little bit. And I pushed up from the saddle. And I patted her haunches. And I rolled a little this way and that. And I turned to my left, and swung my leg very softly over. And then I sat up.
And this is the really, real danger point. Because now what the horse sees is a lion, coming at them from above, ready to wrap their arms around their neck and dig their claws in. Danni barely noticed. She was so busy being petted and fussed over that she had no time to think about lions! So then we walked on. She takes up my whole leg, already, and she's only two. She looked around. She took some unsteady steps, especially in turns. We walked to the end of the arena. Then we came back. John and Jo kept telling her how amazing she is. I kept patting her all over her body, and getting her used to the idea that she could carry a person, who would do weird person things. We walked back to the top of the arena, and I slowly leaned forward, and then to my right, and then slipped my leg over her back, and then dropped to the ground. And then we gave her approximately a billion peppermints.
My horse is now officially 'broke'. She has made the step in her head that means she's learned to trust that it's ok if a 'lion' sits on her back. It was nothing like the movies, and everything like what it's supposed to be. Just another step in the long line of things for Danni to learn.
The next day, she went ballistic in her paddock when I got on Trinket. It's difficult not to interpret that as jealousy. ;) Especially because she actually WATCHES the riding. And sometimes imagine that she's making the figures herself, in the paddock. Haunches in. Shoulder in. It seems she watches, and tries it herself. Or maybe I just hope she does...
First, Danni. Whose registered name (with the Dutch Warmblood Association of North America, thank you very much) is Eridani. Eridanus is a constellation, representing a river in the sky. Beautiful.
I've been working on her ground manners, and she's improving. She will now not only pick up her feet, but also let me hold them for a few moments before I put them down. This is a huge step for a prey animal. I'm asking her to give up her only means of escape. It takes a lot of trust. So that's going well. She's gradually learning not to flip her head all over the place when I put fly masks on or take them off. She accepts the bit and bridle, as well as the saddle. This naturally leads to... Riding.
Last Sunday, I rode Danni for the first time. This was the first time she ever had a rider on her back, and it went EXACTLY the way it should. I waited to tell everyone we were going to try it until I went to get Danni ready. This was a calculation on my part about how worked up they would get, and also how many questions I wanted to answer before it actually happened. I honestly didn't know for sure what was going to happen, so I didn't want to spend a lot of time talking about it. I just wanted to try it with an open mind, and all my attention on Danni.
So I put her in long lines (this is two lunge lines, so one goes to the outside 'rein', and the person stands in the center of the circle---it more closely approximates what happens to the bridle when you are riding) for a little bit, to make sure she was listening, and let her burn some energy.
Then it was time to 'belly-up'. I led Danni to the mounting block, took off the long lines, and put her halter on over the bridle. I already had a grab strap attached to the saddle. John held the lead line, and Jo stood on the off side, reassuring her with petting and scratches. I climbed up on the mounting block and leaned against her, leaning over her back, and patting her side. She was bored. so I leaned all my weight onto the saddle. This is danger point one. If the horse doesn't trust you, they will panic when 10% of their weight shows up on their back. Danni just flicked her ear back, and tightened her core to carry the weight. I stepped off onto the mounting block. Then I put my foot in the stirrup, and draped myself entirely across her back, with my head hanging down over the other side. Danni flicked her ear back, but that was all. So I told John to ask her to walk forward ONE step. This is danger point two, because now she has to figure out how to move when her balance is different. It's like the first step you take with a loaded backpack. You will either figure out how to engage your core, or you will fall. Danni flicked an ear, and took an unsteady step. So I asked John to take two steps, and she took took two much steadier steps, and didn't even flick an ear. So three steps. And then several.
Then I said to John and Jo, I'm going to move around up here a little bit. And I pushed up from the saddle. And I patted her haunches. And I rolled a little this way and that. And I turned to my left, and swung my leg very softly over. And then I sat up.
And this is the really, real danger point. Because now what the horse sees is a lion, coming at them from above, ready to wrap their arms around their neck and dig their claws in. Danni barely noticed. She was so busy being petted and fussed over that she had no time to think about lions! So then we walked on. She takes up my whole leg, already, and she's only two. She looked around. She took some unsteady steps, especially in turns. We walked to the end of the arena. Then we came back. John and Jo kept telling her how amazing she is. I kept patting her all over her body, and getting her used to the idea that she could carry a person, who would do weird person things. We walked back to the top of the arena, and I slowly leaned forward, and then to my right, and then slipped my leg over her back, and then dropped to the ground. And then we gave her approximately a billion peppermints.
My horse is now officially 'broke'. She has made the step in her head that means she's learned to trust that it's ok if a 'lion' sits on her back. It was nothing like the movies, and everything like what it's supposed to be. Just another step in the long line of things for Danni to learn.
The next day, she went ballistic in her paddock when I got on Trinket. It's difficult not to interpret that as jealousy. ;) Especially because she actually WATCHES the riding. And sometimes imagine that she's making the figures herself, in the paddock. Haunches in. Shoulder in. It seems she watches, and tries it herself. Or maybe I just hope she does...
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