Light in December

Cassie & Pilar. @2016 Signe Toa Sundahl Olsen

Come the darkness of winter and my inner strength wilts away in a mire of feeling unaccomplished and exhausted. Finding the light seems harder every year in those dark, cold months. I’ll be all right when the first snowdrops declare their rebellion on winter in March. Alas, we’re still in December.

It’s hard to stay warm outside this time of year. You can stay warm by walking around and doing things. That’s me already freezing my ass off right there because walking around is not an option. I spend less time just enjoying Pilar’s company while she does whatever she wants to do (it usually involves grazing).

The world always seems to go crazy in December. This year it’s even worse than usual, with the reality TV show that the Americans call politics, and the war in Syria, and heaven only knows what else. I try to keep up, but what I am seeing over and over is a steady and terrifying decline in the way we treat each other. It’s become the norm to attack people online if we don’t agree with them. You don’t need to provide facts to support your views. Just call the other guy a libtard, a trumpling, a fedora neckbeard, a feminazi (but probably not all four at once).

Whatever happened to cleaning up your own act before you get started on somebody else’s?

Why are global politics now resolved (or indeed, very much not resolved) on Twitter?

Why is racism and misogyny becoming more predominant instead of less? Didn’t we leave these outdated concepts behind in the ’70s and ’80s?

Why are people arguing over “Merry Christmas” versus “Happy Holidays” while the rest of the world burns?

It’s December. Rage against the dying light.

Dolling Up Pony

Most horses love to be groomed. They enjoy being fussed over and fed treats, the company of their people, and eating hay while somebody else takes care of snags and mud. Horsemanship is not just riding or groundwork; the time you spend with your horse, simply enjoying each other’s company, may be one of the most important parts of building a good and trusting relationship.

Horses cannot say thank you, but horse girls quickly learn whether their ponies are happy to be fussed over. Sometimes, the amounts of ribbons, glitter, and hair dye (you make the best easy-to-wash-out dye from crushing kids’ drawing chalks into water) can make the aesthetically sensible adult cringe, but remember: The horse doesn’t care what it looks like, it cares about the attention, the grooming, and the time spent in its people’s company.

Caroline, Lucia, and Sif have dolled up Apple and Cassie just for fun and giggles!

Karoline, Lucia, and Sif have dolled up Apple and Cassie with pink and silver glitter for no reason whatsoever besides having fun!

There are rules about how a horse or pony can be prettified for shows and competitions for obvious reasons: All horses should compete on equal terms and decorations must not be used to hide or obscure flaws in mount or rider. For fun, however, the sky is the limit and your horse will love the attention.toomuchglitter

I Believe I Can Fly

Last night Pilar showed me that we can fly. The half-dark of the outdoors arena and the spooky sounds of something in the forest at the edge of the paddocks, combined with feeling energetic and wanting action — you know where this one goes. Suddenly,  OH MY GOD SOMETHING IS IN THE WOODS WE’RE GOING TO DIE, and off we were, up the centre line of the pen at a high speed gallop and kick the sky bucking.

Amazingly I stayed in the saddle. I have my old Arabian, dead for decades, to thank for this, I think; he used to buck and try to throw me every other day when he felt like it, because that’s just how he rolled.

Even more amazingly, I managed to keep my wits about me enough to ask Pilar in an every day voice (while hanging up there among the clouds, the seagulls, and the occasional NASA satellite), to stop, please. And she did. Just like that. Came down from gallop and bucking and just stopped. Then she nuzzled my right foot with her nose as she does when she wants to tell me she’s scared or uncomfortable or doesn’t understand what I want her to do.

This is how a bolting, bucking horse earns a metric buttload of praise. If I was ever in doubt that I bought the right horse, that doubt is certainly gone. Something in the woods scared her enough to bolt from it, and she trusts me enough that when I ask her to stop she does and trusts me to save her skinny butt.

Besties share their hay.
Have a feel good pic at the end of the day: Besties share their hay.

Stopping to Smell the Ponies

Yesterday was the first proper spring day of the year, the first day where the sun had power enough that you could feel its warmth through your clothing. You could even shed the outer layers of that clothing if you were doing something to keep you warm — such as, say, riding a horse. And that’s what we did.

Pausing to nibble the very first bits of grass of the season.
Pitstop in order to nibble the very first bits of grass of the season.

There is no sensation that compares to sitting on an energetic, happy horse that wants to walk faster, see everything, smell everything, and eat everything. Horses don’t walk on the first spring day — they poing like excited weasels. Even 26-year-old arthritic draft horses like Logan. Poing, poing, poing.

Simple pleasures in life: The clear blue sky overhead, little grey Cassie pawing at the water in excitement, and Logan walking briskly ahead with not the slightest trace of a limp.

Little grey Cassie really likes the water. The water is awesome. Love the water.
Little grey Cassie really likes the water. The water is awesome. Love the water.

Yo!

What is this? Why a blog, and why now? After two years of paying for the domain name without using it, what changed? What noble missives will be shared with the news-hungry world at large?

Eh, not much. I need to get back into writing. A blog is a good exercise to do so. And I got to use that absolutely fantastic header picture, depicting my own Logan and his good buddy Cassie, greeting each other after, shock gasp, two whole days of separation.