The Word Inside an Exhale: EASE
It's January first. The calendar has flipped over and I'm happy with the new numbers. New Year's is an excellent...
When There’s No Room At The Inn…
Even on holidays, our family dinners don't look like other people's. Neither do our hands or shoes. We look different;...
Poetry Out Loud: Horse. Woman.
This blog will get back to some sort of new "normal" soon. What a year, huh? For now, just a...
Calming Signals: How the Farm Says Thank You.
It's Thanksgiving time and I should write something special, but I feel kind of ordinary. All I...
COVID-19 with Horses: How Are We Doing?
If horse people know one thing, it's that it's never just one thing. Having horses also means we partner with...
The Problem with Humility
I've gotten sour on a word. Why does it matter? Words are how we understand each other but some words...
Requiem for an Old Truck
req·ui·em/ˈrekwēəm/noun 1.(especially in the Roman Catholic Church) a Mass for the repose of the souls of the dead. There is...
Photo & Poem: Weather Change
Hail blown sideways by the wind, dark clouds churning across the horizon, as the horses brace against the stinging ice...
Photo & Poem: Forever Now
Walking past the mare, I let my hand follow the shape of her body, her hair so short it has...
Photo & Poem: Her Place
A stick pony to start, with a wooden head and twine for a mane. The tiny girl stomped unevenly, imagining...
Photo & Poem: Midsummer
Midsummer, the mare stands square, hooves flat and neck low, her muzzle faced into the corner of a dark stall,...
A Funny Thing Happened During the Euthanasia.
We've been having llama line dances here for over twenty years. It happens at dusk and it is boundingly beautiful....
Long Dark Night of the Soul: Colic
Andante's nickering. I've pulled the hay out of his run and swept the mats. He has a baritone voice, a...
Photo & Poem: Sunset to Dark
Talking with her while I walk the farm, I say look what you’ve done with the new grass. Earth sends...
It Could Be Worse. You Could Be Married to Me.
"Honey, when you're in town will you pick something up for me?" I don't quite wait for the answer. "Great,...
Photo & Poem: Breakout
Our horses are not young, neither are we. We negotiate with winter, bartering against the wind that our horses...
Photo and Poem: Spring Thaw
The air hung heavy, strangely moist for a desert prairie. Dense fog as rare as raindrops. The ice on...
Photo & Poem: Hand-Me-Downs
Leota would send a note warning that she’d put something in the mail and we waited. She was a...
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