Morning Musings

It's wet, windy. Dark. The dawn is just starting to break through, and vague shadows appear in the landscape. The horses are grazing peacefully in the valley, each busily eating out it's own, carefully selected patch of grass. Unnoticed, a figure appears on the ridge, watches them, barely able to make out their shapes in the hazy light.

Suddenly, a voice pierces the air. One of the horses looks up. She knows this voice. She notices the lonely figure on the ridge - too small for a tree, too big for a fox. She flares her nostrils, and trots on. The other horses look at her, then search for the source of the voice. In a matter of seconds the herd is together, and galloping up towards the ridge.

Near the top they ease their pace. The ridge is sparse with trees. The horses spread out, and form a front - each one passing between two trees. For a moment, it looks like their numbers double. Their approach is frightening, imposing. In awe, I stand my ground.

The moment passes, and I turn to lead them towards the hay. They see it now, and trot on. For a short, unforgettable pause in time, I am part of the herd. I feel their heat, I hear their breathing, I understand their longing to always be together. As they overtake gently, I grab the one I am looking for. The dawn light wins the battle of the shadows. Night retreats. Day breaks.

Blackberry lashings

I get up early (as usual) and go riding. The house sleeps and snores.

By the time I return, there are a few smug, post-breakfast faces around the table. They all slept well, they're all feeling good. Time for some work.

So we take a trip down to the big shed and drag out the tractor. The slasher rings out with a wining vengeance, and blackberry splinters fly mercilessly. But the minute they hit the ground, a thousand (ok, ok, more like four) rakers, bring them together into neat little stacks.

When the work is done, the kids drive the tractor back into the shed. The horses are fed, the hay put out, and there are left overs for dinner. We bid our visitors a very "welcome anytime" goodbye.

More helpers

Ok, no one reads my blog. At least not the bit about how hard helping hands are expected to work at the ranch. Today, they arrive in hoards, loaded with bedding and supplies. I compare the head count to the room count and shrug my shoulders. After all, it's my husband who invited these people, he can worry about where they will sleep.

The primary task for today is a mountain bike ride. Pete's work mates vanish temporarily, only to reappear transformed as lycra lizards, wearing technically advanced helmets, and state of the art bladders. They hop on their two wheeled steeds and disappear up the track.

We are left to sit back, enjoy a cup of coffee and watch the view. I am so relaxed I feel out of place.

After about three hours, the men return, exhilerated. They jump in and out of the shower, and the fridge (for a beer). Chips roll into bowls. They light the bonfire, and the BBQ. Bottles of red wine appear on the side table, and it takes the women five tries to get the head count right for dinner. The table is heaving under the festive offerings, which come in waves from the hot BBQ. It's musical chairs around the table - if there is nothing left on your plate, then you must offer your seat to the next person. Just when everyone thinks they are full, the damper rolls in. It is delicious. Consumed in seconds.

The troops go to check out the bonfire. Within minutes they are back, soaking wet. "It's gone, all gone." Time for ice cream, and reading magazines, and putting your feet up, and going to bed.