Mud

     Mud happens, especially if horses live in the Pacific Northwest.  Every year, when the rains come (and they do come in our area,) we know mud is going to be created.

    Towards the end of September, when the weather reports start to threaten rain, we call our local supplier of wood shavings.  We have used the same business for over 30 years, and the employees and my husband have formed a friendly relationship, enough so that I know the dumping of the shavings will take longer than the process of emptying the truck.  Who says women are the ones who gossip?

    Anyway, we order enough piles of shavings to create eight or nine (sometimes more,) four foot tall stacks along the driveway fence-line where we routinely toss hay.  Many people are startled to learn that we don't spread the chips.  Spreading creates mud that much faster.  If we allow the stacks to stand, the horses gradually flatten them.  Before they are leveled, the animals have dry places to stand and eat.  That is the idea.

    However, the stacks do not last.  When spring approaches, as it is now, the wood chips are history; in fact, they have become part of the mud.  Sometimes we will take advantage of frozen ground, and add a few more piles of shavings.  There are many years, like this year, when the weather is not conducive to more shavings.

    So we have mud.  Mud that is composed of wood and horse manure.

    I actually prefer the mud after a deluge of wet.  The odor is less.  (I'm immune to the smell of horse manure after 70 years of smelling it, and fortunately the neighbors have never complained.)  Soggy. muddy surfaces are slippery, but at least I know my boots are going to stay on my feet, as long as I keep my balance.

    Less moisture means the mud will get sticky and often the odor is stronger.  Cloying mud makes walking become an exercise in leg weight lifting that develops strong thighs.  Muscles have to be applied to get the feet moving.  Occasionally, if boots are a looser fit, the foot moves, but not the boot.  Children, especially, like to move fast, and they will run through the muddy ground.  Suddenly, I hear a yelp, and look to find a child hopping along holding up a foot with a saturated brown sock.  Behind them is a boot poking up from a mound of mud.  At least the human did not do a complete face-plant in the muck.

    Boots are essential.  When they are purchased the stores identify them as rain boots.  Fine.  They work in puddles.  However, we need proper footwear to plow through mud.  I tend to go through a pair every few years.  My last pair gave out right at the beginning of autumn.  Suddenly, I was experiencing wet socks inside my boots, and when I carefully inspected them, I found a crack in the rubber above the sole of the right boot.  I borrowed another pair up until Christmas when my daughter-in-law asked for my wish list.  Boots were on the top of my Santa requests.  I got them a bit late (Amazon was running slow,) but they fit perfectly, and comfortably.  I was delighted with the horses dancing across the boots.  They have been in service most days this winter.

                                                 

 

    I have had volunteers appear without boots.  I usually turn them away, although I do have a collection of old boots in the tack room.  Most of them have leaks.  That can be temporarily remedied with a plastic bag inside the boot; however, I do tell people to get their own appropriate footwear.  On rare occasions, rodents have snuck past the cats and nested in old boots. 

    The horses have to contend with the mud on a daily basis, and they can't put on boots.  They dislike the muck as much as humans.  We do the best we can to mitigate the problem, knowing that mud can cause thrush, abscesses, and scratches (fungal hoof infection.)  We work diligently to keep the stalls dry, as well as the main arena.  Unfortunately, the areas in front of gates tend to stay overly moist.  Once again, we try to bring in fresh wood chips to absorb the moisture. 

    I'm not sure why, but some of the horses seem to delight in mud baths.  Please explain to me why it is the horses with lighter colored coats who enjoy a roll in a patch of mud.  Summer is a glorious palomino.  Some of the golden ones have a darker coat, but Summer is a paler version, especially in the winter.  The children will spend hours grooming her.  An hour later I step outside to discover she has had an exuberant roll that has smeared her in a dark brown paste, and her four white socks are hidden in mud.  Sigh.  Keeping her clean is a constant chore.

    We live in an area noted for wind storms.  Although the wind can bring in the rain, often we get a major blow for days, without the moisture.  As long as the power grid stays intact, I am happy to get a few days of wind over 10 mph.  The mud will start to dry.  I appreciate nature's natural "hair dryer".  I think my horses do, too.  Most horses are fidgety in the wind, but mine have learned to accept it.  It means we don't have to scrap off mud, or pick out mucky hooves, although we do have tangled manes and tails to comb.

    We have had a relatively dry autumn and winter.  That is not good for the water reservoir in the mountains, but it has made the ground easier to navigate.

    We have mud.  It's manageable, as long as I can keep my boots on my feet. 

     

     

A Girl for the Horses

     Let's face it.  I need help, and help seems to come.  Somewhere out there is another girl for my horses.

    Even before we moved to our Buckley location, I had a helper.  I can't remember how we found G.  It was as if she had come with the horses.  We wanted to breed and compete with our Quarter Horses and Miniature Horses.  I was gifted with a pretty blond girl with oodles of 4-H experience.  We paid her a pittance to train and show our horses.  She was a superb rider, and also a carriage driver.  When we moved to Pierce County, she was our faithful employee for a few years.  We even bred a warmblood for her to own and train to jump.  But then, marriage and childbirth led her life in a different direction.

    I needed another girl for the horses.

    B would be our next employee.  With a personality as brilliant as her red hair, she, like G, was a treasure.  In spite of the age difference, we became companions.  As well as shows and training at the farm, I took her to clinics when I was participating.

    I especially recall one weekend when I was the injured person, but she was the individual who suffered nightmares as a result of seeing the fiasco.  We were attending a clinic.  I was riding our Shire, Mac.  We had enjoyed a lunch break, and B and I were leading Mac from his stall to the arena.  I was concerned because some workers had started a huge bonfire in a pasture we had to pass.  I was ahead of B, walking my horse, paying close attention to the flames.  What I failed to notice were the "killer" cows in the pasture on the other side of the road.  Mac did.  He shied on top of me, directly in front of B.  I was shoved, and I tumbled to the ground with Mac's hooves slamming against me.  I was up in a short minute, but I knew I had several lacerations.  Nothing was broken, and fortunately there were medical folks participating in the horse clinic.  I was quickly and efficiently helped.  It was B who would have the most trauma, though.  She had been convinced I would be totally squished by the ton of horse.

    She stayed with us for several more years, but she, too, left to start her own family.

    Occasionally, one of my students would step up and help.  N certainly did.  She would go on to study equestrian practices through her university studies.  AB was a somewhat indifferent student, but she became an amazing helper when she grew into a young adult.  J began lessons as a youngster, and she still comes to ride, always offering to stay.  She is willing to drive to the farm when her job schedule allows.

 

    K visited her grandmother down the road, and she often came to help.  Eventually, she would enroll in veterinary school.  AG had to do community service to graduate from high school.  She returned  for years after she had completed her allotted hours, giving up almost all of her weekends to assist me.

    T was older than most of my "girls."  She was already in her 20s when she came to help.  At the time, we had multiple volunteers.  She organized them.  In an emergency, she was always available.  Her skill with heavy machinery, as well as horses, was put to excellent use.  She would, in one way, stay with our organization, even after she moved to the Mid-west.  T became a board member.

    One of the girls became family, in the heart sense of the term.  She originally came to the farm tagging behind her horse-crazy older sister.  The sister would outgrow us, but not so AH.  She would stay.  Even as a pre-teen she had a gift with the horses, especially the shy, timid ones.  As she grew, so did her abilities.   I could always depend on her.   If my husband and I took some time away, this young teenager faithfully attended to the horses, even when she was running a high temperature.  She understood caring for the animals came first.  She married, had a child, and stayed in close contact.  AH is a daughter and another board member.  Unfortunately, she doesn't live close enough to be her on a daily basis.

    As I have aged, I find I need more help.  I was unable to teach because I was under the care of so many doctors this past summer.  I had four trips to the hospital.

    I leaned on another young woman.  This one, is my granddaughter.  KA stepped up to look after the animals for me.  Occasionally she gave lessons.  I don't think the farm could have continued without her.

    She is now planning for the arrival of her first child, and I know her time will be limited even though she assures me she will continue to help.  She has expressed interest in taking on the organization.  Time will tell.

    Meanwhile, I need to send out another plea for help.

    Wanted:  A girl (or boy) for the horses.