one time only

One week from tonight (Good Lord willing and Big Creek don’t rise) I will be sleeping in my new house for the first time!  After weeks of exploring options I found a man with a truck and trailer who is willing to drive me and the ponies and my stuff down to Big Creek for the cost of gas. He’s coming to pick us up next Tuesday and we’re due to arrive in Big Creek mid-day on Thursday the 12th of December .  This feels a lot like a miracle, considering some of the other possibilities I’ve considered.  There’s only one little problem with this plan: I don’t currently have the money to pay for the gas!
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It has taken me two weeks to work up the courage to write this brief blog post.  I have been so blessed on this Journey by so many people who have seen a need and offered assistance (this includes many of You!) that it feels very awkward to ask for more help at this stage.  All along the way, everything I’ve needed has been provided exactly as I’ve needed it – and so I wrestle with whether asking is a lack of Faith on my part.
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Over the past two years I’ve had the experience that when I’ve knocked, the door Has been opened to me – and so this time I am trusting “Ask, and ye shall receive.”  It’s 1300 miles from my folks’ house to Big Creek, Mississippi.  I’ve got places to stay lined up between here and there; I’ve got a home and work waiting for me; I’ve got a book to write (which I’m hoping to have in the hands of an editor within 6 months) – but I need to get down there!  If you’re in a position to help and feel led to do so, I would greatly appreciate your assistance.  There are donate buttons on both the blog and the Free Range Rodeo  facebook page.  My mailing address can be found on the contact page at the top of the blog. If there’s anything left af  ter gas has been paid for, it will go to the basics: hay for the herd, portable fencing, a cord of wood, groceries, etc.  Thank you in advance!

hOMe!

hOMe!

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Finehorn and the Runaway Christmas Tree

This morning I looked out into the back yard and saw a large Christmas tree lying on its side. It needed to be transported roughly 400 feet to the front porch.  Thinking of Saint Finehorn’s future, I volunteered.  Never mind that she’s not yet trained to harness nor has she ever pulled anything in her life.  Never mind that I don’t have a harness, or even a western saddle with a saddle horn. She’s steady minded and we have a good working relationship, how hard could this really be?  I grabbed two western girths and some rope from the garage and went out and caught Finehorn.  She stood quietly while I tied the two girths into a collar of sorts and seemed happy to be finally Doing Something.  I led her out to the cut pine tree and attached a rope from the tree to one side of her makeshift collar.  “Step Up.”  She knows the command and moved forward, felt the weight of the tree and stopped, looking a bit confused.  I praised her and asked her to move forward once again.  She complied, the tree moved, she skittered a bit, grinding her teeth, then settled down.  I told her what a brilliant pony she was.  She was licking and chewing, obviously thinking hard about this new situation.  We tried again but she kept moving sideways so I wised up and fashioned the rope into traces, one on either side of her, both fastened to the tree.  This was much more to her liking and very quickly she was walking calmly across the lawn, dragging the tree, looking quite proud of herself.  I praised her lavishly and we approached the gate.
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Jesse James meanwhile had been pawing the ground, lying down and rolling, jumping up and snorting, much more agitated about the situation than Finehorn.  I was ignoring him; focused on Finehorn and the job at hand, thinking it didn’t really have much to do with him and he was just being silly.  I’ll know better next time!  When we got to the gate I said “Whoa, stand.”  Finehorn stopped and stood calmly and I opened the gate as wide as it would go (just barely wide enough for the tree), then returned and asked her to “Step up.”  As she stepped forward Jesse rushed the gate, leapt over the tree and headed toward the road, tail in the air.  Finehorn followed, tree in tow, and I was left behind with my heart in my mouth as the careening tree narrowly missed the Jeep, the Prius, the mailbox – and hit the road at a run.  I grabbed Jesse’s halter from the fence and gave chase.
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Jesse didn’t go far.  I caught him right in front of the house, put his halter on, led him back into the yard, shut the gate and went off in search of Finehorn.  Finehorn was headed towards town, and the golf course ($150/hoofprint!) and by the time I got back out to the road she was out of sight.  Not good.  I went running down the road, berating myself for letting a positive training experience turn into a disaster, wondering if she’d ever be willing to pull anything behind her ever again.  As I’d been catching Jesse I’d seen somebody in the road with their arms out trying to stop Finehorn but there was no sight of anybody now.  Of course I didn’t have my glasses on.  I saw a bundle at the end of the neighbor’s drive and wondered what had gotten destroyed but as I got closer it turned out to be a dropped armload of firewood.  I literally couldn’t see to the end of the road.  At least I hadn’t heard squealing tires or the sounds of a collision…
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My folks had been out walking the dog in that direction and my hope was that they’d managed to intercept her without getting run over by a stampeding pony or broadsided by a renegade Christmas tree.  Finally I saw a dark shape of about the right size at the end of the street.  I kept running, feeling a bit more hopeful.  As I approached the dark shape resolved into the form of our good neighbor Evan, leading Finehorn (with the big pine tree still in town behind her) calmly up the road.  He’d hopped in his car, managed to cut her off at the pass, gotten her calmed down – and she was fine!  I thanked him profusely and he went back to retrieve his car while I walked Finehorn back to the house.  Several treats and much praise later we delivered the Christmas tree to the front porch just as my folks walked up with the dog asking “What happened?  Evan wouldn’t tell us!”
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I think it turned out to be a pretty good first lesson for Finehorn after all, especially since she didn’t manage to get rid of the tree (or get hurt!)  It was also a good lesson in the importance of good neighbors!  It was also a good reminder for me not to ignore mr.James; even if he’s not directly involved in something he still takes his role as herd protector seriously and the sight of a horizontal pine tree chasing his mare around wasn’t something he took lightly.

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how does it feel?

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I keep getting asked this question, or these questions: How does it feel to have crossed a continent on horseback?  How does it feel to be done with your ride?  How does it feel to have accomplished your life’s dream – and now to be facing the rest of your life?  How does it feel to be sitting in your parent’s warm house, looking out at snow, living apart from the herd, getting around via automobile, cooking standing up in a familiar kitchen, not wondering where you’re going to sleep every night, to be safe and comfortable and have a long, hot bath any time you want one?  How does it feel when the ponies look at you like a food-providing, two-legged almost-stranger?  How does it feel to come “home” after living for two years immersed in another culture?  How have you changed?  What have you learned?  What have you done to yourself and how will that matter to your future?

Finehorn's commentary

Finehorn’s commentary

In many ways I feel that I shall be unfolding the answers to these questions for the rest of my life.  But right now these questions are about how it’s unfolding right now.  Two weeks and three days ago I finished the ride in Minot.  Two weeks and three days from now I will be walking into my new home.  I find myself existing in the between.  It’s a strange realm, Between, a bit like knowing I’m “safe” in the eye of the hurricane but that the only way out is through.  On many levels what I am feeling is a deep gratitude.  Gratitude that the ponies and I are together and safe and still reasonably sound, gratitude that the ponies and I have this place to rest, to hide, to decompress, to have time to figure things out a little bit.  (And there’s a Lot to figure out!)  Gratitude for all of the people I’ve met, the havens I’ve been offered, the conversations I’ve had, the meals I’ve enjoyed, the bales of hay and help with maps – the daily miracles of guidance and provision.  Gratitude that Life backed me into the sort of corner where the only reasonable option was to actually Do the thing I’ve always known deep in my heart was mine to do.  Gratitude for Gryph who joined up to get me started and Jesse James and Saint Finehorn who carried and informed this Journey from beginning to end.  Gratitude for my parents who prepared me so well and have been so patient and understanding in the aftermath as I try to get my two legs back under me after so long being carried by 8 hooves.
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I’m crying a lot, tho less than I was two weeks ago.  Not tears of grief, particularly – just an overwhelm of FEELING that pours out of my eyes and rolls down my face.  I want to curl up in my bed and hibernate – forever!  It’s taking as much will power as I currently possess to deal with the absolutely essential ‘phone calls and correspondence necessary to deal with life and prepare for the impending move to Big Creek.  Last weekend I went and retrieved a bunch of boxes from a friend’s self-storage, things I put there 10 years ago (!) and I honestly don’t remember the woman who set such store on those possessions – I kept shaking my head and saying, “what was I thinking?  what am I doing?  who Was I?” And yet somehow, by the very saving of those things over time I have become responsible for them.  Books mostly, papers and journals and the paraphernalia of a kitchen, childhood keepsakes, oddments of clothing and a pack saddle from the last time I thought I was going to ride across the country – a pack saddle I was mightily surprised to see and that might have come in handy if I’d remembered it was there!
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The hardest thing, and the thing I didn’t expect, is the feeling of estrangement from the herd.  The ponies live outside and I live inside and we’re not doing anything together any more.  I go out to feed and water them and they’re polite but that’s about as far as it goes.  We’re losing our common tongue.  The mission is over and they’re not really interested in just hanging out once in awhile.  They don’t want to be patted or scratched.  They’re bored and we’re not going anywhere.  After all this time of living, sleeping, travelling, grazing and communicating as a herd on the move we’ve stopped.  Our security and companionship is no longer with one another – and that’s hard.  Harder on me than it is on them, I think.
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When I reached the Atlantic Ocean on many levels “my” ride was finished.  I was quite ill with a cold that had gone into my chest, the weather had turned and my enthusiasm was flatlined.  That was the last day that I packed Finehorn and I was and am incredibly, deeply grateful that I was offered places to rest and recuperate between that day (24.October) and the day we rode to Minot (8.November).  The celebration in Minot was the “official” end of the Journey.  It was planned and public and really wonderful!  Not many Long Riders end their rides with any amount of fanfare and I feel very lucky and blessed on that account.  So, there have already been two endings to this ride, yet on another very real level, my Journey isn’t done.  There is still a book to write.  On some level that I can’t explain, this is part of the contract for me, part of how I can give back, part of the assignment, the culmination of the dream.  My plan at this point is to keep the blog (and Free Range Rodeo facebook page) going as I Settle in to Smallholding in Big Creek, Mississippi and write the book.  I really hope you’ll stick with me through that process!  Meanwhile, I’m heading over the river and through the woods for a much anticipated Thanksgiving Celebration with family – and Gryph has come to spend some time with the ponies and care for them while I’m away.
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parade report

en route to the cemetery

en route to the cemetery

I found this blog post about the Minot parade when somebody linked to my blog from there – was fun to read another perspective on things 😉  also good photos – enjoy!  http://louielbm.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-last-of-saddle-tramps-mesannie.html
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Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the ponies are cavorting and bucking and running about the back yard, they know we’re done and they’re celebrating in their way.  They love being at my folks’ place, roaming the huge back yard, gazing up at the remaining apples high up in the trees – wistfully – then at the house of the humans – expectantly and a bit impatiently.  It’s getting cold, windy, wintery.  The humans spend most of their time inside.  I’m trying to balance how much there is that needs to be done and figured out in the next three weeks with how much I need rest and a bit of down time.  Today I did laundry and worked on putting together a post card.  It felt good Not to Go Anywhere all day.
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I have much to write about the end of the Journey, or rather the ends of the Journey – reaching the Atlantic Ocean and the Mesannie Wilkins Day parade and festivities in Minot.  They were very different endings and I’m grateful for both experiences.  Most Long Rides don’t end with a lot of fanfare – which in one sense might seem sad, but a Long Ride is first and foremost about the relationship the Long Rider develops with the herd, whether it be one equine (like Katie Cooper and her good mule Sir Walter the Red) or Anna and Gilles – currently riding across Brazil with four horses.  Reaching the Atlantic was the culmination of a pact between me and the ponies and when I tried to lead them into the Ocean and they looked at me like I was daft, calling me on my silly human agenda of literal water to water, I had to laugh at how explicitly they communicate, how confident they are in their opinions, the funny 3-way partnership we’ve evolved over the past two years.  It seemed strange in Minot to be upstairs in a grange hall talking about the Journey while the ponies were several miles away in a pasture.  I found myself wondering about the logistics of ponies and stairs…
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Sun Journal Article and Photos

Gryph Wulfkil, Sea G Rhydr, Lucy Leaf

Gryph Wulfkil, Sea G Rhydr, Lucy Leaf

The ponies and I are back in Greenville at my folks’ place after an incredible, long, emotional, fun, intense and wonderful weekend in Minot, Maine.  Tomorrow morning Dad and I return the borrowed horse trailer to Hollis, NH and the borrowed truck to Albany, NY.  It’s cold and windy and spitting tonight so 10pm found Dad and me backing his ’65 Chevy pick-up out of the barn, covering it with plastic, checking the stall for potential pony hazards and putting hay down for the herd.  We’re All exhausted.  It’s after midnight now so I’ll keep this brief, but wanted to let you know there’s an article in the Sun Journal with 113 photos of the muster and parade.  You can find it here:
http://www.sunjournal.com/news/lewiston-auburn/2013/11/10/minot-parade-celebrates-womens-spirit-adventure/1449553

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hOMe

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Early in the Journey Gryph and I would joke that we were out on an adventure, finding the “om” in homeless.  We quickly learned that this wasn’t a very appropriate joke when we were trying to find a place to stay.  It made people nervous.  If we didn’t have any place of our own to go to we might try to stay with them!  Forever!  Often just the words, “We’ll be moving on in the morning” helped people decide that it was OK for us to stop for the night on their land.  We were saddle tramps, homeless by choice and design. If I’m honest, when Obama said he was going to “put an end to homelessness” it sounded more like a threat than a promise.  I was worried that the alternative might feel a lot like jail.
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In a way it’s been very motivating not to have a home base; it’s made quitting a much less attractive (almost impossible to imagine) option.  There were also times, when one of the ponies or I needed time to rest and recover, that not having a home of our own to go to has been difficult.  It’s one thing to stop for a night, maybe two, but stretching that into weeks?  That’s a lot to ask!  That’s a lot to offer!  And yet, every time the ponies and I have needed a place, for a night or an extended lay-up, it’s been provided.  You might think that such an experience, extended over two years, would have given me an unshakable, iron-clad Faith.  I Wish!
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As the herd and I got closer and closer to Minot and the end of the trail I started to worry – big time!  We’re all exhausted – tho probably me more than the ponies at this point. I have a huge responsibility to the real heroes of this Journey – Jesse James and Saint Finehorn – who have carried this whole dream so faithfully on their backs and hooves.  I am blessedly tired of being always in somebody else’s space, on someone else’s turf, feeling the constant need to move on.  I haven’t had a kitchen to call my own in 4 1/2 years.  I have a book to write!  Where could we go?  What would I do?  My Aunt Pat reminded me, “God doesn’t do things on time, He does them in time.”  My parents were remarkably calm and encouraging, but somehow their Faith wasn’t quite contagious and reassuring enough when it was my future on the line.  Inside my head a little voice was always saying things like “Easy for you to say.”  I currently have just about enough money left to send out all the postcards I’ve promised letting people know I made it to Minot.  Panic Zone!
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You know that feeling when you’re at an amazing feast, like Thanksgiving with all the trimmings or an all-you-can-eat buffet of all your favorite foods?  And you’re stuffed!  One more bite and you know you’ll explode – and Then it’s time for dessert?  Psychically, I reached that point with this Journey somewhere around Mississippi.  I’d had enough and more than enough and then some.  My manners were starting to slip and I knew it.  We’d made it through our second winter, I’d survived a fall which resulted in a concussion and torn muscles and two fractured vertebrae, the ponies were weary and I wondered at the wisdom of asking them to continue.  I was riding on to Minot because I’d said that I was riding to Minot, people were expecting me up in Minot AND I didn’t have a home to go to.  That was last March.  Sisu.
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In April we were invited to a jam session in Sabougla, Mississippi.  Every other Friday night a whole bunch of people (20-400!) bring food and instruments out to an 1890s farmhouse – they play music and break bread and catch up on each others lives and it’s good!  I spent several days in Calhoun County, catching up on rest and getting to know some of the people who live there and I found myself starting to feel a bit homesick for a community where I could have a little house and settle down with the ponies.  I suddenly realized how much I wanted a hOMe.  I was invited out to dinner at the steak house in the town of Big Creek – population 60.  We arrived a little early so I could take a look at a little old house on 5 acres – that just happened to be for sale.  I walked up on the porch of the house with its two rocking chairs and suddenly I knew I could write the book there.  The nearest grocery store is 6 miles away – within range of the ponies.

hOMe!

hOMe!

I started thinking about the Little House in Big Creek – a Lot.  Weeks went by.  I got the ‘phone number of the woman who owns it (she lives up in Memphis now – she’s 73 and was born there back when it was her grandmother’s house.)  We talked on the ‘phone for most of an hour and she eventually agreed to sell me the house for $15,000.  Completely reasonable – if I had that kind of money – which I didn’t.  After much deliberation I decided to sell the little casita I’d built on Vieques, Puerto Rico.  My folks were on their way down for a vacation and we agreed to talk more about it when they returned.  They came home saying that they didn’t want to lose the casita from the family.  I died a little inside.  THEN (have I mentioned that I have the most wonderful parents on the planet?) they came up with a plan.  They’d buy the place in Big Creek and we’d trade.  Wow! Walking on air, happy happy joy joy, I called the woman who owned the house.  She didn’t call back.  I left a message every week for a month and then sent a certified letter.  Nothing.  Are you starting to feel the roller coaster?  Two months ago I thought we had things figured out and the money was in escrow with the lawyer – she wasn’t ready to sign.  That thing about Faith?  And God’s sadistic sense of humor?  Right.
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The day before Halloween I got the news that the ponies and I have a home in Big Creek, Mississippi!  We’ll be living a bit rough at first – an outhouse and a spigot and a wood stove.  The house needs a LOT of work.  Trying to figure out how to have the water meter unlocked (but the water Not turned on yet) I wound up speaking with one of my neighbors to be.  She was wonderfully helpful and friendly and mentioned that the house hadn’t been lived in since she moved there – in 1975!  By my understanding the house was built in the 1840’s and human beings a lot like me lived there – before there was any such thing as city water or electric.  I’ve got good camping skills and a fair amount of determination – and a book to write before I get too carried away with learning how to restore a house.  I’m looking forward to it!  I’m also looking forward to being the host instead of the guest for a change – and I’m Not going to apologize for my rustic and random housekeeping. 😉
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After the parade and festivities in Minot my folks are borrowing a truck and trailer to get us back to their place in Greenville, NY where I’ll be staying through Thanksgiving.  Then it’s time to head South, with the ponies and what bits of furniture and housewares I still retain, to our new home.  At this point I have absolutely No Clue how that’s going to happen.  I haven’t owned a vehicle in about as long as I haven’t had a kitchen.  And this brings us back around to the topic of Faith.  One of the things my dad said to us growing up was “Who built the ark for Noah?”  OK – we know his sons probably helped quite a bit – but the point was that Noah didn’t sit around waiting for God to build the ark.  He got his instructions and he got busy.  And one of the things I’ve learned on this Journey is that when I’m doing everything I know to do, when I’m turning over every stone, when I’m listening to that little voice in my head and following instructions as best I can understand them – that’s when the miracles happen.  Right about now I’m feeling like it’s going to take a miracle to get the ponies and I down to Big Creek in early December.  I have no preconceived notions about what that miracle might look like.  I’m open to suggestions!
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I’ve been so blessed on this Journey, over and over again in ways I never could have imagined.  I have had experiences and learned things that most people only ever get a glimmer of and I really hope I have what it takes to give some of that back in the form of a book that’s worth the sacrifice of the trees.  (Notice how optimistic I am?  treeS!)  To have had the opportunity to live my dream – the one I’ve carried in my heart since elementary school – that is something I wish for each and every one of you!  For most of you I assume that won’t mean riding horseback across a continent – tho it’s a grand life if you don’t mind the water! 😉  I do believe that we each carry that dream, that thing that we know in our heart is uniquely ours to do – and when we step out in Faith and say “Yes!”  it not only transforms our own lives, but those of people we encounter and people we may never even meet.  What a privilege that is.  What a miracle!
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I Love a Parade!

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I’ve been trying to write a blog post about reaching the Atlantic Ocean and the end of the Journey.  I’ve sat down every day with my laptop and searched for words…
And for the moment I’m giving up because there are plans afoot in Minot and a parade in the works and I need to fill you in and also to ask for a little help.
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I would LOVE to have a flag in the parade from every state I’ve ridden through on my Journey.  They’ll be carried by riders in the parade, then hung around the grange hall during the dinner and festivities and then I am planning to make them into a quilt this winter in between writing chapters of the book.  I have flags promised from Oklahoma, Ohio, Texas, Maine, New York, California, Louisiana, Mississippi, New Mexico, Massachusetts, and I think Pennsylvania and Kentucky.  Still need flags sent from Arizona, New Hampshire, Vermont and Tennessee.  If you would be willing to send a flag from one of these states Please let me know.  The best size is probably around 2’x3′ – tho at least one that I know of will be 3’x5′.  The flags need to be in Minot by Friday 8.November if you’re mailing them.
The address is: Sea G Rhydr c/o General Delivery   Minot, ME  04258.
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If you’re bringing a flag with you (rather than mailing it) the muster for the parade is at Hemond Moto-X (695 Woodman Hill Road, Minot) at 11am!  There is Plenty of parking for horse trailers and setting up portable pens.  It looks like there’s going to be a good turn out.  Please feel welcome to come join the parade even if you don’t have a horse to ride – especially in (warm) costume.  My nephews will be walking and carrying a banner, there will be a boy scout troupe marching and I’ve heard rumors of a few bicycles along with a hay wagon and maybe even a women’s motorcycle club!  I’d love to find a horse drawn conveyance of some sort for my parents and my Auntie Pat if anybody has ideas for that!  Gryph would be absolutely delighted by a bovine.  The parade will be slow – probably about 2 mph and will go from the Speedway roughly 1 1/2 miles to Mesannie Wilkins’ old cellar hole on Jackass Annie road where there will be a brief ceremony.  From there, with anyone who wishes to continue, we’ll go on to Mesannie’s grave.  This is 2 1/2 miles via horse or on foot, 8 miles by road.  Not far from the cemetery we have a barn and several paddocks available for horses.  There will also be volunteers to help shuttle people back to their trailers, etc.
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At 4:30pm dinner will start being served at the West Minot Grange Hall – suggested donation $6 – proceeds to benefit the Minot Historical Society.  There is parking available for trailers and vehicles not far from the Grange Hall – where you won’t need to back up or do a lot of maneuvering.  There’s also a smallish parking lot just across the street that we’re trying to reserve for people who would honestly have a hard time walking 1/4 mile.  There are people attending to tell stories about Mesannie Wilkins who are in their 80s – so if you’re blessed with mobility please plan to use the far lot!  The speeches and stories and Mesannie Wilkins Documentary and other festivities will be taking place upstairs in the Grange Hall following dinner.
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One other request – I’d love to have one or more people there video taping the event – prep and parade and grange hall, behind the scenes, etc – it would honestly be great to have several perspectives!  If you have the talent and technology and are willing to come film – Please be in touch!

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We’ve come a looooooong way…

Made it to the Atlantic Ocean today

Made it to the Atlantic Ocean today

just in time for sunset

just in time for sunset

hey! that water is Moving!

hey! that water is Moving!

Brave ponies humoring a silly human with strange ideas

Brave ponies humoring a silly human with strange ideas

ok - ok - we'll deal with the photo op

ok – ok – we’ll deal with the photo op

but we'd really rather be eating the rose hips!

but we’d really rather be eating the rose hips!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Nature v Science?

I looked at him yesterday and he looked back at me.
I have no idea what he saw (or even exactly where his eyes are)
but I saw grey whiskers and instantly reverted to the masculine pronoun.
I was Trying to sit still and pay attention;
he never moved except to raise his glossy black face towards me
whenever I wrote something particularly brilliant.
(I thus considered him a most perceptive chap
and sought out his company again later in the day,
discovering that he had progressed 18″
up the bark of the ancient apple tree,
intent upon his own business.)
I paid my respects and departed.
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Today I returned, in search of my new friend,
hoping to become better acquainted.
I removed my spectacles and leaned in close
counting 8 black tufts down the length of his back
and 4 long bristles of black whisker – 2 fore and 2 aft.
I noted the texture of coral on his sides
and the different sorts of bristles
covering his presumably squishy body.

He ignored me.
Even when I blew on him.
I reached out a finger and he arched like a cat.
Curious about his feet I nudged him onto my notebook.
He lay on his side, a perfect arch, head and feet hidden
– as if I’d killed him.
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Mortified at my own lack of manners
I returned him to the tree
catching a glimpse of 8 suction cup feet – centrally located
and two more at his tail end
reconnecting him to home.

I left him to his meditations
– not feeling nearly so brilliant as yesterday.

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Minot Planning Update

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Plans in Minot are changing a bit -> at the meeting somebody pointed out how DARK it would be at 5pm in Minot (after daylight savings time) on 8.November!  So – the new plan: all of the “official” festivities will take place on Saturday 9.November.  We’ll start gathering for the parade around 11am.  At 1pm the parade will ride out, heading for the old cellar hole on Mesannie Wilkins’ former homestead.  That will mark the official end of the parade and from there I’ll go on (with whomever wishes to accompany me) with Jesse James and Saint Finehorn to visit Mesannie Wilkins’ grave.  Then the ponies will go to a nice quiet barn/paddock for the night while the humans head to the grange hall for dinner and celebration.  Anybody who wants to join the ride from North Yarmouth to Minot (Thursday and Friday) is still most welcome – we just won’t swell into a parade on Friday afternoon.
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Kevin McShane will be there showing his 25 minute documentary film, “The Mesannie Wilkins Story” and actress Joanie Mitchell, who played Mesannie in the film, will be there as well.  People who knew Mesannie personally will be coming to regale us with stories of her life in Minot.  Last I heard Lucy Leaf will be there representing the Long Riders’ Guild and Gryph Wulfkil (my boon companion, who accompanied me on the first 5 months of the ride and then returned for another 2 months mid-way) will be riding her beloved Saint Finehorn in the parade.   Speaking of the parade – I’d love to see a lot of costumes in the parade!  Come dressed as your hero or as who you want to be when you grow up, a fictional character or even a mythical beast!  Come out and play!
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It is increasingly strange to think about the Reality that three weeks from today I’ll be riding into Minot.  I’ve found myself walking alongside the ponies as much as I’ve been riding lately; a bit melancholy and contemplative, dawdling along talking to them as we meander.  I’ve found myself unconsciously procrastinating on things relating to the end of the Journey – like this blog post informing everybody of the change in schedule!  I’ve been avoiding ‘phone calls as much as I can (which I know isn’t helpful) and I’m shamefully behind on e-mail correspondence.  This being the case, if I haven’t answered your e-mail or I ought to have called you and haven’t, please don’t give up!  Things are falling through the cracks a bit and I need all the help I can get!  It’s easier for me to keep track of and respond to e-mails and facebook messages – ‘phone calls are ok when they’re short and to the point, but I often don’t have paper and pencil handy.  I’m feeling kind of quiet and withdrawn and maybe even a little bit lost.  All this, and the ride isn’t even over yet!  Two years is a looooong time!
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Last Spring I met a couple on the Natchez Trace.  They were from New Hampshire and our interaction was brief – but when I mentioned my friend who lived in Exeter they said that they were in the very next town with room for ponies and handed me a business card.  I tucked it away for many months and as I approached New Hampshire I actually managed to find it again!  I wrote an e-mail and it bounced back.  Heart in my throat I called the number and left a message.  Wonder of wonders they called back and the invitation was still open.  We discussed a few details and they organized a neighborhood potluck.  This is one of those situations when I realize just how special my ponies really are.  Over half of the neighbors were kids.  The ponies were loose in the side yard, barricaded in with chairs and sawhorses and tables full of food!  They were gentle and tractable as the kids took turns leading them around (and around and around) the yard.  They were polite as they accepted apples and carrots and a million pats and kisses.  They were patient and careful about where they put their feet.  They were pony love incarnate!  A few times I ran interference when I saw their attitudes starting to sour a bit, but most of the time I left them to the kids and they were beautiful!  So were the kids. 😉
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I’ve been staying a few days with a friend I haven’t seen in 6 years.  She’s added a husband and two young daughters since then!  The friendship goes back to a horse connection 30 years ago and to our mothers before we were born and it’s a much appreciated blessing to have some time with her in the midst of everything.  Yesterday the ponies moved from Stratham to Newcastle where they have a grassy pasture for a few days, courtesy of a woman whose sister goes to church with my folks back in Bethlehem, NY.  It’s a small country (when you’re not riding across it!)  Due to a couple of route changes I’m a few days ahead of myself in terms of scheduling and I’m so grateful to be able to spend them here with an old friend, knowing that the ponies are safe and happy.
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Sunday morning the ponies and I ride out to Dover, NH to the New England Equine Medical and Surgical Center – thankfully not because we need their services, but because they’ve been kind enough to offer a place to stop for the night!  From there it’s on to Old Mountain Farm (Nigerian milk goats) on the flank of Mount Agamenticus and then following the coast as best we’re able up to Wells, Maine and Kennebunk.  I’ve made the (perhaps rash) decision to leave my tent behind this last stretch.  I’ve got places to stay lining up as far North as Kennebunk and then picking up again in North Yarmouth.  Faith or foolishness?  Time will tell, but meantime Finehorn is grateful for a load that is lighter by 8 pounds and the forecast is holding mostly clear and not too cold.  I have yet to determine the best route from Kennebunk to North Yarmouth from the ponies’ perspective, but at most we’re facing four nights of the unknown.  Such small numbers…
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