There are horsemen and then there are horsemen

Michael on Atlas—photo from www.michaeletherly.com

And Michael Etherly is a serious horseman. He's an incredible rider, a committed athlete, and a true artist. He rides with the kind of poise that most of you humans can only dream about.

Oh, fine, I confess—this is mostly FarmWife talking. She told me to say these things, and I think it's just because Michael Etherly was her Pony Club trainer when she was 14 years old. She still hasn't gotten over the thrill of riding with such a classy guy. He had charisma, as she tells it, and he was a good teacher. He was there the day she fell over a cross country fence, hurt herself and her horse, and lost her confidence, and he saw her slide from ambitious young eventer to nervous nellie. (She didn't really get her groove back until she met me, Fenway Bartholomule, and in fact I helped her learn to jump again. That's a story for another day.)

http://www.michaeletherly.com/

FarmWife loves me—her trail mule—and she loves the gravelly, muddy byways of scenic Wickersham, but there are times when she wishes we could be whisked away to Northern California, don some white breeches*, and learn to ride like Mike. She sometimes wonders where her riding career would be today if she had stayed focused on dressage and eventing back in the 90s. She wonders what would have happened to her life if she'd gone to a college with an equestrian program, or if she'd never sold her homebred Swedish Warmblood colt (who, it turns out, is a gorgeous athlete with a glitchy stifle and a challenging attitude), or if she'd saved every dollar she ever earned and poured them into lessons and clinics and schooling shows.

She'd probably be a better rider, but she probably wouldn't be happier. She'd find something else to pine for—something different, and more laid back. Something like a nice little mule and a quiet trail.

FenBar

*Her, not me—this butt of mine wouldn't fly in stretchy pants.

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Here are the Cloud Dog's X-Rays

Here, for your edification, are the X-rays of dear Paisley's leg. There is, apparently, no new break (since his Monday siezure) but there is, of course, a great deal of abnormality caused by years of living with a shortened ulna. His pronounced lameness, the vet says, may temporarily improve. Unlike me, Fenway Bartholomule, poor cloud dog can't expect much in the way of a full recovery. Not having the $$$$ for surgery to fuse the joint, we are working on making some sort of rigid splint to support the limb and prevent further degeneration. That is, the humans (with their space-age material inventions and their opposable thumbs) are working on making a splint; I am working on giving cloud dog brayful looks of support and encouragement every time he totters into the yard to relieve himself. As always, he fears me (me?!) and keeps his distance. Ears to you, Fenway

Continued . . .

Vegan Spring Rolls

I, Fenway Bartholomule, am a vegan: of course I only eat plants, not people! My human is too, so I'm sharing my blog with her today so that she can participate in the 2014 Virtual Vegan Potluck ! When you're done perusing the recipe for these delicious spring rolls, click "back" or "forward" for the entire potluck experience! Virtual Vegan Potluck: Spring Roll Appetizers Beautiful? Check. Healthy? Check. Delicious? Check. Easy? Check. Fancy? Check. Quick to clean up after? Check. Vegan? OF COURSE! If you're looking for something portable, colorful, and crowd-pleasing for your next potluck, look no further than these simple vegan spring rolls! The best part? You can substitute ANYTHING. I never make these the same way twice, so play around with cilantro, kale, cabbage, scallions, or whatever you think sounds good! Ingredients Veggie mix: 2 carrots (grated) 4 oz mung bean sprouts 1/3 cup chopped peanuts (raw, or roasted and salted) or ...

Continued . . .

Stripey schemes and meadow dreams

As you may recall, I am the proud resident of a very charming little barn—some might call it a shed—which shelters me in the winter from rain, and in the summer from sun. This spring Farmwife and Farmhusband decided it should be painted. Green, suggested Farmwife. Red, suggested Farmhusband. Teal, suggested Farmwife. Yellow, suggested Farmhusband. Stripey, suggested Farmwife? She was thinking of a retro Chevy squarebody (a quick Google search will show you what I mean), but didn't quite know how to make that practical on boards and battons. Farmhusband, who is a wizard, not only figured how how the stripes ought to go, but also arranged for the painting to be done. What I ended up with, almost in the blink of an eye, is the brightest, most cheerful, stripeavaganza of a barn. Even the neighbors are fond of it! In front of the barn is a vast expanse of grass which I am not allowed to sample on account of my laminitis. Not only is Farmwife opposed to letting me eat...

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A List

FarmWife has a to-do list, and "Ride the Mule" is sadly absent. The best thing on the list is "Muck out the Paddock," during which time I can enjoy the pleasure of her delightful company. The worst thing on the list is "clean the house," which is sure to take hours and hours which would be better spent rubbing my splendiferous ears. There's hardly even time for blogging on my transcriptionist's agenda, so I'll keep this short. Here, before I go, is the view from FarmWife's bedroom window at various levels of zoom: Your friend, Fenway

Continued . . .

BRAYS OF OUR LIVES

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