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Would that I could gallop across those hills

Oh, enough with the poetic license. What I actually meant to say was, "would that I could schlump up that hill and eat some food." FarmWife is the one with the visions of rapid parambulation across the rugged wilderness, but we balance her fantasies with my slow-n-steady approach. 


This is a picture of the place where FarmWife vacationed without me. It was taken from the deck of the house where she visited with her in-laws for one full week.


All vacations make FarmWife want to ride (when she vacationed in London, she rode a percheron through Hyde Park; when she vacationed in Amsterdam, she took a dressage lesson at De Hollandsche Manege). This was no exception—she didn't get to ride, but she wanted to. She came home with stories about rugged cliffs and steep, sun-drenched hillsides, and ambitious ideas about all of the overly hot adventures we could have in Eastern Washington. I replied with stories about the importance of the daily roll and the comfort of my shady paddock, and we agreed to stick to our tame Wickersham-based adventures until I can lose this extra 50 pounds and she can afford to get the trailer tuned up. We've the rest of our lives ahead of us.

Ears,
Fen

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