Reprinted from The Brayer, January 2012

Photo by Jennifer Singleton—
borrowed from www.john.henry.org
with thanks to Kathleen Conklin

The Bold and the Brayful

A column by Fenway Bartholomule

Rest in Peace

I used to have a mule hero. His name was John Henry. He did terribly mulish things—hunting, showing, pulling butcher's carts. He was elegant, tremendous, and noble. He inspired.

I never got to meet John Henry, though many of you did. I'd venture a guess that no mule graces the pages of so many BRAYER's as John Henry. He was truly one in a million.

FarmWife, who has a business writing poetry, wrote this back in the summer when we were all still reeling from the news of his sudden illness and death. As Thanksgiving passes and Christmas inches closer, FarmWife and I can't help but be grateful that we have each other, our family, our friends, and our health. May the new year keep us safe.

My earful thoughts are with Kathleen this holiday season, as they are with each of you who lost someone close this year. May you find joy in your memories.

John Henry

Beloved? That's not good enough.

A friend? The word's a shadow.

There is not language strong enough.

All phrases feel too shallow.

John Henry, indescribable—

John Henry, so adored—

These words may scratch the surface,

But his life was so much more.

Charisma? Yes, he had it.

Charm, intelligence? Those too.

He was an athlete and a star,

A brave and soulful mule.

He made inroads where none had gone.

He forged his path, and yes—

he stole one heart completely

and he made a thousand friends.

There are no words. There is no way.

And yet a poet tries . . .

What phrases, put together,

catch the kindness in his eye?

What words speak to his patience,

to his presence, to his smarts?

What words explain the magic,

How he touched so many hearts?

John Henry was the kind of mule

a person can't forget—

And so, although he's lost to us,

His legend lives on yet.

And if God has a pasture

Where his finest equines play,

Then there, upon those golden hills,

rings sweet John Henry's bray.

Comments

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 . . .

2025 State of the Farmlet Address

A red stag photographed by Farmwife in Scotland, from whence the family descends and to where they voyaged in September 2024. Dear Mules and Countrywomen, It is my pleasure to report to you today, from my forested vantage point, that the Farmlet is well. It has been eight years since my family had a Farmlet to report upon, and this one is among the best. It is 25 minutes south of Casa de Bartholomule-Teaspoon, where you may remember the family lived for a time, and situated on the same verdant island. It is 120 minutes south of Bent Barrow Farm, where the ancient rhododendron still blooms and where FenBar's old barn of many colors still stands and shelters farm machinery. This place has rhododendrons, too, encircling a lawn which slopes down to my barn and paddock. We call the barn Hoofhouse, and it is going to be painted black in the spring to match the house and my companion, Puck. My paddock, by design, does not overlap the lawn but instead winds through a mix...

Continued . . .

Catastrophy

This is the emergency broadcast system. This is not a test. I was going to entertain you with more haiku today, but something terrible has happened. I need your support. Today was supposed to be a regular spa day—a nice little hoofie trim, a fresh mane roach, an ear massage, and a handful of sunflower seeds (for shine). Instead of merely taking care of my beauty routine, however, FarmWife spent a full hour in contemplation of and attention to my overall physique. The upshot? A revision of my condition from Plump to Obese. (Her actual words, upon removing my blanket for the first time in a few days, were "Oh my God! You've ballooned!") She has decided that my fatness has become a health risk, and has resolved to exercise me as often as possible. It gets dark at 4:30. Her husband gets home at 5:30. She has small children and no sitter. This, my friends, means that I will end up being longed. Longed at the end of a stupid, smelly old rope. Forced to walk and trot...

Continued . . .

BRAYS OF OUR LIVES

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