Me and Boone

 

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A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm)

Four years ago I guess I could have died...or worse

This photo was taken 4 years ago. Boone and I had headed out on a beautiful day to ride on one of the wooded trails-I was so excited to find a real trail, it was about 1.5 miles down to Pemaquid Pond. On our way back, we cantered. I remember thinking 'time to walk, there is ledge coming up on a small incline'. But something went wrong. We'll never know what. I maintain he slid on ledge, his head and neck came back and cut my nose. When I came too, I staggered around, I remember that, I only had 1/2 my glasses. I can still feel the panic I had because I could not tell which way to go in the forest. Boone was gone. Later, Martyn shared the messages I left on his cell, and they were so sad and hard to hear, I was truly lost and scared and kept asking Martyn to help me, that I didn't know where I was. I don't remember making the calls, but I do remember I somehow walked the right way, and I saw a house. I remember being in the ambulance, and asking over and over about Boone. In this small village, word travels fast. Boone had made his way down the busy county highway, heading home-a miracle he didn't get hurt-two women held onto him. He walked a mile I'd say. Then people were calling the town hall, and the town hall called a local horse person who knew it was my horse. Another horse property I knew was suddenly there at the ambulance, I remember that, he took Boone for me. 

I'm very, very lucky. The surgeon said I had a bleed all around my brain and kept me a night, thinking I might need surgery. I was like, "No, I need to go home." It was, shall we say, sobering. I had a helmet on and that most likely saved me. Boone had a few scratches but nothing major and I had not one bruise on me, and I bruise very easily. That is why we think his neck came up as he tried to right himself and smashed in my nose and head, but the helmet lessened the impact. I could have been dragged but fortunately my feet came out of stirrups, I could have been crushed by him getting up...so many 'could haves'. 

It took many months, a year even, to get back to 99%. I often would try to say a sentence and could not get words out. To this day, I like to sleep with a pillow over my forehead for some reason.

Boone and I go the mountain top

Recently I wrote about the idea that after my riding accident 3 years ago, it was not so much about overcoming fear-I wasn't afraid of riding-it was the idea that one must have a string of positive experiences to get back the confidence. And I've been doing that of late with Boone. Not only are we riding more, and longer rides, we went on our first day trip in Maine up the coast a ways.

I found a place in the Camden Hills in Lincolnville that lets you come ride, and I was also able to have her ride with me, which was so great. We went to the Camden State Park and the bridal paths are wonderful...there were walkers of all ages bt it wasn't crowed, and they don't allow motorized anything. I commented that I wanted to go to Acadia with Boone but it is very hard to get off the farm for that amount of time, and my riding companion said, "This is Acadia, and it isn't as busy." 

How blesssed we are to be an hour away from Lincolnville. We can look tot he ride much of the way and see the white caps on the ocean. We want to use it as our go-to destination where Martyn can fish and I will ride. Martyn finally got to fly fish again and this has been my goal since we arrived-short day trips with Martyn, Boone and me so he can fish. I'd like to fish again too.

The weather was perfect. Boone was solid and stoic despite the guide horse being a mare with an attitude at the beginning of the journey. Boone didn't care. Every time I ride Boone like this, I fall in love even more with him.

We made it up to the peak to see the view. What was interesting is on that incline, I saw some ledge ahead, and said out loud,"Um, Oh, ledge..." in an Eeorye tone. It definatly set something off in me, since that is what we think happened in my fall-Boone slipping on ledge as we went from canter to walk.

Lots of cute little girls were swooning over the horses on the trail, wanting to pet Boone and calling him so beautiful. That always amuses me, I think of Boone a bit like me-sturdy, no wall flower but the one in the back of the dance away from all the popular pretty girls. I love the way Boone looks, my favorite kind of horse–chestnut quarter horse. I remember so well how I would swwon too as a little girl when I'd see a horse...and there I was on my own steed.

We rode about 10 miles and I know I was revitalized but also tired but in a good way. Boone was ready for hay and a nap too.

{Me and Boone} It-s not overcoming fear, it's about repeating positive experiences

It's been three years since Boone and I had our riding accident which landed me in the hospital for two days with a serious concussion. Many of you know the story-we were riding on a beautiful July day on a trail someone had given me permission to ride on in the woods and we were having a glorious ride, finished off with a canter back...but then something went wrong. I suspect it was the ledge that he slipped on, since the last thing I remember is thinking we need to walk now because I see the ledge coming up.

But we rode on a month later, but that summer I never went back into the woods alone. I tried a couple times but the horse flies were horrible. I got lazy in my mind too, making excuses for myself about riding-letting other tasks take precident over my riding time with Boone. I missed it, but when I'd think about riding, I would get a sensation, and felt maybe I should listen to it. I knew it could be fear, but when I rode I wasn't afraid, ever. it was just the 'before' of thinking about riding.

I was never afraid to ride or be on Boone-it was the idea of what could happen again, and I didn't want to put Martyn through it, or me, or Boone.

The thing is, in order to get confidant at anything-riding, riding a bike, working with livestock, cooking, playing guitar, teaching, hooking up a trailer–you have to do it, over and over. And over. When you stop, you have to regroup and remember that in order to have become confidant, it took repetitive positive experiences.

Repetitive positive experiences.

So, I made a promise this year, after fly season, to begin a new with Boone. Since I'm hauling the llama all over the place, working with a large trailer is back on my 'confident' status. Trailering too requires lots of repetitive positive experiences to feel safe doing it. I've ridden a few times and bought boots for Boone too, since he is so flat footed but shoes right now are problematic because we don't have a bottom wire in our field and he has gotten his shoe caught in the fence-dangerous and scary for all. Boone and I have a date to go up to Camden Hills to ride with a woman who lives next to the state park, I can't wait. And I'm seeking places -short trips-to go with him.

Riding the last two times, felt great. Boone is his usual stoic self. The main road here is busy and a pain, but Boone is fearless and we only go on it in the culvert for a short stretch to get to our other roads. I still hate being on it. But we are very careful.

Getting back in sync with Boone is not about overcoming fear. I do not fear falling, I don't think about falling. Accidents happen, but it is more about rebuilding inner trust that I'm capable of repetitive positive experiences, simply because I'm working at it agian, over and over.

The accident changed me...what will Boone and I be now?

This week I worked with Boone a couple times on the ground. The second time I saddled him up and did fifteen minutes of ground work and was really planning to take a little ride. But I held back. The video below was us just sitting in the driveway, in the wind. I love being on him in the wind.

I came to a hard truth...I am still affected by the trauma of my accident with him. I am not afraid to ride. I did get on and we rode in circles in the driveway. But I just kept hearing a voice telling me not to go out on the rode to get to our side trail. We walked back tot he barn and I told Boone I would figure this out. But it saddened me, and it made me really miss my old friend Joanne who I rode with out west. It was she who helped me get my confidence back with Boone. I miss her, and I miss that feeling of being able to feel like I could ride all over with Boone, alone if I wanted. The day of my accident, when Boone and I entered the wooded trail, a butterfly flew right by me, and I said out loud, "Joanne?" Isn't that odd, i thought, that I just said that without thinking. Thirty minutes later I was blacked out after the fall.

If someone came and trailed with me, I would be fine. But I do not want to go through that again, nor do I want Boone, or Martyn, to go through it. I guess the risk of it out weighs the pleasure of it, and that makes me sad. It is like a nagging weight on my shoulders. I tried to find some people to ride with last year but most don't have trailers, or trails. I might keep looking. I had an indoor stable I rode at once, but she wants $25 a ride and I can't afford that. Plus I really want to trail. Both Boone and I get bored in the arena.

I'm also going to look into making an obstacle course or something for me and Boone. I have to find a way to be with him more.

At the same time...I began to think there is nothing wrong with just...being with him. As long as I remain a good leader, maybe that is what we will be now. I don't know.

But I do know that that accident changed me both physically and emotionally.

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A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on May 21, 2019 at 2:21pm PDT

Memory of the concussion

{From the studio this rainy morning, "The Day I Fell of My Horse and Blacked Out"]

It's coming up on two years when I took a bad fall off Boone, alone in the woods on a ride, hitting my head, blacking out and proceeded to walk around for 30 minutes not knowing where I was [yes, I had a helmet on, always wear one]. It turns out I had called Martyn 10 times that 30 minutes. He saved the messages and I only knew I had called him after I got out of hospital. The messages are heartbreaking. I was scared, and unable to tell him where I was at first. I was in the forest, and could not tell which way I should go. My horse was gone, my glasses were broken and my nose bridge was cut. The messages were so hard to listen to, it made me want to hold me like mother and child. I can only imagine how poor Martyn felt, hopeless I'm sure. At some point, I wandered out of the woods, and was able to call 911. Boone had gone down the busy road and a neighbor took him in- it's a miracle he wasn't hurt, or so many things could have gone wrong. My theory is we slid on ledge rock, as we were cantering and the last thing I remember [it had been a wonderful ride]is 'it's time to go into a walk, there is some ledge coming up" My head must have crashed down on his neck rising. Oddly, I had not one scratch on me, not any stains or anything on my pants or bare arms, only a cut nose bridge where my glasses hit the horse. Boone had a few scrapes. I wish I knew what he did after-did he look at me and think, "Well, she clearly isn't going to lead me out of here so I'm leaving'...or did he stick around and sniff me, or just fly off?

To this day the only thing I remember is that last thought of we need to go into a walk from canter, and I do now remember being disoriented, scared, and not knowing which way to walk on the path-each direction looked the same.

I had a severe concussion and spent two days in the hospital. They made me stay to see if I needed surgery. Surgery? I told them that was ridiculous. I was still pretty out of it and Martyn says the surgeon said it was a pretty severe blow so I'm lucky. He said without the helmet, who knows. I got back on Boone a month later, but I will be honest and say the event changed me. I am not afraid to ride, but riding alone in the woods gives me pause now, which is sad. But I never want to put Martyn through that, or my horse, or me again. The thing is here in Maine the woods are so miserable starting about late June if not sooner due to the bugs. It's unpleasant for horse and rider.

Today was going to be my first spring workout with Boone, but it's raining. So I made this painting.

One year ago, I guess I could have died...or worse

Sometimes what could have happened is worse than what did happen. Either way, accidents and their aftermath play with your head.

One year ago, it was a beautiful June day, and after working in the morning, I saddled Boone up for a quick trail ride. I was excited to go back to a trail we had been given permission to ride on, one I had only discovered a week before. It was a well groomed woodland trail leading about a mile or so down to one of the many water bodies here in Bremen.

I remember as I rode off from the drive, feeling like it had been a productive morning, and the ride would be great, and I had ideas in my head to get back to once in the studio.

We rode down the trail. I remember seeing a yellow butterfly dart out in front of me, and I said out loud,

"Joanne, is that you?"

Joanne was my riding buddy, friend and mentor from Oregon, who died shortly before, at the age of 85. Looking back, I think it's interesting I called out to her. I wonder now if she was there with me and maybe she helped me in ways I can't fathom.

We rode all the way down to the water, for the first time, and then headed back. At some point, I asked Boone to canter. I am not a risk taker in riding, I love to canter, but since I had walked and trotted most of the new trail all the way down to the water, I felt safe knowing the path enough to do a slow canter. At some point, nearing the edge of where we had entered the wood, I knew there was a slight incline, very, very slight, but with some slippery ledge rock, so I thought to myself,

Time to walk.

And that was it.

The next thing I remember was being in a daze, trying to figure out where I was. I had no idea. I had my helmet, and phone, my face was bloody and 1/2 of my glasses were gone. Boone was gone too. I don't remember it, but it turns out I had called Martyn six times in a row, and when I was at the hospital, he let me listen to the messages. I wanted to hear them for any clues of what really happened. They were heartbreaking to listen to. I was so scared, each message I was telling Martyn I was lost, that I could not tell which way to go. Somehow, I went the right way. I kept telling him I was scared. I was crying. I asked him to come find me. The poor guy was trying to piece the messages together while at work, and figure out what to do.

The messages lasted 20 minutes.

At some point, I found my way out of the forest, and I hung up on Martyn. I sort of remember knocking on the door but no one was there. I do remember calling 911 at that point, and I remember I couldn't tell them where I was, but I said I lived in Bremen, and I was close to my house. They pinned me and within minutes were there.

I still don't know really what happened. Boone was a cow pony in his early years, and was trained to stop on a dime if you gave even a minuscule infliction with your hips forward. I think as I came down into my saddle transitioning out of the canter, I threw him into a halt, and I lost my balance. People have their theories- a bug stung him, an animal flew out... I had no bruises, and I bruise so easily, my pants weren't scuffed, my hands weren't cut. Boone had a few scuffs on his legs, but that was it. The fact my glasses broke at the nose bridge says my face smashed into his neck, or his neck flew up as he tried to right himself.

I wish I knew. I wish Boone could tell me- he left the scene, at which point I don't know, and made his way towards the farm, only about 1 mile down the road. The fact he didn't get hit on the busy road, or get caught in the reins...it all could have been so much worse.

I had major bleeding all around my brain and was in hospital for two days, but I didn't need surgery. When they refused to let me go home, and said I couldn't eat or drink since I might need surgery, that's when I started to worry.  Recovery was slow, but I was lucky. To this day,  if I am stressed, I can forget words, or get 'stuck' while talking, almost stuttering.

It has effected me. It's easy to say get back in the saddle. And I did, about 6 weeks later. I don't know if I will ever canter again on a trail, which saddens me, but maybe I will. We have had a hard time finding riding buddies, and I miss Joanne. Martyn and I have talked about making a small corral for me so I can keep riding, safely, and still do trails but keep Boone and me in shape together. We worked through so many things in our beginning relationship, I don't want to lose that.

It changed me, it changed my perspective on lots of things. It was traumatic, it was like being so out of control. I think the part I remember the best, is standing in the forest after I came too, and I could not tell which way was the right way to turn. One way led a mile or more down into the wood, the other was probably about 50 feet from the exit of the woods. It all looked scary and deep. The fall also has changed my relationship with The Wood. I see The Wood as an entity, which I always did, but I see it more as a force that has its own motives when I'm in it, not a partner. This is something I think I will work through.

But mainly, I am grateful I didn't die, or Boone didn't, that nothing was broken, that except for some minor things I am the same physically. I still have pain in my inner thigh from it.

Life can change in a second. After the accident, it seemed every where I looked there was evidence of that. I have friends that have taken bad falls, one friend lost her beloved husband of 52 to a seizure and then a fall down stairs. I think about falling and the dangers of it more, and of Martyn or anyone falling and the consequences.

The pundits will say you have to go forward and not get stuck. Not fear. Good for them. How many have had brain injury before, or fell off their horse and had The Wood take over? These are my shoes. I think in many ways I'm still recovering. I was going to ride on this anniversary, but decided not to. I don't know if that is fear. I just didn't want to. I will ride this week.

I told someone I know Boone knows the story. But they wisely said,

"Maybe not, maybe he doesn't want to remember it either, his leader fell, that was scary for him too."

I always wondered what Boone would do if I fell on a trail and was hurt. I like to think he didn't bolt, he is not a bolter. But that he sniffed me, and thought,

"Well she isn't going to be leading me today, think I'll go check out that grass." I'm proud that he calmly wandered towards home, and the women found him and cared for him in their yard before another friend came and got him. He was calm, and stoic.

SO, Boone and i are now in our 11th year together, he is 20, I am 60. We are still together and will be, we will just work through this, we've had some casual rides this month and all was well. I am not scared when I ride, I'm just not the same...yet. Time will strengthen my memory, and it will be okay.

Poem for Boone

Boone and I had a great workout this week. We rode over to a nearby corral and worked out together. It felt so good. And he was really in sync with me, which made me feel like we are getting back to each other. I wrote this poem some time ago and came upon it today.

Wind blowing through his mane

up onto my hands which hold two reins loosely.

We ride, or I ride and he carries, down a gravel road

chunks of itself missing

after log trucks rush by with their fallen victims.

All around us, before us and in front of us,

lay fallen leaves, dead on arrival.

He stops to ask me with his ears and a twinge of his neck,

"May I have one?"

"No," I say with tight leg, "we still have a ways to go."

And we move on,

the flies sitting in the corners of his eyes

which he blinks away, only to have them return seconds later.

With each gust of wind I watch his mane's journey,

left, then right, left, right again.

I lose my sense of place as I watch,

waiting for the course strands to settle again.

We near our destination,

a small valley with abandoned house,

nothing left but an old satellite dish,

and a gate falling down, bent in age.

The hay has been cut, bundled and hauled off to old barns

leaving us this empire of grass, and a backdrop of ancient trees.

We hear the true collaboration of trees and wind

with branches and space humming, hissing, and groaning .

It's not a greeting, or a playful song -

It's a resonance.

Ignoring skin, it sinks down into the flesh and then the bone,

while the heart skips beats trying to keep up.

Haunting, it reminds of a past time

that we can not get to.

Facing fear again and practicing conversations with periods and commas-don't flatten me out

Boone and I went for our first ride this season. It was a short mile ride but I wanted to test him, and me, out. I can't say I was scared [if you are new here, Boone and I had a bad accident last June landing me in the hospital a couple days with a concussion], but I wasn't necessarily in the zone either. I wasn't rigid, but we were rusty.

I focused on one thing, my hands, aiming to keep my cues as soft as possible. Boone is a desensitized horse from all his early cow pony days, which has its benefits. I'd rather have that than a high flight risk or spooker. It felt good to be on him and I think he enjoyed getting out too after being cooped up in a paddock all winter.

But what I noticed is...I felt sad afterwards, not because of the ride, or even the past accident. I pondered it all day and decided that I really miss my friend Joanne who died last year. I met her about six years ago, when I started riding at her barn and property of 300 acres back in Oregon. It was one of the saddest goodbyes for me, when we left. When I met her, I had had Boone for a couple years and we were working through some issues-i.e. he was playing with me and was winning. I was not a good leader and lacked confidence. Someone suggested I go ride at Jo's and it was a life changer for me and Boone. We'd ride all winter out in Oregon, and Jo even encouraged me to take dressage lessons with her, which I did, amazingly. That was very worthwhile. Boone and I went on to ride in a parade, get some blue ribbons at school shows, go to the ocean, and do some tough rides in the woods too. We overcame his fear of 'squishy' ground [he's sunk in quicksand once as a cow pony and was freaked out by the sound of squishy ground below his feet] and I overcame my reaction to his fear. I became a good leader. I was really proud of him, and me, and I have Jo to thank for a lot of that.

I realized too that not only did I miss Jo and our rides, I missed our conversations, and I missed the type of conversations we had. We had an easy flow conversation. There was no interrupting, we could engage in all sorts of issues and I never felt judged, or belittled, I never felt I wasn't being heard. When she talked I listened, and vice versa. I felt she respected my experiences in life, and I respected hers.

I never felt like she was talking at me, or over me. I never left the conversation feeling like I'd been run over. Do you know people like that-when you get done with a conversation no matter what the topic, you tend to feel 'flattened out?" Kind of like your big bossy sister came in and basically told you what do, or told you what you might consider doing even though you had not asked her opinion.

I took a business seminar once on communication. One thing that came up was when we listen to someone else talk, and then we answer with, "But don't you think blah blah blah," what we are really saying is, "Yea, you just spent time telling me your thoughts and even though it looked like I was listening I really have to tell you a better way to think about this." I was quilty of this, it was a good lesson. I don't think we are perfect at communicating, it is a life long pursuit, to become a better communicator and listener.

I guess there are people in life that just do not mesh with our personal conversational styles either. But I don't like to be 'talked at', or patronized. We have an ongoing lesson in our house, we try to remember to use 'periods and commas' when we speak [we often fail]. Anytime Martyn and I are going to be at a gathering, when we get out of the car, we remind ourselves to use periods and commas. We had a house guest some time ago that had an answer for everything, even things they had far less skill in than we did. At one point after a couple days of exhaustion trying to listen all the time, I leaned over and said something to Martyn, and the guest said, "Okay, don't listen, go ahead and interrupt me." I pointed out that it wasn't that we weren't listening, but he never stopped talking so there was no chance to interrupt.

I guess I realized after my ride that I'd been having some 'conversations' like that with people. No periods or commas, no acknowledgment of my past experience that might bring some clarity or interest to the topic at hand. I was consistently leaving those conversations with he same people feeling...slapped.

And it made me miss Jo.

But it's okay. Boone and I will ride on. I have a person I'm going to call to see if he and his wife might ride with me sometime, just to get me and my head back in confidence mode with Boone. He lives a ride away, and he said he'd ride the same trail Boone and i had our accident on. I want to do that.

A horse is born and a mother dies...ride on

April 4th will always be a day of symbolism and reflection for me. It is Boone's birthday, and is also the day that my mother died, five years ago. I can remember where I was standing in the barn out West when I looked at Boone that morning, almost forgetting it was his birthday. I had planned to go on a nice long ride with him, when I found out my mother had died. I remember thinking it was sad that now every birthday of Boone, I would remember my mother's death.

But within minutes I realized it was a gift to have these two events coincide on one day. Like bookends, the day symbolizes the journey we all must take. We are born, and if we are born, we will surely die. All that living that goes in between, the meat of the sandwich, is what we are left to ponder after someone is gone.

I did go for a ride that day, five years ago. I went over to my friend's barn and rode there. She came in and asked me how my mother was doing, and I had to say, for the first time out loud,

"She died."

I said it calmly, without crying. My friend Jo was the first one to know my mom died. Being 84 herself, she had buried a lot of people in her life but was my riding buddy and friend. We talked, and I told her I wasn't going to ride, but being on my horse was better than sitting home crying, and my mother would have liked knowing I was doing something fun.

So my horse helped me that day, as did my friend. And now on this day, I also remember Jo who died a year after we left Oregon. I really miss her and our rides.

So that is what Boone's birthday is for me. A day to recognize what he brings me-joy on a ride, the benefits and healing of being with him, and on him, and the fact that it is important to grab life on a day of death....even if you have to take baby steps after a loss...you grab on to anything that is alive and you feel it, smell it, listen to it and appreciate it, even if you shed tears in between.

Boone is twenty today, I've had him ten years. He was a cow pony in his youth, then went to live on a gentleman farm at age four. He didn't work out for the woman's grandchild-he was a bit lazy and would not go forward for them. After 30 days of training to tune him up, I went down and rode him for a day and bought him. We had some issues to work out together. He was fearful of squishy terrain ever since he had sunk up to his saddlebags in quicksand-I found that out after he reared on me in wet, soppy ground. And he had my number. I got help, because I had never dealt with that, and the is how I met my friend Jo. If you had told me two years later I'd have some blue ribbons with Boone from dressage schooling shows, I'd have laughed. In fact, if you had told me that my former cow pony and me were even going to take dressage I would have rolled on the ground laughing. And if you told me I was going to ride a horse in a county parade, wow. But it was really good for me and Boone. When I started my trail rides with Jo, on her beautiful 300 acre property [oh how I miss our rides!], Boone would let out this little squeal, like one of the Three Stooges used to, if he felt wet ground. After lots of rides, and lots of mud work, he stopped the squeals. I even kind of missed the squeals, but he still does them during feedings.

The confidence we both gained together as rider and horse was so gratifying. And then we had our accident last year, where I fell off during a canter in the woods. We still don't know exactly how it happened, but I think he slipped on ledge rock as we were coming out of the canter and I lost my balance. I blacked out for 20 minutes and had no idea where I was, ending up in the hospital for two days with blood on the brain. If I had not had my helmet on...who knows, said the surgeon. Fortunately, no surgery was needed, but it was sobering. Boone was not hurt except for some scratches, and after about two months I rode again, but I still had the event on my brain- a bad fall can really play with your head, no pun intended. This spring, I am determined to get back to regular rides, even though I have not met someone like Jo. I hope I do, nobody will replace her, but I feel like Jo checks in one me when I ride.

I love you Boone, we are alike in many ways. Thank you for working things through with me, and now we will work through some things again.

My friend Jo in the lead, on one of our many rides

Always tolerant, Boone helps collect trash on Earth Day

Play run at Jo's barn

Dressed up for a parade

Riding at the Pacific Ocean. And now he's seen the Atlantic.

When you fall down, you have to get back up

It's been a tough riding season for me and Boone. We had a couple rides into the summer and then we had our accident on June 27th. Since then I've ridden twice, and one ride was aborted because the flies were so horrendous. So on Friday Boone and I ventured out on a beautiful day, and I'm happy to say, no flies.

I have had to admit that the fall and concussion took the wind out of my sails, and played with my head. Boone is a stoic guy, and after we got over our first year together-where he was testing me-and we got some help and good riding buddies-we soared.

So when I got on him the other day I can't say I was scared, but I had thoughts creeping in my head. The day we set out to ride on the accident day, it was beautiful too, and I had a lot of plans for the upcoming day so was thinking of that. I remember lying in the hospital thinking, it was such a nice ride, such a beautiful day...it all happened so fast.

We rode on a trail I've been given permission to ride on and it was all just fine. I decided to go back to basics, doing a lot of deep breathing to get my seat down in the saddle, practicing our stops and starts, figure eights, playing with going over logs...there really was not one glimmer of anything bad about to happen...just like on June 27th.

That's how it plays with your head.

There was a time when I thought that maybe I should just do ground work again, and no more riding. But...I love my rides. Was a ride worth hitting my head again? So I am not sure if I will canter again, alone, not on the open trail. We were cantering when I blacked out, it was the last thing I remember...cantering along and all was well and I remember thinking it was time to slow to a walk as I saw ledge rock on the upcoming path, which is slippery. Each time we came to a ledge rock on our ride last Friday, I took notice, and I'm pretty sure that is what happened, his shoe slipped on it and he went slightly forward and so did I, smack into his neck which explains my busted glasses and bruised nose bridge. The fact I had a very sore inner left thigh, but also had not one scratch on me or no signs I fell on the ground, says to me I slid off, or went off to the left as he was righting himself back up. God, we were lucky in so many ways.

I told Boone on this ride it was good to be on him again, that I had missed him.

I think we will regain our fearless days-but perhaps our rides will be at a walk from now on, I don't know.

And it was a beautiful day.

In which Paco smells a spaceship

I was able to bring Boone home on Saturday, four days after he and I took a ride that ended in mystery, and it is still a mystery-at least to me, Boone is the only one who knows what happened. It was so good to have him back. He has superficial wounds adding to the intrigue of what happened on that day, and I have some theories I am still pondering. I am recuperating–but I was naive about the after effects, both physical and emotional, of a traumatic event like this. I will write about at some point, but right now, I will share the conversation the donkeys had on his return to the farm. I took these photos of that moment. It's a beautiful thing that donkeys do, they always check each other out when one leaves or returns to the herd. As usual they were full of questions.

"Was it a cougar that jumped on your back, Boone?" asked Pino.

"I heard there were elephants up that way," said little Lucia.

"It wasn't a spaceship, was it? There are marks on your body,"
said the resident casual conspiracy theorist, Paco.

"I think I do smell a spaceship on him," said Paco.

But Boone did not answer.

In which I take a bad fall off Boone...and only Boone knows the answer

On Tuesday, I took Boone out for a ride about eleven in the morning. Little did I know that some of the nearby property owners and two workmen who saw me head out on my ride might come into play in my day.

We rode about 1/4 mile up the main road and up a private drive to a groomed path–a path that a horse friend had told me was okay to ride on and the owners didn't mind. When I got to their house, I saw a car, and I called out hoping to meet them, but nobody came to the door. I had ridden the path last week and it was really nice, cleared and safe and led all the way down to the water, maybe a half mile or a 20 minute ride down.

I remember all of the ride, making it to the water, and turning around to come back. I remember trotting a lot, and at some point I asked for a canter. I remember thinking,

We need to walk now because the path is shifting levels...

I don't know if that is when I fell. Maybe Boone stopped sharp, he can do that sometimes since he was a cow pony once. The next thing I remember is being in the first medic truck. I had come out of the wooded trail, and knocked on the house door. Before that I guess I had called Martyn six times [I later listened to the messages in the hospital] and at some point I called 911 and they pinged my location. The man at the house also called Martyn. I was very disoriented.

Boone was gone.

Once in the medic truck, I started getting oriented. But I was clearly out of it. They took me to the nearby hospital ER where they did head and body scans. Martyn arrived. And I could hear one of our local friends in the other room. I heard the doctor say,

"You have blood all over your brain and we're sending you to Portland to see if you need surgery."

Surgery? Blood? Brain?

Off we went. It was all weird and I remember thinking life had changed. I didn't know how much at that point.

The next hospital was well equipped for head trauma. I optimistically thought I'd get out and go home. Not. They admitted me for urgent care and I spent the night. Every two hours they came in and gave me medication and stuff. The man next door was in real pain. I prayed for him. Besides a stiff neck and full head, I felt okay, just stiff.

Early in the morning around six, they did another C-scan and the doctor came in to review it with me. The bleeding was stable. I asked on a scale of 1-10, 10 being the worst, what scale was it, and he said,

"Hmmmmm, a 3."
 

All day long doctors and PT's and neurological people came in and checked me. They all gave me the green light to go home, with many precautions. But the final okay was up to the head trauma doctor. She finally showed up and told me I had a very bad fall.

I told her I was not taking it lightly. I told her I'd been riding since age five and falling is part of being a rider, but had never had such a severe fall or gone into black out.

She then said,

"The next one will kill you."

I was really shocked. I know I was clear headed, despite all the meds. I told her I would continue to ride. She sort of rolled her eyes. We talked about something else and I just found her...annoying and in the know. My main nurse came in and I told her how upsetting that last doctor's statement was, and the nurse understood.

NOTE: I found the staff at the hospital to be wonderful. My night nurse, the medics, supporting staff, they were all wonderful. My care was very good.

So I got to go home. I am to go back in 4 weeks for a head scan, unless I notice certain tings in which I should go to the ER. At home, I slept. I did everything they told me to do. I am continuing to do that. Like I said, it was serious fall and I don't take it lightly.

So many things cross your mind in a situation like this. I thought of many things, scary things. I thought of Martyn if I died. I thought if they had to do surgery would they shave my head and if they did I thought I will just get more GirlBands to wear. I thought of Boone and what that doctor said, her fear mongering statement that the next fall will kill me. I thought of how I could not wait to get Boone home. I thought of all the people I knew that had serious health issues and had to be in hospital. I thought how lucky I was, how it could have been worse.

I started to put the pieces of the day together, the day of the fall. When Boone left me, he went to a nearby hay field. I always wondered if I had a bad fall would Boone stand loyally by my side. I imainged he looked down at me and I was out cold, and he thought,

Well, she is not leading me right now, I will just go eat grass.

The town clerk saw a riderless horse, and called animal control, but also called a woman who happened to be my friend and another horse owner. She in turn called another man that knows me and my horse and was actually the man who told me to ride that trail. They both rushed down there, and got Boone and the man now has him in with his horses. I am so grateful Boone wasn't hurt. But when I got out of the hospital, I called the town clerk to thank her, and told her grateful I was for my friends and for her for helping. She told me that they weren't the only ones who called. As I left my house to ride, the neighbor across the road saw me leave, but not come back and he at some point alerted the town clerk, or he got in touch with someone. And the two workmen I mentioned, they saw me leave, but then saw the riderless horse and called 911. The town clerk said,

"You moved to the right town."

Boone is not a spooker. My one riding friend who has Boone wondered if he stopped suddenly [which he can do as he was once a cow pony] and I fell forward hitting my head on him hard. My glasses were broken at the nose bridge and I was cut and bruised on my nose. Oddly, I had no cuts or scrapes anywhere else, even on my hands. My left side is more sore, but I had no real scrapes and my pants weren't dirty. My helmet had smudge but no dents. The fall remains a mystery I haven't solved.

Only Boone knows.

Do not deduct from my life, she said

I finally got to have a long ride with Boone yesterday. We have not ridden together since October and in Oregon I rode all winter usually 2x a week since I had easy access to a barn and trails, and no icy winters. So it was a long time coming. I wondered if even at 19 if my noble steed might be frisky but he was just fine, and I can tell enjoyed himself. Before anything else, Boone is a trail horse.

The wind was consistently blowing which was perfect for an 80 degree day and heat-hating rider, and fly-hating horse. Boone is really sensitive to bugs so the wind was a pleasant addition to our ride. And we found some new paths to take thanks to a nearby property with horses that made some suggestions. I felt like we were on an adventure and I thought how far we had come since landing in Maine. I felt sturdy and confidant on the ride yesterday, mainly because I am reforming my identity here with new people and terrain, and that takes time.

I was thinking of my old friend Joanne, who died this year at age 85. She was my riding mentor and buddy and we rode right up until we left for Maine. She was the first person I thought of when I knew we were moving, and how I did not want to leave her, or our rides together. When she died I just was so sad even though she had a long life but a car accident took her in the end, a guy ran into her as she crossed a walkway at the hospital and she went into coma at some point, dying at home.

Joanne and I use to talk about aging, and how she did not like how her body was putting limitations on her, but her mind was clear. But she rode 2-3 times a week. She also talked about how others would try to put limitations on her as she aged. I saw this happen to my parents, especially my father who had many physical issues, and one by one he had to give up things like driving, smoking his pipe, walking the dog...things he loved. I had a recent conversation with a woman in her late eighties who wants to get another dog because her beloved pug died, but some think she should not because they think it would be unfair to the dog since she might not be around long. This woman said something that really stuck me: she said she did not like it when others wanted to take things away from her, to deduct things from her life.

I think this is the biggest challenge we face as we age-being deducted, being told we must conform and shrink with age, rather than to keep evolving into things we can handle physically.

I guess there are situations where an 85+ year old should not ride a horse, or buy another dog-but that is up to that person assuming they are of sound mind.
I thought of Joanne so many times on my ride, and felt she had prodded me to get back in the saddle yesterday even though it is a super busy week. I talked to her a lot. And I thought of how glad I was that she had not been forced or felt pressure to deduct riding from her life.

So to all the merging elders, and current elders, I say we must strive to add things into life, not shrink away. When we shrink back, and deduct, then it will be our time. I know at some point, the body and mind deduct on their own, but to be forced to give up things because someone deems it necessary is an unfair stance to put on an elder. Perhaps limitations mean you can't have a dog, or a horse, but perhaps there are solutions that could bring joy to the elder, an addition in their life.

That's why I want to work with the animals and elders in get togethers-it is an addition to their day, not a deduction.

Walking the horse and my pants still fit

I took Boone out this afternoon for our first light walk of the season–and I do mean walk, as I decided to just walk side by side with him rather than riding him.

First I spent an hour or more grooming his mane and tail which I sadly neglected for many months and there were lots of wind knots. But some cheap conditioner from the store solved that. He is shedding out leaving him with his new nude look until fresh hair grows in, leaving him almost dark brown in areas. He came out of winter a good weight.

It felt so good to be with him again. I opted to work on the ground with him since we're both a bit rusty. I used to ride 2x a week but that didn't happen here and doubt it will with winter. I have no desire to winter board him just so I can ride in an arena during icy months. I had a great thing in Oregon with my friend, Joanne, and her gorgeous land and arena, and companionship. I missed her today, but I thought she was probably smiling down on me from somewhere.

I don't do round pen work any more with Boone, just not needed and he and I are both bored quickly with it. But we have a flat area of sand on the front drive so I worked him there for about 15 minutes just to see his mood. Man, he obeyed everything pretty much and was very attentive to me. When I first got him, he would do 30 minutes with barely looking in to me!

So I decided, let's just go for a walk down to the bay. Woman and horse, side by side, walking on the road. I got some looks. It's a small town, people talk–I mean they really talk here, like an episode of "Murder She Wrote" or "Father Brown". We get a kick out of it-but we wonder what they say about us. Something like,

"That woman, you know the one we saw walking a llama once, and then the donkey, and that tiny goat, she was walking a horse on the county road today. Kind of odd."

The lupine are just starting. They are beautiful and just to be able to stand near the sea with my horse, smell his wet coat of shedding hair, and walk side by side with him was so nice. I stop, he stops, one foot forward, one horse hoove forward...and so it goes.We saw our favorite little shack near the bay and I took a photo of it-it is images like that when I go,

Oh yea, I live in Maine, by the sea.

It was a good beginning for me and Boone.

And my riding pants still fit, this is the icing on the cake for the day.

Cake? Did I just say cake? Hmmm.....

Tribute to Jo Ann, my mentor, my friend

Jo Anne in the lead, Boone and I in the rear. A view I miss.

When I saw the number come up on my phone screen, from my old home of Oregon, I instinctively knew what it meant. I was doing chores in the barn, and reception wasn't good, so I hesitated to answer, and I didn't. I didn't want to hear it. I knew she was dead.

Returning to the house, I returned the call. It was a woman who was one of my riding buddies, telling me that our friend and riding compadré, Jo Anne, had died. She was 85.

When I left Oregon last May, the one person I knew I'd never see again, without doubt, was Joanne. In fact when we knew we were moving to Maine, knowing I'd be leaving her and her barn and all it meant to me was one of the hardest strings to cut for me.

When I bought Boone, I didn't have a trailer. Boone was a well seasoned cow horse, age ten, when I bought him. He was pretty bomb proof, as they say. But like most horses that want a good leader, he tested me. Before Boone, I had a green mare that was way over my head, and I sold her to my farrier before she killed me. Boone was the opposite in personality in every way, non flashy, a bit lazy, sort of a big old dog. But with my history of the first mare, I was a bit shaky on the trail, alone with Boone. A friend suggested I go to Jo Anne's and take some lessons. I decided to invest in a small, cheap trailer to haul Boone the 4 miles to Jo Anne's. It was one of the best decisions of my life, and Boone's.

Jo Anne was already 80 or so when I met her. She'd been a horsewoman her entire life and at one point had about 30 horses boarding in her barn. Her property had hundreds of acres with beautiful wooded trails, and a spot way up high where we could ride and see Mt. Hood. Well, I brought Boone over and began taking some dressage lessons with a teacher. If you had told me I'd be taking dressage with any horse, let alone a retired cow pony, I'd have laughed. But the lessons helped me and Boone so much.

But more importantly, it was my rides with Joanne on the trail that helped me get my confidence back, and helped me and Boone leap into a healthy and strong relationship of trust. One of Boone's issues was squishy, deep mud. It is understandable as years before I had him, he was on the trail and he and his rider got caught in quick sand like mud, and it was up to his saddle bags. The first time I took him out on my own, he would squeal and get anxious if he heard any seeking sound below him, even rearing when I first got him. Of course I got off, and he realized I wasn't much of a leader in squishy circumstances, and why should he endanger his life if I'm not going to lead him out of that.

So Joanne and I would would go to muddy places, not hard to find in Oregon. When I first started riding with her, we'd get a good laugh out of Boone's squeals in mud. In time, they grew less, and soon enough, he never squealed. The first day I went out on my own on the trail was a real big deal for him and me, and Jo Anne was so happy when we made strides like that.

But three months into riding with her, Jo fell. She was a tiny thing and had had so many broken bones and accidents, but was just the biggest come back artist around! She'd tell me these stories of her youth, galloping bareback and falling and hitting her head, "Oh just a little concussion," she'd say. Well, this time, she broke a bone in her leg, so she was sent to the hospital. I was so upset when I found out, because my mom always said when an elder person breaks a bone and goes to he hospital, sometimes they don't come out. Selfishly, I didn't want to lose her yet! Her daughter, who lived in the same house, called to tell me Jo was going to be okay, but that she was worried about me, 'her protege'. I thought that was so nice, I was her little protegé.

Well, eventually, Jo Anne was back in the barn, and in time, she was riding with us all again. We would ride and she would tell me wonderful stories about her kids growing up, and all the over night camping they'd do on the property with the horses, chasing down wandering cows, or losing track of some girl scout from an outing they would be having. In spring, we looked forward to the beautiful woodland flowers, and the dogwood trees that sprinkled her property. Sometimes as I rode I'd look around at where I was, and pinch myself, it was so beautiful and I was so fortunate to be able to ride there. I had a favorite spot up top of her place, where there was this sweet old apple tree, and Boone and I would canter all the way up, and then enjoy the apples together, while looking out at the mountains.I'd tell Jo Anne that people paid lots of money to take trips like that, and I got to ride there. I knew every ride what a gift that was. I know I told her that more than once.

About a year into knowing Jo Anne, my elderly mother, who was basically very healthy and independent at age 87, began to have some health issues. She lived alone, near my brother, played golf, drove, and had the usual issues of age, but nothing that made us think her time was near. In fact we had just come back from her 87th birthday in January and now it was late March. She was having trouble breathing, and went into the hospital just to make sure. I had been telling Jo Anne all about it as we would get our horses ready to ride, and I was planning to drive down to California to be with her. That was a Wednesday. On Thursday, she died. I cried a river, and more, but then I decided I would keep my standing riding date with Joanne-my mom wouldn't want me crying alone, and horse therapy is some of the best. So Joanne was the first person who knew my mom died.

I remember thinking that maybe we were meant to meet each other in the exact time frame the universe gave us-I could help a little in the barn when she was down that first year, and then a year later, she was there for me when my mother died. Having Joanne as a friend at the time was so meaningful-of course in some ways you could say she was a mother figure, but she was more than that, she was a friend. I never felt a judgmental word from her, and she always had encouraging things to say if something was going wrong in my life, or with Boone.

A few days after my mom died, she handed me a piece of paper, with a poem she had found. She had written in down in her petite hand writing. She said it reminded her of me and how I always felt my parents were in the wind and birds, and that was how I conversed with them. I am going to make a copy of it and send it to Jo's daughter.

I remember the last time I saw her. We had had our last ride, and we agreed to not say goodbyes. I probably acted like I was just cheery and excited, but inside, I could have just wept like a baby at leaving. She gave me a Saint Francis medal to put in my truck for a safe journey. I still have it in my truck. I gave her a donkey doll, which was clothed in some of my mother's sweaters and quilt pieces.

When I heard she had died, I was so sad. She had been hit by a car in December as she was leaving the doctor, and then at some point in February she fell at home and went into a coma which sent her back to the hospital. She was brought home and died soon after, in her house, I imagine with little Oliver, her elderly Corgi by her side. Oddly, all that week she must have been in a coma, I had her on my mind. We had written each other, and spoken in the past months, but I had been playing phone tag with her since December. I had no idea she had the accident. So all last week, I kept thinking, I have to call her, today. I think she must have been passing through to say goodbye.

I told Boone the next day that Jo Anne was gone. I thought of Jo's horse, Boone's buddy, Tong. They were funny together. Tong will be cared for, as will little Ollie.

It is always a mixed bag of thoughts when an old friend dies. It brings up thoughts of our own destinies here on this realm, wondering how we will exit the party of earth, and will it be painless, or quick-will our animals and loved ones be okay. I know Jo Anne was a devout Catholic, and though she never preached, nor did she ever scoff or question my spiritual beliefs, I do know she was in her realm after she died. I just know it and believe it, and know there was a horse there. She and I talked about death quite a bit, since neither of us were strangers to it. I know she told me if she couldn't go to the barn, she would want it to be over.

It's just hard to think of her as not being there, walking to the barn with her little corgi, and I can still hear her greeting me, as I bushed my horse, "Hello! Hello Boone, do you need a carrot?"

Ride on Jo Anne! I hope maybe, just maybe, you can come ride with me when I get back on Boone this spring. Without you, he and I never would have made it to where we are today-you gave that back to us tenfold–the confidence and joy in our riding. I will watch for you!

People say things to try to be compassionate when someone dies. Sometimes, it all falls short. An entire life is a lot to try to caption in one sentence to the grieving. Each person has to rewind the movie they have of the dead person in their head, and watch, and rewind, and then go back to choice moments. In time, the choice moments stay, and pop back into your head and heart for the coming years. But in the initial aftermath of a death, the survivor is stuck in a room, no matter how hard they try to leave, and they alone have to witness the movie over and over until they slowly understand the main actor or actress is not returning for a sequel. The best thing anyone ever said to me when my mother died, was, "Your mom is okay."  It was so simple, but to this day when I miss my mom, I think that.

And now, I will think of Joanne that way too- she is okay.

The medel Jo Anne gave me for our trip to Maine. It stays in the truck.

Boone and his buddy, Tong.

Jo Anne with Old Matilda at Pie Day

Your Monday morning therapy

Nice ride today thought you'd enjoy that sound! Sorry for wobbly video (copyright Apifera Farm) #farmlife #redhorses #apiferafarm

A video posted by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Nov 19, 2016 at 12:34pm PST

Oceans, and....

The flash of a distant camera

reconnecting

thoughts and actions,

Fragments of our missing dreams,

Pieces from here and there

fall in place along the line,

Disappearing between you and me.

Life is changing everywhere I go,

New things and old both disappear.

If life is a photograph,

Fading in the mirror....

All I want is a song of love
{Neil Young}

We took time to visit the Pemequid Lighthouse area only about twenty minutes away. It was the first time we had ventured to the more open coastline since arriving, and it felt so important to see her...the ocean.

I have been to the Atlantic many times, and then I was blessed to live an hour from the Pacific while in Oregon. We didn't get there that much due to our farm responsibilities, but we got there enough to feel her. I needed to see her again, her eastern side. Both sides of the ocean are beautiful. I like the rocky coastline here, it somehow fits the stage I am in in my life. The ledge stone is so beautiful, and when you experience in the real you understand why they call it 'ledge' stone, as it makes large steps and tables to step and sit on.

The ocean reminded me of the constant change we all go through, sometimes at rapid speed. She was very calm yesterday, but we witnessed her waves crashing down on and over the ledge. Years later, where the waves hit will have smoothed a nice spot to sit.

The lighthouse was commissioned by John Quincy Adams. The history in every building here is so...mind boggling. While many buildings in the West have rotted [in the northwest that is] here they stand to remind us of lives that came before us. We came across the country, in what would be considered a luxury travel unit, and they came in ships across the sea, losing family and friends, or leaving them behind for good. We are surrounded everywhere by old cemeteries. We stopped at one near the bay. Some of the bodies there were from the late 1700's. Just think, many of them weren't alive when our house here was built. I have yet to sink my head into the history that is all around me. But I will.

When we got home, I felt like a ride. Boone and I are searching for safe rides, since the forest could have nearby hunters. I took him for a quick fifteen minute spin, to see the nearby view of the bay, and ride up and down the gravel road.