3 Oct Wind blew hard, the whole night through. Finally calmed down before first light. Woke up stiff and feeling pretty beaten down from yesterday’s effort, as expected. Got a fire going then sat by the stove to read my book about planets (the other eight), sip Postem, and pet Lucy. All at the same time. Mostly took the day off—not only because I needed/deserved one (just counted—only two real days-off in the last seventeen) but so’s to be rested and whole tomorrow for packing out trailcrew. ◦◦◦◦◦ Went to check on the stock as soon as I got up. Nobody to be seen nowhere nohow. After breakfast, took a walk with Shitbird to the top of the quarry [my name for a nearby vantage point at the edge of the meadow] and spotted the equine fugitives on the farthest hillside meadow southeast of here, a mile away as the eagle flies. (Also, the place where last-best green grass grows.) ◦◦◦◦◦ Later, took another stroll—this time with Lucy—down to the mouth of the gorge to admire those lovely polished rocks, newly exposed in gravel bars left high and dry by the river’s scouring out a new, deeper path through there in last spring’s big runoff. Elegant water-worn hunks of stripy metamorphic rock. This followed by reading, writing (no arithmetic) and a long mid-day zonk up in the loft flanked by two soft, furry critters…sheer comfiness. ◦◦◦◦◦ Day’s last task: lure equines into the pasture to hasten tomorrow’s departure. They were allllll the way back on that far hillside. (No surprise…that’s where I’d be grazing.) Kept a lookout for them as the day wore down and waited til last sun, then headed off with nosebag slung over my shoulder and one halter. Crossed on the log at Vidal’s camp and got just below the rise they were on, still out of sight, and did my here’s-the-grain-come-and-get-it whistle. Heard, instantly, a flurry of hooves in grass—a pleasant sound—and felt a big smile spread across my face. Ha! Gotcha! Too easy! Timing is everything: they were well-fed, satiated and satisfied, maybe even a little bored, and the sun was leaving. I just turned around and walked home. They all fell in and followed me in a line, all the way to the cabin. And the four most recalcitrant, knavish, hardest-to-catch, most-addicted-to-grain of the lot all walked straight into the corral. Locked ‘em up without ever having looked at or spoken to or touched any of them. It was a textbook catch, (partially) making up for some of my worst-ever debacles earlier this season. Timing is absolutely critical and there are some fairly subtle psychological elements involved, all learned through experience. Horses—and especially mules—teach valuable life-lessons if you’re willing to pay close attention to patterns and learn from the fiascos. Regardless, the penalty for doing things the wrong way is swift and sure. Boy oh boy, can I attest to that! Working with the equine kind is definitely one of those Zen kinda things. Which, I suppose, is why I both love and (sometimes) loathe them. Because they’ll make you look in the mirror and see some idiot staring back.
Copied on the first page of this volume of the Piute Log:
I find you, Lord, in all things and in all
my fellow creatures, pulsing with your life;
as a tiny seed you sleep in what is small
and in the vast you vastly yield yourself.
The wondrous game that power plays with things
is to move in such submission through the world:
groping in roots and growing thick in trunks
and in treetops like a rising from the dead.
—Rilke
“And horseback, unlike any other area of his life, he never lost his temper, which, in horsemen, is the final mark of the amateur.”
—Tom McGuane, Nobody’s Angel
©2020 Tim Forsell 6 Dec 2020
Glad to see your latest posts, been checking for awhlle and missing your writing.
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