Wrestling with the Water Trough

Winter on a vegetable farm brings rest, but it also brings new tasks, especially with our draft horses. Summer means pastures and streams; winter means feeding hay and grain and wrestling with the water trough. 

Some winters are mild enough that we don't have to do much. Not this winter! This winter we brought out all the tools: crowbar, digging fork, shovel. Sometimes we just crack the surface of the ice for the horses to drink. The horses will also break the ice with their muzzles and the occasional hoof if necessary.

But as it gets colder and colder, we have to smash up the ice and clear it out of the trough three times a day with our various tools. Of course, we also have to fill the trough with water more frequently, which means dragging the wild and difficult hose out of the cellar through the house, as the hose catches on everything it can.

In any case, if we want to leave for a few days in the cold weather, we need a different method of keeping the horses in water. It's a more expensive method, but it sure is handy: the electric de-icer.

Over the years, we've had several, as they don't seem to last long. We've always gotten the kind that screws into the drainage plug at the bottom of the trough. We've had horses who like to play in water before; Benny, for example, would flip the hose out of the trough and watch the water run down the driveway.

But we're at another level now, thanks to one of our new horses. One spring day, not long after Willow and Fern came to the farm, we heard vigorous splashing and significant thumping from the paddock. When we went to investigate, there was Willow with both front legs in the trough. We thought she had made a little mistake, kind of misjudged things.

We were wrong. 

Turns out jumping in the trough is a regular pastime for Willow. Maybe she has hot front legs. Maybe she likes to jump. Maybe water tastes better when your feet are in it too. It is a mystery, but one that we thought would certainly stop when the water was frigidly cold, with ice forming at the edges.

We were wrong.

One winter day, we found Willow nearly up to her chest in icy water, happily splashing. We sighed. Soon enough, we wanted to go visit family, so we bought our regular type of de-icer. Willow is shy, and we thought maybe she'd be leery enough of the scary metal coil in the bottom of the trough that she would only cautiously sip the water instead of jump in it.

We were wrong.

The brand new de-icer only lasted for two short weekends away. Well, maybe it will warm up, we thought, and we won't need a de-icer. It's already the end of January. 

We were wrong.

In February's below zero weather, we headed back to the horse store. My fellow had an extensive discussion with the friendly knowledgeable owner, and we came home with a new kind of de-icer: a bright blue floating one.

“Of course, “ said the owner, “Some horses like to pull them right out of the trough for the fun of it.”

Fairly warned, we screwed two sturdy boards on the edge of the trough, and threaded the cord through the gap, to keep the de-icer in place.

So far, so good: the trough always has a spot clear of ice, and Willow hasn't broken the de-icer or pulled it out in our brief times away from the farm. Plus winter will surely end, and we won't need de-icers. Soon too we'll fire up the greenhouse, and we won't be leaving the farm at all. We can watch Willow jump in and out of the water trough all day long.

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, March 4-10, 2026

Workhorses Give a Little Extra Work

Back in November, our work horses gave us a little extra work to do. Two out of three of the rascals found every bit of burdock in the pasture and came into the barn with manes and tails full of burrs. We sighed and put burr removal on the list.

Since it was both the first two weeks of horses-in-their-winter-paddock and the last two weeks of CSA distribution, the horses were close by for our CSA members to see. As we were thanking everyone for their support of small farms, farmers, and farm horses, the members could visit and admire the horses.

On the first of four harvest days in that two weeks, we told our members that we were a little embarrassed to have our horses looking so unkempt. On the second day, we were a little more embarrassed. By the third and fourth, we wondered if we should try to hide our burdocky horses behind the barn.

It wasn't until a week after harvest days ended that we had time to tackle the burdock. We were cleaning the manure out of the paddock, and I haltered the horses and took breaks from shoveling to work on the burrs. My fellow took a break from shoveling too, to walk with the pooch, who was tired of behaving nicely around the horses. 

Then I quit shoveling altogether and worked on the burdock. Fern, who is an easy-going gelding, didn't mind at all. Willow, a high-strung mare, wasn't so sure about it. Once she figured out what I was doing and that I was going to be doing it for a long, long time, she relaxed. She dropped her head. She closed her eyes. I sang to her. She leaned her head towards me, happy to have that annoying burdock by her ear removed. 

It was getting later and later and darker and darker, and I got the last burdock bits out by feel. After three weeks and three plus hours of concentrated work, we had two burr-free horses. Actually, we had three, because Molly, our wise old retired horse, never got into the burdock at all.

Instead, wise old Molly, on a very windy day in December, was happy to discover that the paddock gate had blown open. She is a most excellent tip-toer through slightly open gates or tiny holes in the fence.

Some time later, my fellow and I came outside to work in the greenhouses. The paddock was empty.

“Where are the horses?” I said. 

He checked the barn. No horses. 

Then we noticed the gate swinging in the wind and followed the tracks. Wise old Molly had led the herd out of the paddock, skirted around the end of the first greenhouse, and squeezed along the narrow walkway between the greenhouse and the garden fence. We found all three of them in the tiny patch of land between the first and second greenhouses, happily pawing through the snow to find a bite of grass. Such clever naughty horses!

While I was holding the dog so he wouldn't overexcite any horses in tight quarters, my fellow led Molly back, then Fern and Willow. It was still windy, and the gate almost immediately blew open again while my fellow was checking the rest of the fence.

“Here she comes!” I hollered,  meaning Molly, who was gleefully racing right back to the open gate. My fellow darted over to stop Molly while Willow and Fern raced around the paddock in all the excitement. The dog barked by my side. He wanted to join the fun too. 

This time we tied the gate shut. We admired all our burr-free, high-headed horses high-stepping it around the paddock, kicking and bucking. 

“Glad that didn't happen next to the greenhouses,” said my fellow. 

“Or in the dark,” I added. 

“Let's take a long walk to celebrate!” said the dog. So we did. 

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, Jan 7 - Jan 13, 2025

The Trickster Month

March is a trickster month, when a farmer stands at the door, trying to decide whether to wear one layer or four. She settles on two, then flings off her coat in the sunshine, thinking Gee, isn’t it nice and warm! Then the next minute, when the wind nearly knocks her over, she grabs her coat again, thinking Gee, isn’t it nice and brisk! 

It’s the month when we farmers are glad there’s still snow holding down the greenhouse sides, so that the greenhouses don't blow away in the wind. A few days later, we’re glad that the snow has melted away, so that we can open up the sides and get some cool air into the overheated greenhouses. 

In March, we might be walking in snow or squelching in puddles as we check our pasture and garden fences, which sometimes look fine after the winter, and sometimes are a big mess. In the garden, it might be dry enough to direct-sow carrots and turnips in March, as we sometimes do. Or maybe not. 

Who knows? March likes to keep us wondering, about weather and crops and fences, and even about our own farmer moods: is this nervous excitement about the upcoming season, or is this nervous worry about the upcoming season? Can we do it again? Every year we’re a little older, and the mountain of the season looks a little higher.

But there’s one thing we do know: in March we’d better start getting into farming shape. Luckily, it is a gentle start to the season. We carry the tables into the greenhouse, set up the heat mat, roll down the big plastic curtain that divides the greenhouse into heated and unheated zones. We fill flats, sow seeds, and water them in, looking forward to the tiny cheerful green seedlings.

In March, my fellow farmer also starts taking the horses out for an occasional jaunt. These are getting ready for the working season jaunts, after a winter of eating hay and loafing around the paddock. 

Our new team, Willow and Fern, groomed and harnessed, set out with my fellow on the fore cart, a light, two-wheeled cart used to pull implements, and perfect for getting horses in shape.

“How’d it go?” I ask, after the first short jaunt.

“Great,” my fellow answers. “We went up the dirt road to the top of the hill.”

"How’d it go?” I ask after the second slightly longer jaunt. 

“Great,” my fellow answers. “We went to visit our neighbors who were boiling sap in the sugar shack on the dirt road. Also Willow bucked some.”

“That sounds nice,” I say, a little worried, “except for the bucking.”

“She didn’t like the tight turn, I guess. It was just a little bucking.”

“How’d it go?” I ask after the third even longer jaunt.

“Great,” my fellow answers. “We went around our fields and then up the dirt road. This time Willow and Fern were both bucking.”

“Hmm,” I said, a little more worried. “What’s that about?”

“Nothing much,” my fellow answered. “Just kind of remembering what it means to be getting back to work.”

Ah. We know how the horses feel.  It’s a good thing we all get to start slowly: sowing seeds, or walking up a dirt road. A little buck can’t hurt, and might even help work out the cricks and kinks: the winter’s slow stiff farmer back, slow stiff farmer shoulders, slow stiff farmer mind. 

Don’t worry, laughs March, I’ll loosen you right up. Then you can really get to work, in April.

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, April 2 - April 8, 2025

Goodbye to a Good Horse

The farm puppy gallops around, his ears flapping, his tongue flopping. The farm weeds gallop around, seemingly moving their giant selves from one section of the garden to another overnight. We clear out one section, and then the next section is overrun, by the very same weeds, it appears.

Also, the famers gallop around, when they aren’t lying on the ground in the great heat, tongues flopping, watching the weeds gallop.

But there is one who is no longer galloping here, and that is our old horse Moon. 

Moon died recently in the pasture, in the company of our second fully retired horse Ben. Moon and Ben got along well, though Moon might have preferred to be in the company of his sister Molly. One of his primary life goals was to always be with Molly.

But Molly was with our other horses, in another pasture, as we struggled to manage the reality of six horses on a farm that’s only ever had four. We couldn’t bear to send away our old horses who’ve worked with us so well and so long, so we have been juggling horses and pastures, doing the best we could.

Now we have five horses, and Moon is buried under our apple trees, next to our first New Hampshire team of horses. Moon was 29, which is a good old age for a draft horse. He had been semi-retired for years, only doing light work occasionally. But he seemed pretty happy to slide into full retirement, and got even peppier on the other end of the lead rope.

He’s always been rather high-headed while being led, which can make a farmer wish for longer arms. Mostly Moon’s head was high so he could keep track of wherever Molly might be, whether three feet away or fifty. 

Ideally, he would be right next to Molly at all times. The two would graze nearby, and if startled, swing together in perfect turns, in the same way they swung together in harness. Moon always worked best with Molly, though even then he had all the tricks figured out: to lag behind a little on the uphill, so Molly pulled most of the load, or to go ahead a little on the downhill, so Molly held back most of the load.

But Moon also had wonderful characteristics: when Molly and Moon first came here, many years ago, Molly was jumping out of her skin at everything. Moon had the rare and remarkable quality for a horse of stopping when he was worried about a sound or sight, instead of running. 

For a while, in the beginning, we separated Moon and Molly in harness, because Molly was getting Moon unnecessarily worried. Moon and Ben worked together, albeit a little crossly, with my fellow as teamster, while I walked Molly ahead, behind, to the left, to the right, so that she could get used to every bit of strange noise and motion of every farm implement.

Eventually Molly settled down, and was ready to work. Moon let out a sigh of relief: at last he and Molly could work together again, or he, Moon, could relax in his shady and cool stall, while Ben and Molly worked, which was almost as good.

In the paddock or the pasture, if there was ever a line at the water tank or the hay pile, Moon went last. But given a little time, Moon could slip his way into drinking or eating with every other horse, since he grumped at no-one. He was also the official greeter for any new horse who came to the farm, which always surprised us. 

Where’s that boldness come from? we would wonder. Perhaps it came from the same place as his steadiness at new sounds and sights. We hope that steady boldness served him well as he galloped along that mysterious path of death. We think of him now, standing in the wind, head high, eyes bright, calling for Molly, saying, “Don’t worry, my sister, it’s all right. Whenever you’re ready, come and join me.”

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, July 24-30, 2024