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

Panics, Puppies, Potatoes, and Pizza

The potato beds were ready: composted, disced, and harrowed, thanks to our new team of horses, Willow and Fern, and to our old team of horses, Molly and Clyde, who accomplished the more precise bed- and furrow-making.

But where were the seed potatoes? We hadn’t gotten an email or a call about the delivery.

“Did you order the potatoes?” I asked my fellow farmer worriedly.

“Yes,” he answered. “I always do.”

“But I don’t see them on the order form.” I was checking the computer.

“I’ll find it,” my fellow replied confidently.

A few minutes later, he said, “I can’t find it either,” much less confidently. 

“This is bad,” he went on. “I’ll order more, fast. I hope there’s some left.” Already my fellow was filling out a new order form. “Or maybe I should call them?” 

“Wait, wait,” I said, trying to slow my speedy fellow down. “I’m going to call the farm where we pick them up first.”

Happily, there were three bags of seed potatoes waiting for us at Walker Farm in Vermont. It turned out Fedco, the seed company, had our email address wrong, and Walker Farm would only call if weeks went by and we hadn’t picked up our order. 

We hurried over the next day, bringing our puppy along for our traditional picking-up-the-potatoes spring farmer date. 

The puppy was amazed by: 1) the big red barn, full of many things with interesting smells, including the bags of potatoes;

2) the traffic, which was impressively loud and fast, especially the truck with jig brakes that thundered by; 

3) the nice man who was so intent on checking our names off his list that he let out a surprised “Oh!” when he realized there was a puppy around his ankles. Then he offered to bring the farm’s puppy out to play;

4) the farm’s puppy, who was preceded by an adult Border Collie that came out of the farmhouse in its intense driven Border Collie way, which then stirred up the farm’s puppy, who barked and barked. Our puppy whimpered, and tucked behind our legs. But pretty soon everyone settled down for friendly dog greetings. 

At home again, the puppy took a nap, and the farmers hustled out to the potato field. We got two 200-foot beds planted before lunch. Then the puppy had lunch, a walk, and a play session, followed by the brand-new treat of a chicken thing-a-ma-jig to chew on, which got us through two more beds. Then the puppy had another nap. Thank goodness puppies need a lot of sleep. 

At about 5:30, we had just the last one of the six beds to go, and now I was whimpering, as my skimpy lunch of carrots and peanut butter had worn off long ago. 

“We could get a snack,” suggested my fellow, “or even eat supper.”

“No, no, we can’t,” I said, “The puppy’s still asleep. We have to keep planting!”

We got the last bed in, in a burst of desperate energy. After our initial lack-of-seed-potatoes panic, I was more than pleased to have gotten them all planted in one day, a rare occurrence.

In fact, I was so pleased I said I was going to order a pizza. 

“Yeah, right,” said my fellow, knowing the frugal nature of the Budget Committee (i.e., me). In a few minutes he asked, “Who were you talking to on the phone?” 

“I was ordering the pizza. Ready in 15 minutes. Better hurry!”

“What, what?” my fellow said. “I can’t believe it!” He would have fallen right over, if he hadn’t already been on the floor resting his potato-planting back while the puppy, refreshed from his nap, crawled over him. 

Thus our puppy had another fun experience, as we brought along his supper dish to the pizza shop. We all had a picnic on the grass, and watched the traffic go by. (No jig brakes, but three motorcycles.) 

Also, since we were celebrating, we dropped a tiny bit of cheese in the puppy’s dish. The puppy was amazed.
 

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, May 29 - June 4 , 2024

Farm Puppy

Twenty-four years ago, in the spring, we two vegetable farmers found a baby in the cabbage patch. The cabbage wasn’t nearly ready, but the baby was. 

You might think that a baby in the spring for vegetable farmers is a little crazy. Well, we soon thought so, too. Add in a new team of horses, a new greenhouse, a new venture into CSA membership, and we went from a little crazy to a lot crazy. 

Wow, we said, maybe we shouldn’t do that again. 

But apparently the lesson is fading. Although we don’t have a new greenhouse this year, and we are happy to be 20-plus years into CSA vegetable growing, with a full membership, we do have a new team of horses. The lovely Fern and Willow are adjusting nicely to the farm-horse life after the carriage-horse life. 

We also don’t have a new baby. But we do have a new puppy - and we are saying Wow again. Wow, you’re cute. Wow, you get up a lot in the night. Wow, it’s hard to get a lot of work done. Luckily we keep coming back to Wow, you’re cute.

Our kitty does not agree. Our kitty says Wow, the puppy is not cute. The kitty says Wow, the puppy gets up a lot in the night, and I don’t approve of this crate full of sleeping puppy in the bedroom. The kitty also says, Wow, it’s hard to get a lot of work done: I have mice to catch, and naps to take, and necessary petting, and everywhere I turn there’s a curly-haired black puppy. Wow, repeats the kitty, he really is not cute.

The horses, on the other hand, are much more interested in a puppy. 

Both our old horses and our new horses find this little being fascinating, and watch him run around. Well, they would watch him run around, but mostly he is sitting a good distance away from the horses, with his eyes big. Or he is snuggled into a farmer’s arms, wondering why an enormous creature is approaching him and making nose noises, which the farmer tells the puppy is a horse greeting, basically saying Wow, you’re cute. The puppy does not yet believe this. 

Every day we have horse therapy, cat therapy, and riding in the car is fun-not- nauseating therapy. We also have gnawing on a delicious horse hoof paring (thanks to the recent farrier visit), which gives a farmer just about enough time to water the flats of transplants in the greenhouse.

Of course, we also take many exploratory walks around the farm. Look! A stream! Look a leaf! Look! A hay rake! Look! A stick! Look! A pond! An irrigation pump! A field! A pine cone! The wonders are large and small, many and various.

We visited our vet for the first time this week, too, which the puppy thought was pretty great, especially since he got his first ever cheese whiz to lick up from the vet table. The vet is one of our long-time CSA members, and when she peeked into the room, she said, “Oh, what have you two done?” We laughed, very sleepily indeed.

The visit went well; in fact, our vet took the puppy on tour, to show him off to all the other staff in the building. When she brought him back, she said, “Well, I’ll know why if I don’t get much produce this summer!” 

We farmers laughed again, sleepily, and, I admit, a trifle nervously. Wow. A puppy. In the spring. On a vegetable farm.
 

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, May 1 - May 7, 2024

All the Pretty Horses: Short and Stocky, Tall and Leggy

Not long ago, we applied for a Climate Resilience grant, saying everything that is wonderful about working with draft horses. Draft animals are an excellent source of both power and fertility, especially for a small acreage such as our farm. Draft horse work reduces soil compaction, carbon emissions, fossil fuel use, and pollution, as well as protecting species diversity (particularly amphibians), increasing soil health and capacity to hold water, and benefitting farm profitability and self-sufficiency.

Alas, we did not get the grant. But we still got the horses! (Of course, we had to use our own cash, earmarked to fix the rotting foundation of our house, to buy the horses. But hey, maybe the house will keep standing for a long time yet.)

We’ve been looking for horses for a while, and we had several leads on available teams. I was hoping for a short stocky mild team, exactly like the horses we have now, whereas my fellow was open to any kind of horses, as long as they were well-trained and could do the field work.

After two disappointing horse trips, my fellow went up to northern Maine, to visit three teams, carriage horses in Acadia National Park. It was supposed to be a two-day trip, with a knowledgeable horse teamster going along, while I stayed home to watch the greenhouse and our four horses. 

But my fellow kept sending me email messages: staying another night, so I can truck one team of horses from northern Maine to join the other two more southerly teams. Staying another night, so I don’t arrive home with new horses at midnight. Staying another night, because the truck sputtered and quit on the highway, and I want to get it fixed before I’ve got a trailer full of horses. 

Also he wrote: I’m thinking of buying the smallest team of the lot. What do you think?

Sure! I emailed back, and then I went to tell our four horses in their winter paddock about the nice small team, coming home soon. But when my fellow finally arrived on Monday afternoon with the horses, they looked mighty big.

“They’re really tall,” I said doubtfully. “I mean they’re beautiful. But they’re really tall.”

“They’re really nice,” said my fellow. “So nice you’ll think they’re short.”

“Oh, golly,” I said, “These were the smallest ones?”

“They’re leggy, but look at their little feet. The other teams had giant dinner plate feet.”

“Oh, golly,” I said.

“They’re your favorite color,” my fellow added, which was true. I love a bay horse, a rich red-brown coat with black points: mane, tail, ear edges, and lower legs. I like to call a bay horse “a horse-colored horse.” 

“They’re probably sister and brother, a mare and a gelding, 7 and 8 years old.” My fellow kept talking, as we moved our four horses from the paddock to the pasture. Our four were so ecstatic about going out on grass a month early that they didn’t even worry about the full horse trailer in the driveway. Of course, there wasn’t really much grass, and we gave them hay, but even the idea of grass is highly exciting. Plus it meant we could put the new horses in the paddock to get them used to things around the barn, without the fireworks of introducing everyone.

The new horses came off the trailer beautifully. They looked around curiously, and followed nicely up the driveway, while our four lined up at the pasture gate in astonishment and then went bucking and galloping away. The new horses were curious, but calm. They both started eating hay in the paddock, always a good sign of a relaxed horse.

I went over to the team. “I can hardly reach your backs,” I said to them, as the horses sniffed me in a friendly way.

“See?” said my fellow. “See how nice they are?”

“Fern and Willow,” I said. “Is that true? Are you so very nice? I think you must be. Welcome to your new home!”

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, April 3 - April 9, 2024