After what must be one of the longest, coldest, and eventually the muddiest winters I can remember, the horses at both my favorite locations, We Can Ride in Minnetonka and Cross Creek near Cologne, are finally being turned out to graze on fresh grass. Granted, that has to be monitored; some colic easily, others founder on its richness. But by and large this signals at last an end to the angst of slopping around in mud the texture of potter's clay, in wells so deep they sucked the boots off my feet. In that instance I was walking around in my stocking feet trying to pry my boots out of the mud while the horses gathered in a circle and rolled their eyes.
But catching horses in mud is one thing; picking mud out of hooves is another. There are layers and layers of mud compacted into their hooves. I have had to wear sunglasses to keep from having it splatter into my eyes. I finally found a process -- I pick as much as I can, then take the horse to the shower stall and wash its feet. It might even give me a foot to spray. And then I towel the feet off and start to pick again.
The mud was only exceeded in frustration by ice which packed their hooves, creating little rocking-horse feet that can only be dangerous. That required a screwdrives and at times skill beyond my level.
But now they are out; a lovelier site I cannot think of to behold. The dream of summer has begun. And tomorrow Canterbury Park opens.
Sometimes angst is just a precurser to bliss. :-)
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
Winter Has Ended...or Has It?
Finally there is more brown grass visible than snow. The skyscraper of snow near the pool is only one and a half stories high. We are starting to be able to see the furniture left on our deck by the sudden snowstorm that socked us in last Noveber 15th. But now we can also see the tops of broken pots that have not weathered the winter well, as well as bits of the evergreen boughs we had put in copper pots placed around the deck. They look rather tired and sad, as though having missed a chance to show off their rich green beauty to family and friends arriving throughout the holidays. All of it passed them by.
One of the wierdest memories of the winter was the day we had our roof shoveled. A truckload of men, all of them small and wiry, stomped around on the roof, tossing snow down onto the ground. It was as though a herd of tiny reindeer with combat boots were doing a rumba over our heads. Then, since it was supper time, I decided to turn on the news in our livingroom, which is on the second floor. I looked out our large livingroom window to see the team of shovelers standing like carolers, watching right along with me. The snow on the deck was a good half-story high. When they saw my startled look they quickly scattered and returned to their tast; shoveling out enough snow close to the lower level windows so that we could see a bit of daylight.
But the winter went from bad to worse. Storm after storm. Snow upon snow. Snow with ice as a base. Snow that was clumpy and wet. By February I was able to return to my chosen home, San Francisco. I left the Twin Cities in between storms. The latter one stranded me there for another three days; it took that long for Delta to get its passengers from its 1000 cancelled flights rebooked. But as I walked the streets of town, walked from the Presidio, where I was staying, down to the Wharf in a chlly driving rain, I felt I had learned one lesson of Minnesota winters well. I presented myself at the door of Neptune's Palace, a charming restaurant at the end of Pier 39, soaked to the skin, hair plastered against my head, cheeks ruddy, nose running. The waiter hardly gave me a second look and seated me at a window table. I looked out over the bay, which I dream about when I am not there, and sat mesmerized by its sullen beauty. It took me a few moments to realize that because of the weather and the fact that it was just a few minutes after 11, which was when they opened, I had the entire place to myself. So I excused myself, went to the rest room, dried myself off with paper towels as best I could, and returned to enjoy the best Shrimp Louis Salad I had had in a very long time. If I had learned one thing from the harsh Minnesota winters, it was perseverence. Keep at something no matter how dire the circumstances, and paradise will present itself, even in an unanticipated and ironic form.
So I returned to the Twin Cities wondering what sort of March we would have. I had already named February "ferocious". It did not take long for March to become "malevolent". The snow wouldn't stop. The cold wouldn't break. And so it has been until now. The ice is gone. The mud has dried up, for now. And maybe tomorrow I'll even catch sight of the fire bowl in the remains of the avalanche on our deck.
Who knows?
One of the wierdest memories of the winter was the day we had our roof shoveled. A truckload of men, all of them small and wiry, stomped around on the roof, tossing snow down onto the ground. It was as though a herd of tiny reindeer with combat boots were doing a rumba over our heads. Then, since it was supper time, I decided to turn on the news in our livingroom, which is on the second floor. I looked out our large livingroom window to see the team of shovelers standing like carolers, watching right along with me. The snow on the deck was a good half-story high. When they saw my startled look they quickly scattered and returned to their tast; shoveling out enough snow close to the lower level windows so that we could see a bit of daylight.
But the winter went from bad to worse. Storm after storm. Snow upon snow. Snow with ice as a base. Snow that was clumpy and wet. By February I was able to return to my chosen home, San Francisco. I left the Twin Cities in between storms. The latter one stranded me there for another three days; it took that long for Delta to get its passengers from its 1000 cancelled flights rebooked. But as I walked the streets of town, walked from the Presidio, where I was staying, down to the Wharf in a chlly driving rain, I felt I had learned one lesson of Minnesota winters well. I presented myself at the door of Neptune's Palace, a charming restaurant at the end of Pier 39, soaked to the skin, hair plastered against my head, cheeks ruddy, nose running. The waiter hardly gave me a second look and seated me at a window table. I looked out over the bay, which I dream about when I am not there, and sat mesmerized by its sullen beauty. It took me a few moments to realize that because of the weather and the fact that it was just a few minutes after 11, which was when they opened, I had the entire place to myself. So I excused myself, went to the rest room, dried myself off with paper towels as best I could, and returned to enjoy the best Shrimp Louis Salad I had had in a very long time. If I had learned one thing from the harsh Minnesota winters, it was perseverence. Keep at something no matter how dire the circumstances, and paradise will present itself, even in an unanticipated and ironic form.
So I returned to the Twin Cities wondering what sort of March we would have. I had already named February "ferocious". It did not take long for March to become "malevolent". The snow wouldn't stop. The cold wouldn't break. And so it has been until now. The ice is gone. The mud has dried up, for now. And maybe tomorrow I'll even catch sight of the fire bowl in the remains of the avalanche on our deck.
Who knows?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
