The lovely and talented Lauren Sprieser, my fellow blogger and online friend, is trying to tell us all that the seasonal relocation of her barn to Florida ain’t all that it’s cracked up to be.
Greetings sports fans from the frozen tundra that is Vermont. I continue to hibernate, coffee cup in hand, looking out the window, thinking about going to the barn to watch the girl ride, but it’s really cold!
The girl continues to put in long hours at the barn, ever the faithful and committed young horseperson. I shamefully admit that over the past several weeks, I have only done drive-bys—picking the girl up at the end of the day, not even getting out of the car. The only real barn time I’ve put in is my regular Saturday afternoon barn chore shift.
The holidays are over and we’re settling in for our remaining five months of winter. As I read about Lauren’s seasonal relocation to Florida, I assessed my own state of mind and find that I am (surprisingly) OK. There will be no trip to Ocala this year. There are no business trips on the horizon to warm weather locales. It’s just winter as far as the eye can see. It’s cool. I can handle it. Just check on me every couple of weeks, OK?
‘Tis the time of year when people give you a gift, and you don’t have one to give to them. When you receive a pink fuzzy sweater that you’d like to exchange. And perhaps there’s a coffee maker, a box of chocolates or a bottle of wine you’re thinking of regifting.
How’s a polite barn girl to handle these situations? It’s also the time of year when we want to thank the folks who work hard all year to care for our beasts—the barn workers, the trainer, the farrier, the vet. What’s an appropriate gift?
Pink’s not really my color…..
Last week, I had a Mom moment. Like most other moms, I do have them—you know, it’s that instant when Mother Nature takes over. Your actions are no longer your own, and suddenly you more closely resemble a female lion or momma bear rather than a middle-class suburban mom. (Those of you thinking, “She lives in Vermont, so really she’s a redneck”….just stop right there. Up here, we call them woodchucks.)
I'm nine days in with the new cast, which is a lovely shade of Missy Ann blue. I have been a good patient, if I do say so myself. When I visited the hand specialist last week, I was given the choice of a hard cast or a brace that could be briefly removed.
The doctor is a fellow lacrosse coach, and his son is on the team my husband coaches. Husband and Doctor Phil discussed it and decided I was not to be trusted with a removable brace. So I am in a cast. And yes, they were correct, I cannot be trusted.
The pony is gone. Dara is happily situated at EvenStride, and the girl visited her last weekend. I was not allowed to go, home with my Percoset, the broken hand deemed unprepared for a four-hour jaunt to Massachusetts.
Part 4 of 5
The kid is dressed, the beast has tack. The tack trunk is packed with tack, first aid supplies, horse blankets, bits, longe line, spurs, grooming kit, etc. Now it’s time to put everything else together and into the trailer.
If you’re off to a one-day show, here’s what you need to bring:
The cruel hand of fate has dealt me an unexpected blow. I was at the barn Monday night after a 12-hour day of work and various mom duties. I was feeling strung out, sorry for myself and somewhat adrift. So I went to pick up the girl around 8 p.m., and I brought some treats and planned to spend a few minutes with my equine friends to help soothe my psyche.
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