tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43856217030319291612024-03-13T08:32:58.996-07:00Ridin', Reinin' and Writin'Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.comBlogger118125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-83743015410988755662023-04-07T08:00:00.087-07:002023-04-07T08:50:48.608-07:00She and I: Remembering Sapphire<div style="text-align: justify;"></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NmFQvM2WTxY" width="320" youtube-src-id="NmFQvM2WTxY"></iframe></div><br /> Sapphire. I named her
before she was born.<p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"> It was the spring of 2008 and my favourite mare, Silk, was expecting her first foal. What would I call this special one? In the early hours of a day in May, I awoke from a sound sleep and that question was answered. "Silk is going to have a filly and I am naming her Sapphire!' Where did that come from? That name was not even on my list of names. But so it was. Sapphire was born in late day light as my friends were arriving for Horsewoman's Weekend at Wildwood Reining Horses. The delivery was normal and Silk bonded as she should. Sapphire had arrived and she was a perfect, delicate copy of her mother. I bought her a pink halter because she was so feminine. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2AbVAkSVdml-ZwK0hPZ6D5rAzOHg-LLJ4WIF9MOxj98KFDBSa_YERJn0fueYo2GqrZ1QEc92sSj0nrH1H4xaUiDp5oXvLoi5ufLniyEyjsCkE7ZaqFum4eakHCZ4pVSP41K9MWipAyYeg960N6__D6fuLkD6yHSsJr7VLnp3uOLeIOHRRaQWwxLv/s1800/08May16_SilkSapphire19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2AbVAkSVdml-ZwK0hPZ6D5rAzOHg-LLJ4WIF9MOxj98KFDBSa_YERJn0fueYo2GqrZ1QEc92sSj0nrH1H4xaUiDp5oXvLoi5ufLniyEyjsCkE7ZaqFum4eakHCZ4pVSP41K9MWipAyYeg960N6__D6fuLkD6yHSsJr7VLnp3uOLeIOHRRaQWwxLv/s320/08May16_SilkSapphire19.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiee6FzCc6Yg0Ha5jO-FxB9g_jTIUaF92VXeV6RNN6IW0OV0dQqc7mpIHqMrUgDo7N66SSfzUjBf1wB0XXylXbAXXj7lT7WYFavzGRTahXA_h5waMYh_pTwmPlI2T_m16d-LsRta9a69qdHEA3AGYLoC1QBVChLsGZ1pKLM1G_JiK_Cc3L0DqgDgmZP/s1800/08May16_SilkSapphire20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiee6FzCc6Yg0Ha5jO-FxB9g_jTIUaF92VXeV6RNN6IW0OV0dQqc7mpIHqMrUgDo7N66SSfzUjBf1wB0XXylXbAXXj7lT7WYFavzGRTahXA_h5waMYh_pTwmPlI2T_m16d-LsRta9a69qdHEA3AGYLoC1QBVChLsGZ1pKLM1G_JiK_Cc3L0DqgDgmZP/s320/08May16_SilkSapphire20.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silk and Sapphire<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> The little sorrel filly
didn't take long to show me some fancy moves. Like her dam, she had
"sting" but with a gentleness too. I loved her to bits but worried
too that she was fragile. My neighbour, who did chores for me one weekend,
worried too. "She looks like a little deer," she said. "I'm scared something will happen to her on my watch."<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNMgsOlGGYqY580F4zOJ-8oF9BGs-C-zhEie8ZtyR73otOs6E8P1oMQBsPzN6zbZpqiJasrUXuFRHNPj-1mI04IinyzHIUZNJAEE9ypwNEWLtZYdddb8YtQzv1nXLl1o4A9nlu9QowyFQHjv20qnCb33jTQeSIQWKD7v39E8MAadkbv2bxledjxOMz/s1800/08May23_Sapphire3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNMgsOlGGYqY580F4zOJ-8oF9BGs-C-zhEie8ZtyR73otOs6E8P1oMQBsPzN6zbZpqiJasrUXuFRHNPj-1mI04IinyzHIUZNJAEE9ypwNEWLtZYdddb8YtQzv1nXLl1o4A9nlu9QowyFQHjv20qnCb33jTQeSIQWKD7v39E8MAadkbv2bxledjxOMz/s320/08May23_Sapphire3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Down the fence we go!</td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZvANUMe5A7iuINjbhe6rYleaR6LpwPWQaBeE0sYS-P9IcjpxWzHUyKr_CD8GP72igkrT5kLHmr4WphN3hVBXex6YULEknT7fRmZtRneRl3RnfGiXI64EV3Sp6YpB-7sHXFjccWQd9b-xCwOn7oJNaUBIgIzWpAriGOEgu1aZaxLcli4DgVkXuyhZ7/s1800/08July23_Sapphire1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZvANUMe5A7iuINjbhe6rYleaR6LpwPWQaBeE0sYS-P9IcjpxWzHUyKr_CD8GP72igkrT5kLHmr4WphN3hVBXex6YULEknT7fRmZtRneRl3RnfGiXI64EV3Sp6YpB-7sHXFjccWQd9b-xCwOn7oJNaUBIgIzWpAriGOEgu1aZaxLcli4DgVkXuyhZ7/s320/08July23_Sapphire1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strutting her stuff<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrzflH7uLMppjZiuptD09PRcTUS9oZw7t6wK14a0Des-UbQFm-dZyUbUaTNvX2GmwjS_aSIW-mbxxxhkPZYmpPcBQcRP91ajDNAYrm8onJCgf7GZRMX5gM2lZt09umEaMLlZlnh6TOpzEw_pICdusTLQqUVUpjrnAy2b8KVwvXOYhItYNiRO8SrEOu/s1800/08June13_Sapphire2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrzflH7uLMppjZiuptD09PRcTUS9oZw7t6wK14a0Des-UbQFm-dZyUbUaTNvX2GmwjS_aSIW-mbxxxhkPZYmpPcBQcRP91ajDNAYrm8onJCgf7GZRMX5gM2lZt09umEaMLlZlnh6TOpzEw_pICdusTLQqUVUpjrnAy2b8KVwvXOYhItYNiRO8SrEOu/s320/08June13_Sapphire2.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuDQT2fuFxsyZxlp1nqYaiCnEjlJwcOfF0DZr5_GZvpu7NbGmt3JrZwI8pOyVcA2X2G0BsdZxzCR7o0WDxfH0DL7m-zdZKivW3J9Qdey3cM1G2CjgZcACgFZH9M2raoLLmzcFtv3k0MP5icwhs5VH1svsrZFHO-mYMmdzKHa-w9AzdX91I2aKTFuA/s1800/09Sept19_Sapphire5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuDQT2fuFxsyZxlp1nqYaiCnEjlJwcOfF0DZr5_GZvpu7NbGmt3JrZwI8pOyVcA2X2G0BsdZxzCR7o0WDxfH0DL7m-zdZKivW3J9Qdey3cM1G2CjgZcACgFZH9M2raoLLmzcFtv3k0MP5icwhs5VH1svsrZFHO-mYMmdzKHa-w9AzdX91I2aKTFuA/s320/09Sept19_Sapphire5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As a yearling<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> Sapphire managed
to injure herself a couple of times but other than that, grew up normally on my
property in the Chilcotin. As a yearling, she babysat the next foal crop
through their weaning time. She was not much bigger than they were. As a
two-year-old, I started her under saddle but rode her only lightly that year
because of her size. She never bucked but she could get pretty excited like
Silk did. In 2011, her three year old year, she should have been competing in
three-year-old reining futurities but she was behind in training and very
immature mentally. I was in no rush. However, I retired from the reining pen that
year so she was never shown.</p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDzAsCCWbr2q_5uJzMAIf08UuE9fWGcgcRS8DsPlI-sV2cx2KvpiZ22NtbrTfZ9KundzgG-s2OqOrntzskfBahpaarbnc-L7F0VbPA-2Gda7UByfu-9s-9iD8f4Qd8lfDT4YkIxcW7ovH73f8Cp9XT0bZDE0Xi8Wzo1XU47UAcv6WePG4LHKZ04gE/s1800/10Jan21_Sapphire1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDzAsCCWbr2q_5uJzMAIf08UuE9fWGcgcRS8DsPlI-sV2cx2KvpiZ22NtbrTfZ9KundzgG-s2OqOrntzskfBahpaarbnc-L7F0VbPA-2Gda7UByfu-9s-9iD8f4Qd8lfDT4YkIxcW7ovH73f8Cp9XT0bZDE0Xi8Wzo1XU47UAcv6WePG4LHKZ04gE/s320/10Jan21_Sapphire1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First time saddled<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span> </span> When Sapphire was four, I spent a weekend with friends at a lake. It was not only Sapphire's first trail ride. It was also the first time hauled and the first time high-lined. When it came time to ride, she was wired! I think I called her Silk a few times because she was so much like her when she got excited. I loved her even more. </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCDbTxNWBJcDAy4GA7mfpx5dj0PSH6sMWn4VOS_BIb1EWOiQ4oO5hOapKoqxok1v5RCBWWuVVLjZsy3wujiDxmXiOYpSMHycK78OvgGFvKPytZr-LS8CCWg1nqi0aYFllGKLFHj4NdZsPiTPDq2AXgJ-j2nq9dOXB8pP8OagiCRP8OzeK4IF5ZtCH/s1800/12June2_BeaverDam28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCDbTxNWBJcDAy4GA7mfpx5dj0PSH6sMWn4VOS_BIb1EWOiQ4oO5hOapKoqxok1v5RCBWWuVVLjZsy3wujiDxmXiOYpSMHycK78OvgGFvKPytZr-LS8CCWg1nqi0aYFllGKLFHj4NdZsPiTPDq2AXgJ-j2nq9dOXB8pP8OagiCRP8OzeK4IF5ZtCH/s320/12June2_BeaverDam28.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She and I<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKtndqaa_IjbmvfO5H4mGnfcqlUpRb4deZk6TzyHmH_0B0atlj6Oi20yClLpPES_dSo6niE4cYuGqmOWadp0tW6-9t6FjmInOsRU-LowuL8sJK9I_j0Fx2BoNMfF_17vZ8pOUzFP-1Glgjag0GqkQ0BWmBfqWNaSB4SJ-efCySbXs9udJUU2f8h07k/s1800/12June2_BeaverDam15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKtndqaa_IjbmvfO5H4mGnfcqlUpRb4deZk6TzyHmH_0B0atlj6Oi20yClLpPES_dSo6niE4cYuGqmOWadp0tW6-9t6FjmInOsRU-LowuL8sJK9I_j0Fx2BoNMfF_17vZ8pOUzFP-1Glgjag0GqkQ0BWmBfqWNaSB4SJ-efCySbXs9udJUU2f8h07k/s320/12June2_BeaverDam15.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My pretty girl.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> I knew I
would keep Sapphire forever. I planned to grow old with her. And, although
almost no one else rode her but me, she did meet two trainers at clinics – Vern Sapergia at a clinic at my place and Cayley
Wilson a few times because . . . she wanted to be a cowhorse! To that end, I spent
some time with Cayley. The first time we put her on the flag he said, "Are
you sure she has never done this before?" She was gritty, focused and fun. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr40XZA7-p9vgAwp-2dlVNgY3qF9uH9CvExHJOjoDUiZY8WAkDqjZDeodPkH3hDMp7dzEkaWK5FnAjsSr0E3vFUwuxq1joU7zByxdL6Wi2c-mvt7KFNyYS3oYwH9WRQLNKJCsuEgknLd6PSx8pNhf0xbbqa4wuL0QeUCSD9S2M4GKLWYSrQ6P0MxW-/s1200/11May29_VernSapphire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr40XZA7-p9vgAwp-2dlVNgY3qF9uH9CvExHJOjoDUiZY8WAkDqjZDeodPkH3hDMp7dzEkaWK5FnAjsSr0E3vFUwuxq1joU7zByxdL6Wi2c-mvt7KFNyYS3oYwH9WRQLNKJCsuEgknLd6PSx8pNhf0xbbqa4wuL0QeUCSD9S2M4GKLWYSrQ6P0MxW-/s320/11May29_VernSapphire.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vern Sapergia on Sapphire as a 3 year old<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIJnDCoFTPfCF04EdPCL16H_HhuDmGLmcMn16e7sKG-ZTcHXIOMcvrDUwC2NAZTksrBmLw2POAqaMvE0ahLt9hotqKEqGyNTmeATKSDAyxvGbtwf-yLqbqdecwn9rVqWZ-pV_1zVid1Erj9DA7vd7X7UBC-s4PtdW-SLifey-DyjemQJbZTYnSgKA/s1800/16June29_CayleySapphire2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIJnDCoFTPfCF04EdPCL16H_HhuDmGLmcMn16e7sKG-ZTcHXIOMcvrDUwC2NAZTksrBmLw2POAqaMvE0ahLt9hotqKEqGyNTmeATKSDAyxvGbtwf-yLqbqdecwn9rVqWZ-pV_1zVid1Erj9DA7vd7X7UBC-s4PtdW-SLifey-DyjemQJbZTYnSgKA/s320/16June29_CayleySapphire2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cayley Wilson on Sapphire<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVadK4BWE8K6jsLHbcMVeHLf7ABfzPJC58ESprbDr40WCJPkQ6zpTvCIY6FDmS89k6Kcw2vyPWZTS1ERbzNZPXkjN_07qqwZUIA7ld6INuuOjsp-nsRnLuA2RUrZsW9LbLnoMqD0YXA6HMraz-xsCkxT9dhjDX4wQKUY8qvvJ7Lwzm5dBKVLR5gqXF/s1800/16June29_CayleySapphire4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVadK4BWE8K6jsLHbcMVeHLf7ABfzPJC58ESprbDr40WCJPkQ6zpTvCIY6FDmS89k6Kcw2vyPWZTS1ERbzNZPXkjN_07qqwZUIA7ld6INuuOjsp-nsRnLuA2RUrZsW9LbLnoMqD0YXA6HMraz-xsCkxT9dhjDX4wQKUY8qvvJ7Lwzm5dBKVLR5gqXF/s320/16June29_CayleySapphire4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cayley working the flag on Sapphire<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> Riding
Sapphire was like floating on a pillow. I don't think I have ever ridden another
horse that smooth. She kind of skimmed the ground with her front feet. At the
same time, she had quick feet and was one of the most sure-footed horses I
owned. I trusted her completely on slippery ground. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFeoyQ6FL2vS7Xla-4nDE-3iLvZw8OVXJ3qMs_IiADag-lENEaSt37KP0UM00fp49xlatUMCIFldD7nxAg1pJL_JblIYhQbdbqp5-SPV5R441icNTQ2Jw1_RO2NOb1UFKUDJ7Ck8Zs9xsus0ivChdaN53jsAOmUSYWf-yyBncodxbAZVkkI9T1mL35/s720/14April27_Sapphire1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="720" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFeoyQ6FL2vS7Xla-4nDE-3iLvZw8OVXJ3qMs_IiADag-lENEaSt37KP0UM00fp49xlatUMCIFldD7nxAg1pJL_JblIYhQbdbqp5-SPV5R441icNTQ2Jw1_RO2NOb1UFKUDJ7Ck8Zs9xsus0ivChdaN53jsAOmUSYWf-yyBncodxbAZVkkI9T1mL35/s320/14April27_Sapphire1a.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sapphire's first time on flag<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDop0AECqt2G5LSEVn8nsW5W67zWQzzQSmN3z65aMXvn_cUZWCcUHHx4RZ4BXUG3d-5ofsaH_fP_MSWhgNya0V96mTZCrEcQV92gchhO3ANlKjRRsJ08YqFv5vOPf7O_QXaZDnFkPzewUsyyyVES9hUgtQ3Iu0vtw6EC3hhcOjxYSnqj0SvGF_26o5/s1000/15April%2021_SharonSapphire4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1000" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDop0AECqt2G5LSEVn8nsW5W67zWQzzQSmN3z65aMXvn_cUZWCcUHHx4RZ4BXUG3d-5ofsaH_fP_MSWhgNya0V96mTZCrEcQV92gchhO3ANlKjRRsJ08YqFv5vOPf7O_QXaZDnFkPzewUsyyyVES9hUgtQ3Iu0vtw6EC3hhcOjxYSnqj0SvGF_26o5/s320/15April%2021_SharonSapphire4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTkOW1ENs451k7majd6juRxVq9coVzy78WCe4YTaFd3n8VZKuNenTQKcW710naBL6-cihnPCtQ7M_FnQqrmOlDOlOlXVrtk6uNNzzcN1-e4zuVhURTZIN29sqJ29IGTU6DBRgaJoUes8Lv5-Gt2-HpeMmR91g6MgHOCdkIpc--lOPMn_H5UfXeW6iW/s1800/15July26_CayleyClinic72%20Vig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTkOW1ENs451k7majd6juRxVq9coVzy78WCe4YTaFd3n8VZKuNenTQKcW710naBL6-cihnPCtQ7M_FnQqrmOlDOlOlXVrtk6uNNzzcN1-e4zuVhURTZIN29sqJ29IGTU6DBRgaJoUes8Lv5-Gt2-HpeMmR91g6MgHOCdkIpc--lOPMn_H5UfXeW6iW/s320/15July26_CayleyClinic72%20Vig.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtJNBkL3X54_1r_EvMRNOEXWSLOSbYWcy1ARJ3YdMEb5PZRnQXhScfotSBjhwoA6NSRbQwayeMouJVqwsTlIw4ra7rvJyfIzs0XYT_syWHL7Xhq__v7VjYNxX89yXKg2Pd-g8p6YpIrj6WUSGYopCkQtBL8-r9KaccFAxTaXWXLZIhONHW1FNgSDwf/s1800/16July24_SharonSapphire20a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtJNBkL3X54_1r_EvMRNOEXWSLOSbYWcy1ARJ3YdMEb5PZRnQXhScfotSBjhwoA6NSRbQwayeMouJVqwsTlIw4ra7rvJyfIzs0XYT_syWHL7Xhq__v7VjYNxX89yXKg2Pd-g8p6YpIrj6WUSGYopCkQtBL8-r9KaccFAxTaXWXLZIhONHW1FNgSDwf/s320/16July24_SharonSapphire20a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkCDRo-mPm59qXG6mC-dsVmWs2Od_HDW0F85TCdoPftC_hAI-rWR6zxscEtuzO71F6XBK2GTe7yCfwbsx80yezoJR4T2XzPDDpRX3kw0OsVbD3hPkXuJEAoHfpoW9MRW6iakJghgN8K55ZJaqVCyn_jZcVrd2zMv7k9X9svb8SC2QPIWis3ZqRYoIn/s1800/17May22_Sapphire2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkCDRo-mPm59qXG6mC-dsVmWs2Od_HDW0F85TCdoPftC_hAI-rWR6zxscEtuzO71F6XBK2GTe7yCfwbsx80yezoJR4T2XzPDDpRX3kw0OsVbD3hPkXuJEAoHfpoW9MRW6iakJghgN8K55ZJaqVCyn_jZcVrd2zMv7k9X9svb8SC2QPIWis3ZqRYoIn/s320/17May22_Sapphire2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sapphire feelin' good.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> My horses
ran by the river in the Chilcotin and when I wanted to ride one, I often had to
walk down to catch the one I needed. It was Sapphire I could halter and ride
back up the very steep hill bareback. I can still feel her warm back between my
legs as she scrambled up the hill; I can imagine the clump of red sorrel mane
in my hand that I held to keep me from sliding over her rump. I guess it's a
good thing a bear didn't jump out of the bush, though.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> I have a
scar on the back of my left calf that is in memory of Sapphire in that pasture.
I had taken her to the corner of the property, a spot on the fenceline that ran
into the river, to check the fence. It was bushy and I got off to lead her out.
When we reached the little ditch at the edge of the bush, she jumped it and the
blunt force of her hoof hit the back of my calf, breaking it open in a V shape.
Not really her fault but it was deep and required stitches inside and out. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
Sapphire was the horse I chose for my debut ride after a shoulder replacement.
I knew she would take care of me.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQAwbn1VXxWOtGVflSoAUQ7JBlnXCjm_tQPCqyL9Jqci3Erfb-EL4mf8jjlH6p-0FL-50Oei1b_d5KL17d7e2GbW0eurY0OLOKVKLrW-yZ9S5cDuWQiX86LbBtgeMKCH-RRnUf307mE5hNrpfXBe7KsuuQjOGCp3AkY8zYlG5V0BrIHBqFf85oJfP/s960/16April1_SharonSapphire2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQAwbn1VXxWOtGVflSoAUQ7JBlnXCjm_tQPCqyL9Jqci3Erfb-EL4mf8jjlH6p-0FL-50Oei1b_d5KL17d7e2GbW0eurY0OLOKVKLrW-yZ9S5cDuWQiX86LbBtgeMKCH-RRnUf307mE5hNrpfXBe7KsuuQjOGCp3AkY8zYlG5V0BrIHBqFf85oJfP/s320/16April1_SharonSapphire2.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sapphire and I a month after my shoulder replacement<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> Although a trained reining horse who could circle, change leads, spin and slide, I had no desire to show Sapphire. Mostly, I
just had fun with her. She and I were a team. She and I understood each
other. She and I could accomplish what we could not do alone. She and I….</p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLm362JQ9XEZ-mXk_5eWbLyj6-eZh7ruvUTPju1Z8W-ZwGIqLUYFSf-gRwrt98IS0vIfN6BpC4R9pEtPzZUBdix3S2dLR7-xy21ZSdmoSlVXUGzBfR6ClF60qR5qxTibpPlXjVfo-4lrw9v1jRAUksngzsuW_iDcFaxR5dkG5E_LbhkQ96ao8EPTpY/s1800/17July17_SapphireNorthField1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLm362JQ9XEZ-mXk_5eWbLyj6-eZh7ruvUTPju1Z8W-ZwGIqLUYFSf-gRwrt98IS0vIfN6BpC4R9pEtPzZUBdix3S2dLR7-xy21ZSdmoSlVXUGzBfR6ClF60qR5qxTibpPlXjVfo-4lrw9v1jRAUksngzsuW_iDcFaxR5dkG5E_LbhkQ96ao8EPTpY/s320/17July17_SapphireNorthField1a.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sapphire and I on the Diamond Dot Ranch<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8fOFpz6Vn8g-LcYLiU6R9Ty9zkRbH5ASluPzBChwWNkANecas6mqWoxisGKDTRETiy5meT94Y1IjaOFyOcktYYiz2bVbpm6T2L-FKh-x0Ib-7aLAwI4S_Y92yE5tQYo6iOe29ghrnA35kOTLmzO7gCJ1H6FI05M9je9XXggtlvbKo3djmLiLUpjB/s1800/18Apr15_CopperSlotCanyon21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8fOFpz6Vn8g-LcYLiU6R9Ty9zkRbH5ASluPzBChwWNkANecas6mqWoxisGKDTRETiy5meT94Y1IjaOFyOcktYYiz2bVbpm6T2L-FKh-x0Ib-7aLAwI4S_Y92yE5tQYo6iOe29ghrnA35kOTLmzO7gCJ1H6FI05M9je9XXggtlvbKo3djmLiLUpjB/s320/18Apr15_CopperSlotCanyon21.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sapphire and I in Utah<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgEQ_XKw07S4Xc4Zu9PSy_wIXOZpbt_UQ7l4iUFBvtrIcY_aQxYDPy5aCScVwXaK1p1HtBASpRDQujSm-8uh-_nMsXr_Hy8Yq0onackBkVdGt-5Ox6SWb72UJGxjrWIQMKKfzGM9Y9nFBNlUrN9jeHh7g6WLbLDoCMqiZ6D_sTFb_xfWClsVczcBe/s1800/18Apr18_ResurrectionCanyon18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgEQ_XKw07S4Xc4Zu9PSy_wIXOZpbt_UQ7l4iUFBvtrIcY_aQxYDPy5aCScVwXaK1p1HtBASpRDQujSm-8uh-_nMsXr_Hy8Yq0onackBkVdGt-5Ox6SWb72UJGxjrWIQMKKfzGM9Y9nFBNlUrN9jeHh7g6WLbLDoCMqiZ6D_sTFb_xfWClsVczcBe/s320/18Apr18_ResurrectionCanyon18.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sapphire and I in Utah<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VZtJRLBLS-u5-__D5mM4vZjOidMc3mIpNE6-aOy8mTDlfqP6NeQ1TQ1BlnPMKlLiVx7jTIx3aAN-E2ciSAU0BJLEYeLYmxvehcInVz7JmJ4_UQIBzuCu36PNa6DymkXNlqjDxKFAR_2Nc0nJ9dEFo62kmc1DaHhzqRqbxQAYmM3gZJzSv7jWG1Yi/s1800/18April23_PariaTownsite36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VZtJRLBLS-u5-__D5mM4vZjOidMc3mIpNE6-aOy8mTDlfqP6NeQ1TQ1BlnPMKlLiVx7jTIx3aAN-E2ciSAU0BJLEYeLYmxvehcInVz7JmJ4_UQIBzuCu36PNa6DymkXNlqjDxKFAR_2Nc0nJ9dEFo62kmc1DaHhzqRqbxQAYmM3gZJzSv7jWG1Yi/s320/18April23_PariaTownsite36.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sapphire and I at Paria Townsite, Utah<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf79o2G_Y6Q1N-XpSkMfuoNHH7rrgyKigIY1ro4BdQaICbBSrk01thqiYqMuIzPdV3TFMlLS0PW2k9a_k62rD8DIwGkUhBpelLAKKcfwjyTKgWc1JTcWmhdmOw4oIlNP0xVP8nsBJAsnqctfEr5ZXxLnkIJuzLkGE9V91xWc9fnWS9yaKEULo6JMc0/s2927/18April24_BryceRide30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2927" data-original-width="2890" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf79o2G_Y6Q1N-XpSkMfuoNHH7rrgyKigIY1ro4BdQaICbBSrk01thqiYqMuIzPdV3TFMlLS0PW2k9a_k62rD8DIwGkUhBpelLAKKcfwjyTKgWc1JTcWmhdmOw4oIlNP0xVP8nsBJAsnqctfEr5ZXxLnkIJuzLkGE9V91xWc9fnWS9yaKEULo6JMc0/s320/18April24_BryceRide30.jpg" width="316" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sapphire and I in Bryce Canyon<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> For the
last few years, Cameo was her constant companion. They hauled together on the
move from BC to Alberta
and spent the night in the trailer in a snowstorm. It was those two I hauled to
Saskatchewan
in 2017 to ride the hills where I was born. It was those two I hauled to Utah in 2018 to ride the trails in the red rock of Bryce Canyon,
Buckskin Gulch and others.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QT-_wA7_p3A" width="320" youtube-src-id="QT-_wA7_p3A"></iframe></div><br /> Since I moved to Alberta, Sapphire has had
several bouts of colic. With vigilance and a little luck, I always caught it in time but it was becoming chronic and the episodes scared me like only colic can. On the evening of March 31, it happened again and it appears the damage had already been done in the 3 hours since I had last seen her. It was a brutal night I will never forget. Embedded in my mind forever is Sapphire asking me to help . . . and the realization that I could not. I would have taken her to surgery if I had had the financial means but in the early hours of April 1<sup>st</sup>,
I had to let Sapphire go. I am lost, heartbroken and gutted. My sweet, sweet mare is gone. <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> Wait for me at the gate, Sapphire. You have joined those of mine who have gone before. I know your great-great grandma, Duchess, is looking out for you. Until then...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOogu2mmHuB3WMLAcibIl4N_y36e6SpdrDIong1MzB3VplbtxLSYI6E8VhQdOF2PhTU3Mb4DhTmO2-RTSxJLEVe_JIuvrM-BH1_HIliY8GvhymCablCZMjGeAUvbhjbJ57QL96bEnDI5eXwaXtP6D4Vz6MxKprJ8vxRMucVa2wzW4DQdPZz49aa7J/s1800/20Aug1_DiamondDot8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOogu2mmHuB3WMLAcibIl4N_y36e6SpdrDIong1MzB3VplbtxLSYI6E8VhQdOF2PhTU3Mb4DhTmO2-RTSxJLEVe_JIuvrM-BH1_HIliY8GvhymCablCZMjGeAUvbhjbJ57QL96bEnDI5eXwaXtP6D4Vz6MxKprJ8vxRMucVa2wzW4DQdPZz49aa7J/s320/20Aug1_DiamondDot8.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRh5EMmPp5FbPj7oFtRshKZ9NxVIALtx73gD79AEZQqsh1D_eaXNWDbQGAck5MbpnIckoF4Rtz98-q7uSOXcNUwg3QWb5IDBBm1tdMs6xo1PFYTvoyjzMpQbBSL5bpnc_Lj57Vq2vuWXMVq9KzGYbnAEKNQAbog9x-YUsJgXJdB93Yhlewzmi2jqT/s1800/20Aug1_DiamondDot17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRh5EMmPp5FbPj7oFtRshKZ9NxVIALtx73gD79AEZQqsh1D_eaXNWDbQGAck5MbpnIckoF4Rtz98-q7uSOXcNUwg3QWb5IDBBm1tdMs6xo1PFYTvoyjzMpQbBSL5bpnc_Lj57Vq2vuWXMVq9KzGYbnAEKNQAbog9x-YUsJgXJdB93Yhlewzmi2jqT/s320/20Aug1_DiamondDot17.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwSNseff81zpTzqm2FvCa1JB1H0tv2AY_CV9qy8DPKyf90uzAt8pyhE3e1N41TOAhTr9CTesO4t-wz18yklx8_386ofPdLDyGMH7L3kSx5E6OWut6zISm2vKubmXVq-G7Z52cnQuvbILBUg3tGhKBWT1jPchEhNPUHgAfzcF9XsYQKGxtL-H39UDHK/s1200/17May28_SapphireSunrise2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwSNseff81zpTzqm2FvCa1JB1H0tv2AY_CV9qy8DPKyf90uzAt8pyhE3e1N41TOAhTr9CTesO4t-wz18yklx8_386ofPdLDyGMH7L3kSx5E6OWut6zISm2vKubmXVq-G7Z52cnQuvbILBUg3tGhKBWT1jPchEhNPUHgAfzcF9XsYQKGxtL-H39UDHK/s320/17May28_SapphireSunrise2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p></p>Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-9960094140659436752023-02-16T08:32:00.003-08:002023-02-16T09:43:30.642-08:00It Was Meant to Be<p>In 2011, my beautiful mare, Prima, was expecting a Wimpys Little Step foal. I imagined she might even foal out a palomino (the signature colour of WLS) filly. But the much anticipated event turned horribly wrong. On May 13 (Friday the 13th!), Prima lost her bay Wimpy colt. I was devastated, my dream shattered. </p><p>The years passed and the dream faded . . . until a photo popped up on Facebook last June . . . a palomino filly out of a Wimpys Little Step mare. Only a couple of weeks old but she caught my attention. And she was for sale. I inquired about her and liked what I heard. A combination of breeding, conformation complete with a pretty doll head, talented full brothers and sisters and a breeder who was super easy to work with sold me. I put a deposit down.</p><p>In October 2022, I brought Crusin Step O Kismet home. She is a sweet, kind and beautiful filly who will brighten my winter days and has given purpose to my life. I have missed working with the youngsters!</p><p>Thank you to Tammy Stewart for giving me the opportunity to own Kismet, daughter of Crusin Whiz (by Topsail Whiz) out of Wimpys Star Pine (by Wimpys Little Step). I am pretty sure it was hard for Tammy to let her go.</p><p>Kismet . . . because it is kismet that led me to her. I was meant to be.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWuMS5Ky6RMAwL7kaT68QMlQ-OvNX50WSlePXpDg1jvjzj-BgsqGOsdx5i6vdyRxzMKK3Fnfe12n_yFHh0-KuFMg1OG1ddcNAcfWv-O6lgKK0vXznGqgf0ohHnz9QJGQN2g7Uw4JdIMVnb0lsJuFQhzu1LKn7I1VoXHsIHqaMnGkhq5IZpStMseodi/s1451/IMG_6726(Edited).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1451" data-original-width="1311" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWuMS5Ky6RMAwL7kaT68QMlQ-OvNX50WSlePXpDg1jvjzj-BgsqGOsdx5i6vdyRxzMKK3Fnfe12n_yFHh0-KuFMg1OG1ddcNAcfWv-O6lgKK0vXznGqgf0ohHnz9QJGQN2g7Uw4JdIMVnb0lsJuFQhzu1LKn7I1VoXHsIHqaMnGkhq5IZpStMseodi/s320/IMG_6726(Edited).jpg" width="289" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSmk7aq-Qx_u7VQM7pirURxWlgkOBTmmSnF6v7yUdAumScK0dKe0s8wRJsZBtT6oEtQa50VNdft5yeBvVfPlItemYf5aSo55swq_gE66-UzNn8hBi1j5sqcJn3XmLs6Iz0W1mnWnZgCJtqaFlAtb7EwQ0UGKcRLuZb8ny-8cC-ERoEvurQE6_3emgG/s2048/IMG_6907(Edited).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSmk7aq-Qx_u7VQM7pirURxWlgkOBTmmSnF6v7yUdAumScK0dKe0s8wRJsZBtT6oEtQa50VNdft5yeBvVfPlItemYf5aSo55swq_gE66-UzNn8hBi1j5sqcJn3XmLs6Iz0W1mnWnZgCJtqaFlAtb7EwQ0UGKcRLuZb8ny-8cC-ERoEvurQE6_3emgG/s320/IMG_6907(Edited).jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-57892385577160959172022-05-30T11:21:00.002-07:002022-05-30T11:26:12.754-07:00Pick a Peach<p class="MsoNormal">I have always believed there are lines of connectivity that are outside our five senses. There are threads out there in the universe that connect in ways we don't fully understand. The following story is one of those things.<br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> A few weeks ago, a friend of mine approached me to help her
find a reining horse. She was quite specific…she wanted a four year old mare,
well bred, trained and suitable for her level of riding. I immediately told her
it could be hard to find but I knew of one possibility. I checked with the
trainer and the mare was still available. After much interaction re: texts,
photos and videos with the both the trainer and me, she committed to buying the
mare. Since the pretty dun mare was entered in a reining show in Alberta, Sherry chose that time to
make the trip to see her and to arrange a ride back to BC. Before the show,
though, Sherry and her husband parked their motor home in my yard and we caught
up. It had been 16 years!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> The first day here, we saddled my mares and rode. It was a
beautiful day and at one point, we stopped and talked for quite some time,
sitting in the sun on our horses. Sherry was not quite happy with the barn name her new mare had
been given and we discussed that a bit before the conversation shifted to
stories of our childhood and how we grew up. Sherry's mind was very much on her
father, who she had just lost, and many memories were of him.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnXyoOppCq-ht8FgOFAZG7FoE6pt1tQOnBgFuLDhY7uyrzSeKB1o96XPfzrRFxQ0P_GC_HJE3x1ogOQvWmMrDUcBc9Ixy2M7r2FyClvP7hUTz-6q7cey9zmFwYXy7rFN-pBQ6uMhjhhJIBaw2ej42R1ajkkixIKCvG_wP2Wb8ijOXny9MAk7KC-nig/s1920/22May23_SherrySharon1.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnXyoOppCq-ht8FgOFAZG7FoE6pt1tQOnBgFuLDhY7uyrzSeKB1o96XPfzrRFxQ0P_GC_HJE3x1ogOQvWmMrDUcBc9Ixy2M7r2FyClvP7hUTz-6q7cey9zmFwYXy7rFN-pBQ6uMhjhhJIBaw2ej42R1ajkkixIKCvG_wP2Wb8ijOXny9MAk7KC-nig/s320/22May23_SherrySharon1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiKe86pQFdpRIp3LpHZdFHDbv8z21XCoVYW-IimBTxNAGp26MvIBIM0ppRIwatxbNStUcBwpAp8wR2HXradTTu7ENKT7MR39axNVpqbKDtdR6AkiguWXMDRhvrGj6GGIPJ7yYLOKXVkJmWAXt19GCBZCkXBqdl2EunooKdLEii-ZqiByMRQISY7rZm/s1800/22May23_SherrySharon2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiKe86pQFdpRIp3LpHZdFHDbv8z21XCoVYW-IimBTxNAGp26MvIBIM0ppRIwatxbNStUcBwpAp8wR2HXradTTu7ENKT7MR39axNVpqbKDtdR6AkiguWXMDRhvrGj6GGIPJ7yYLOKXVkJmWAXt19GCBZCkXBqdl2EunooKdLEii-ZqiByMRQISY7rZm/w213-h320/22May23_SherrySharon2.jpg" width="213" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> "We didn't have much money," she said, "but
one day Dad and I were in downtown Calgary, and we walked by peaches for sale. Dad
said, 'Go ahead and pick a peach.'"
<p class="MsoNormal"> But Sherry was hesitant, having never ate a peach before
because they were expensive and not something the family could afford.
Hesitantly, she picked out a little peach.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> "No," her dad said. "Pick a peach, a good
one!" and he reached in and chose the biggest, fattest peach and gave it
to his daughter, who bit into the delicious fruit. Sherry remembers with
absolute clarity walking away, juice running down her chin, holding her dad's
hand and looking at him like he had hung the moon.<br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> From the beginning of her story, the hair rose on
my arms. Finally, when she reached that point of her story, I had to say
something.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> "Sherry," I said. "It's gotta be "Peach"! Don't
you see? It has already been decided."</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Because, you see, the registered name of the mare she had just bought
was Einsteins Peach and Sherry had "picked a peach". </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I'm sure her father is smiling.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUaJEPatvyveDE3itAiOu2e850aARR76k71aUW99WDpMjUKnRCzN4iuzFhubny6CNJV71WM3QAlmCKuziwKQd-y0KO61aFSQqoT54D__Y_LMUejK2W1T_QcJ3LW8dqGk7yT3UVbDMhA46qFzusymggY8jGGAg3JMZw8SRf6BIOB1ClHqjxJpe2AzQJ/s2016/IMG_4696.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1504" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUaJEPatvyveDE3itAiOu2e850aARR76k71aUW99WDpMjUKnRCzN4iuzFhubny6CNJV71WM3QAlmCKuziwKQd-y0KO61aFSQqoT54D__Y_LMUejK2W1T_QcJ3LW8dqGk7yT3UVbDMhA46qFzusymggY8jGGAg3JMZw8SRf6BIOB1ClHqjxJpe2AzQJ/w203-h320/IMG_4696.JPG" width="203" /></a></div><br /> Below, in Sherry's words, is the story.<br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dybB-_-7QZ9emLTGf_2MjvVHzgXbsfhaU2LXIXbM_OSWpRZ9cnp3VLHgHbk1HeTzfuA-5Dh3fhCPaMS72nuZg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-73944477041475917582019-07-28T06:29:00.001-07:002019-08-01T10:19:04.033-07:00Affairs of the HeartI don't believe there has ever been a time in my life that I
loved my horses more. I begin each day looking out the window at them; I visit
each one in the early morning sun; I breathe in their aura, their acceptance, their love. I tend to their needs
throughout the day – fly masks, meds if needed, feeding in the winter - and I ride. I am "home" when I am on the back of one of my mares.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fG0cQXy3w1I/XTxlD-fUiAI/AAAAAAAABi8/_Nht5E0X9NAA1F7Dczdi87RGxxRh9j6pQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_3939.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fG0cQXy3w1I/XTxlD-fUiAI/AAAAAAAABi8/_Nht5E0X9NAA1F7Dczdi87RGxxRh9j6pQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_3939.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My view in the morning</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A couple of days ago, when I caught Sapphire, I impulsively hopped on her bareback (with the help of a fence) and rode her back to the gate that way as I used to in the Chilcotin when I had to walk to the river field to catch her. Legs wrapped around her, I absorbed the oneness and the world slowed. <em>"You," I thought, "Are my rock. All of you are my rocks. And my heart."</em><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V6vpGPe1Fuc/XTu1dBmxxMI/AAAAAAAABiw/8Jivcjq4xl8Q1Jzsb9Go7q8J6StVX6__QCLcBGAs/s1600/BeFunky_Underpainting_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V6vpGPe1Fuc/XTu1dBmxxMI/AAAAAAAABiw/8Jivcjq4xl8Q1Jzsb9Go7q8J6StVX6__QCLcBGAs/s400/BeFunky_Underpainting_1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"You are my heart."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a name='more'></a> My heart, the one that has been beating for over 75 years. The one that keeps me alive. The heart that, although it has done its job well, is now letting me down. I didn't see that coming.<br />
<br />
It all began over a year ago with an echocardiogram as part of a routine physical. When the results of the echo came back, my doctor was on maternity leave and another doctor advised me of the results. Nothing alarming, he said. Good.</div>
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In January, with what I can only call "intuition", I asked my doctor, now back to work, to bring up the test results again. This time, I got more information. She said it showed a dilation of the ascending aorta but, although it should be monitored, it was not large enough to worry about - yet. To be on the safe side, though, she told me she would refer me to a cardiologist. </div>
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I was shocked at the diagnosis. I always thought my heart was strong. I did everything right. I had no risk factors - never smoked, not overweight, exercised, blood pressure had always been low, low cholesterol, ate healthily and prepared almost all my food. A doctor had once told me I would never die of a heart attack; another told me my cholesterol would be the envy of a twenty year old. Of course, the "age card" was a factor and maybe there were times I had not handled stress well. Still...</div>
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And then I waited. During this time and for a few years before, I had noticed and mentioned to my doctors (both BC and Alberta) a weakness in my legs but with no shortness of breathe. I had always thought it was as if oxygenated blood was not getting to them when I exerted extra effort like walking up hills. Still, it had not slowed me down much and I had got used to it. The doctors, I believe, thought I was expecting too much. One even suggested I was just out of shape. Really?</div>
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By June, it concerned me that the echocardiogram was now a year old. Had the aneurism grown? Finally, this month, I had an appointment with the cardiologist in Red Deer. I was booked for a nuclear stress test. How scary is that? Getting injected with a radioactive "tracer" seemed a little ominous...</div>
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I liked the cardiologist. He went over my history after the "rest" part of the test and said he did not expect to find anything and that he would only phone me if he did. He pointed out that I did not have risk factors, that my cholesterol was so good, etc, etc... I completed the exercise part of the test, made a couple of stops and then headed for home. A few kilometers from home, the phone rang. It was my cardiologist.</div>
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"This can't be good," I said. It wasn't, although it could have been a lot worse too. He said the test showed coronary heart disease and he was booking me for an angiogram. He was surprised, given my performance on the treadmill and blood test results but there it was, not an emergency situation but definitely an indication of a problem.</div>
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And so, on Tuesday, I will get the angiogram with follow up angioplasty if deemed necessary. I'm still upset with my heart, which<em> </em>I thought I had taken good care of. After all, it's a muscle - right? - and muscles need to be worked to stay in shape. What damaged the arteries? Was it because of years of sleep deprivation? Or stress? Did I expect too much? Research turned up an interesting fact - <em>physically demanding jobs can increase the risk of heart disease.</em> Certainly my life style has been physically demanding. I will never know for sure but it's a fact to deal with now and I can thank my doctor for the heads up. It is my belief that many are going about their lives with similar issues but do not know.</div>
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This is when living alone is complicated. Since I will not be allowed to drive after the procedure, I have had to arrange for transportation. I also need someone to check on home (horses are on pasture but garden and plants need water) as I may be overnight. And, the biggest concern is Mischa, my Samoyed, who will be ONE WEEK away from whelping. My daughter will take her for the time I am in the hospital and I can only hope Mischa waits until we are both back home and settled for her big event. And the rest? A neighbor and a friend are stepping up. </div>
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And when it's all over, I will be back with my horses, living the life I love. Possibly the weakness in my legs will disappear if an angioplasty is in my future; if not, I can live with that. Because the important thing is to live...or, as I told the cardiologist, to live and do the things I love to do. My horses, once again, will heal me.</div>
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**********</div>
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Update: Best news ever! The angiogram revealed no blockages! The coronary arteries are clear so no angioplasty/stents. Apparently sometimes a stress test shows a false positive.</div>
Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-85129356824651125332018-05-11T16:42:00.001-07:002018-05-11T16:55:52.786-07:00Revelations and Insight<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
I wish I could have blogged my trail riding vacation in Utah every day (so much I could have written) but time did not allow and, to be honest, my priority was not sitting at a computer at the end of the day. For a time when I got home I thought of writing the details up day by day while they were fresh in my mind but scrapped that too. As the days went by, other thoughts, insights and revelations surfaced and it is those I am putting on paper now. </div>
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I have wanted to ride in <st1:state w:st="on">Utah</st1:state>
for a long time, ever since my husband and I visited the areas around <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Moab</st1:place></st1:country-region> almost 25
years ago. Living alone as I do now and with financial restrictions, it was
almost impossible but last fall I decided I was going to do it. Why? Because,
at 74 years, I wasn't sure how much longer I would be able to. Pushing aside
nagging reminders that I should not be spending money I might need for
something else, I researched my trip looking for the perfect place to go. I
wanted to be able to ride on my own – no guided rides – and I found Paria River
Ranch.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>Trading off my trailer for a newer one with larger living
quarters just before I departed increased my anxiety about the cost of the
vacation but I stayed on course, loaded Sapphire and Cameo in the trailer and
Mischa in the truck and got on the road for what would be a three day haul to
Paria. As it turned out, it was four. I drove right into a <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Montana</st1:place></st1:state> snowstorm and spent much of one day
parked. Better to lose a day than to be in a wreck though. Horses, dog and I were safe.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pulled over here when I-15 north of Butte turned to ice.</td></tr>
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When I arrived at my destination, settled in and looked around, all my doubts about the wisdom of spending the time and money on this vacation for me vanished.</div>
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<em><span style="font-size: medium;">Revelation #1: This trip was the right thing to do.</span></em></div>
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A kind of peace settled over me. This is why I came. Let the adventure begin.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gLFznVU0SMg/WvXKdp04R0I/AAAAAAAABWc/ZotAJV63pwclTxFvvybT0WdHWZRNWVFWwCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC07194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gLFznVU0SMg/WvXKdp04R0I/AAAAAAAABWc/ZotAJV63pwclTxFvvybT0WdHWZRNWVFWwCEwYBhgL/s400/DSC07194.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parked at Paria River Ranch.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paria River Ranch</td></tr>
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</o:p> In the next days, I explored the trails around Paria River
Ranch, one time on Sapphire, the next on Cameo. The first ride I rode Sapphire and led Cameo, not sure how she would be left by herself in a pen at the ranch. They seemed as eager to see the sights as I did.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2Y3oZ-w_VFU/WvXX8rWABAI/AAAAAAAABXE/YK9qgOs32soXTniOIqP3z2Wufkf5l4UpQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1207%2B%2528Edited%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2Y3oZ-w_VFU/WvXX8rWABAI/AAAAAAAABXE/YK9qgOs32soXTniOIqP3z2Wufkf5l4UpQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_1207%2B%2528Edited%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sapphire and Cameo take in the sights on my first ride in Utah.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Long Canyon</td></tr>
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On the third day, by pre-arrangement, I met with a
cousin I didn't know I had who lived nearby, an opportunity too good to miss and we visited and went for dinner in Page AZ. The next day I agreed to a group ride to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Resurrection</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Canyon</st1:placetype></st1:place> arranged by a gal
who lived there. It was a good group of riders, friendly and considerate but...</div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Revelation #2: Having
trail ridden by myself or with one other person my entire life, I am not cut
out for group rides. (Can't train on the trail, can't stop to take photos when
I want, etc)</span> <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p> </div>
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A new friend with a big rig hauled me to the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Resurrection</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Canyon</st1:placetype></st1:place> trailhead and then to Buckskin Gulch trailhead the next day, both rides of which I would not have done since I had not planned to haul out at all. I was so proud of my mares loading into a
side door of his trailer (a big step) beside his geldings! I took Sapphire the
first day and Cameo the second. They hesitated, then stepped up only because I
asked.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_TlecndNFo/WvXNwM-GcuI/AAAAAAAABW0/haAwJqoC5qwHIx3-iH-ql0TCyO-Bj4FggCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1331.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_TlecndNFo/WvXNwM-GcuI/AAAAAAAABW0/haAwJqoC5qwHIx3-iH-ql0TCyO-Bj4FggCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_1331.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My ride to Resurrection and Buckskin Gulch. Note side door.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cameo and I Buckskin Gulch Ride</td></tr>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><em>Revelation #3: I had been in a rut - always working to make things better at home when there was a world to explore.</em></span></div>
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Of course I met people at the ranch, some of whom I will
keep in touch with. A couple from <st1:city w:st="on">Las Vegas</st1:city> are
planning a trip to <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Alberta</st1:place></st1:state>
next year. As occasionally happens to me, she and I had an almost instant
rapport and I gave her a copy of my book because, as I told her, "You will
get it."<br />
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After two days of riding with someone else, I was ready to
be on my own again. I had intended to ride Nautilus but seeing a group ahead of
me, I changed to an exploratory ride down the river, eating lunch at the end of
<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Copper</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Slot</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Canyon</st1:placetype></st1:place>. We crossed the Paria a couple of times being ever vigilant of quicksand, and I re-centered again.</div>
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My cell phone was my connection to home and a way to post
photos of my adventure. Unintentionally, I took several people along on my adventure.
Also unintentionally, I seem to have inspired a few to do something like I did. Reading the comments on Facebook, it was heartwarming to know most were happy for me. A few made their presence known by NOT commenting which in itself spoke volumes.</div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><em>Revelation #4: I refuse to feel guilty or privileged for taking this vacation.</em></span></div>
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<em> </em></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><em>Revelation #5: This holiday trumped any vacation at a beach! That being said, I recognize it would not be for everyone. It can be physically demanding and the added responsibility of horses and dog daunting for some. For me though - perfect!</em></span></div>
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For the last three days a good friend joined me, one of only
a few that I would allow to ride one of my mares. <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Marion</st1:place></st1:city> flew down the day before I booked out
of Paria River Ranch. We rode once from there then left to ride the old Paria
Townsite on the way to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Bryce</st1:placename>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Canyon</st1:placename></st1:place>. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fLnQyW1y57g/WvXbkCKvVbI/AAAAAAAABXQ/OKB83VHv3kIiW-GqNvf1Noaf_xCf1Y9MACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fLnQyW1y57g/WvXbkCKvVbI/AAAAAAAABXQ/OKB83VHv3kIiW-GqNvf1Noaf_xCf1Y9MACLcBGAs/s400/IMG_1840.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sapphire and I at the Paria Townsite</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marion and Cameo along Paria River (Paria Townsite ride)</td></tr>
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The icing on the cake was <st1:placename w:st="on">Bryce</st1:placename>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Canyon</st1:placename>, my last <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Utah</st1:place></st1:state> ride. No photo can possibly capture the
grandeur and to ride through it, on my own horse was, well, the experience of a
lifetime. <br />
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On a final note, kudos to my mares, who accepted, with grace, everything I asked. Neither one had been on any kind of extended trail ride like this before. They were sure footed, trustworthy and trusting. They did buddy up of course but that could be expected.<br />
<br />
Did I make any mistakes, do anything stupid, on my trip? Yes. I'm still a country girl at heart and I tend to trust too easily. Or is it that I just don't think that there are people I shouldn't trust? On the way home, when I was looking for a place for my horses to overnight, I stopped in a little town thinking there would be a rodeo grounds there. Not much was open but I asked a couple of fellows chatting on the street. The one in the truck said he lived there but the rodeo grounds was privately owned and he knew of no other.<br />
<br />
"I have a little patch of ground you can use," he said. "Jump in and I'll show you." <em>So I did!</em> What was I thinking? In today's age, one should not ever do that. He truly was a nice man, showed me the little pasture but I chose not to use it as it seemed unsafe to turn them in at night. Only later did I think how stupid that was to get in the truck with a strange man... </div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><em>Revelation #6: I underestimated myself. A lifetime of always trying to do better, to be better had allowed doubts to creep in (sometimes by others but mostly by myself for allowing it to happen) that I still did not do things as well as I should. But a ton of experience behind the wheel and on the back of a horse had prepared me for this trip as it has done in the past. I don't scare easily and I don't stress and that has saved many a potential dangerous situation. My horses will
do anything for me if I ask nicely and I can still hold my own physically on a
long day in the saddle. I cannot ask for more.</em></span></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: large;"></span></em> </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And I did gain insight into myself and others and what makes us all tick. I now have a better understanding of that part of the country, too, and its people. I always learn when I visit some place new but there's questions unanswered too, like "What makes those rocks that colour?" and "Why are the lines in the rock" and "How did the early settlers survive?" I'll be looking for answers.<br />
<br />
And my new motto (borrowed from Nike on the advice of a friend): "Just do it!"</div>
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Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-33287626735932796682018-03-15T08:51:00.000-07:002018-03-15T10:42:00.738-07:00It's the Little Things<div style="text-align: justify;">
It doesn't take much to make me happy. Four new tires on my
horse trailer will do it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
A couple of days ago the guys at Fountain Tire
installed tires all around on my Sooner and although the bill stung a little, I
was on a high for the rest of the day. It's the little things.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
For many this might not seem like much of an event but for
me, travelling alone with horses I love, it is. Only two other times in all the years I've hauled horses have I bought four new tires for my trailer. I clearly
remember both.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
In 1974 I was on the rodeo circuit with my good barrel horse, Duchess, and hauling her in a two horse straight-haul Miley (a
step up from hauling horses in the back of the truck). As the tires wore out one by one, I replaced them with used ones, always travelling with
extras in the back of the truck. But Duchess was winning money every time and finally,
on the way home from a race in southern <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Saskatchewan</st1:place></st1:state>,
I made a decision. I had enough money to replace the tires. So I stopped at
Canadian Tire in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Moose Jaw</st1:city></st1:place>
and bought new rubber all around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
(I think they cost me $50 each.) </span>I remember to this day how good it felt driving away worry free. Those tires
lasted a long time until – you guessed it – I replaced them one by one with used ones with extras in the truck box.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After the Miley, I bought my first living quarters, a used, two-horse
straight haul Roadrunner with a bed, stove and icebox in the living quarters, not much compared to the living quarters trailers of today but a real jewel then. I paid $3500 for it and traded a
nice little mare for part payment. That trailer would be part of my life for
many years. I hauled to horse shows of course, the beach for weekend get-a-ways with the
kids, moved my horses to BC with it and pulled it up rough mountain trails to trail ride. I got it stuck and
unstuck more times than I care to remember and of course I had flat tires. I replaced them with used ones and became a regular visitor to the "tire man" in Armstrong. He knew what I wanted when he
saw me coming and supplied me with used tires for both the truck (a beat up
1978 GMC) and the trailer for several years (extras in the back of the truck).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S8pbvEbQqOY/Wqn_1gfOm6I/AAAAAAAABVQ/5B7jpRRnnlAXuuZ56TKZmEQrxQZB6_NXwCLcBGAs/s1600/Trailer1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1076" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S8pbvEbQqOY/Wqn_1gfOm6I/AAAAAAAABVQ/5B7jpRRnnlAXuuZ56TKZmEQrxQZB6_NXwCLcBGAs/s400/Trailer1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>1992 - The Roadrunner at Larch Hills before it was painted.</strong></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Enter a man in my life. The living quarters trailer
got a paint job and made even more trips to the mountains as well as everyday use for my business training
and showing reining horses. Don made fun of my load of 'extra' tires and even lug nuts (but that's another story...) but I was always struggling to make ends meet and could not afford new tires for the trailer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TO0Y2j3_UQE/WqoAPJKg_iI/AAAAAAAABVU/4hNsJ50g9fgRlAxUTSl9MEDS9r_T2RqOgCLcBGAs/s1600/Trailer3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1566" data-original-width="1182" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TO0Y2j3_UQE/WqoAPJKg_iI/AAAAAAAABVU/4hNsJ50g9fgRlAxUTSl9MEDS9r_T2RqOgCLcBGAs/s400/Trailer3.jpg" width="301" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>1995 South Country Slide In, Cardston AB with my granddaughter</strong></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In
1994, with my new partner's blessing, I paid up a horse in the NRHA
Futurity in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Oklahoma City</st1:place></st1:city>.
We would be driving the long drive in late November and Don had changed a few tires on that trailer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I'm going to buy you tires all around for the
trailer," he told me. "I don't want to drive all the way to <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Oklahoma</st1:place></st1:state> wondering how
many flats we're going to have. Go see your tire man."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
And so I did. Tim saw me coming and he knew what I wanted –
or thought he did.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
"I want four tires for the trailer," I said.
"You know the size."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<o:p> </o:p>I could tell he was already thinking about what he had. He
started to turn back to his pile of rubber and then realized what I said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"<em>New ones?"</em> The look on his face was so funny I laughed. I think I enjoyed telling him that just a little too.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
He was not quite sure he had heard correctly but I assured him I did want
new ones and again, as I had so many years before in Moose Jaw, I drove away with confidence. I would not have to worry about flat
tires for a while.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vYODllsQBaA/WqoAZEZbwyI/AAAAAAAABVc/O-me7MVB2bsuxjfNOnKhsv5arNLFPwkRwCLcBGAs/s1600/Trailer2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1089" data-original-width="696" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vYODllsQBaA/WqoAZEZbwyI/AAAAAAAABVc/O-me7MVB2bsuxjfNOnKhsv5arNLFPwkRwCLcBGAs/s400/Trailer2.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>1994 The trailer painted and with new tires in Oklahoma</strong></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
And so, when I drove away from Sundre with new rubber all
around on my trailer, it lifted my spirits just as it did those other two times. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D9t7eEQFIu8/WqoCAjv5LmI/AAAAAAAABVo/K6B1XENYgb0wDEGKVzd9307PVGdlpHTEQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D9t7eEQFIu8/WqoCAjv5LmI/AAAAAAAABVo/K6B1XENYgb0wDEGKVzd9307PVGdlpHTEQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_1049.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Sooner with new shoes!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
Sometimes it's the little things.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-39631439491454922252017-07-06T07:36:00.000-07:002017-07-27T06:46:49.655-07:00A Hundred Years AgoCanada's 150th has got me back to blogging! For sure it got me wandering back though the years...<br />
In the July 1st post (<a href="http://ridin-reinin-writin.blogspot.ca/2017/07/oh-canada.html" target="_blank">Oh Canada</a>) I shared an excerpt from my mother's book - the story of my great grandfather and great grandmother (Louis and Rachel Giauque) arriving in Canada 120 years ago. What about 100 years ago? The story continues... <br />
<br />
Exactly one hundred years ago, <span style="color: red;">1917</span>, the eldest son of those pioneers, my grandfather, Leslie Giauque, left the homestead in the elbow of the Saskatchewan River to establish with his family a ranch in the Coteau Hills. Still in the family and now called the Diamond Dot Ranch, it is 100 years old this year! Here, from Mom's book again, is what life was like for grandma and grandpa and their young family in <span style="color: red;">1917</span> - a hundred years ago!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>….</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em> But the beginning of the end had
come for the ranch at the elbow of the river. Leslie's younger brothers, Hoy
and Hubert, had enlisted for active service in World War I. Both had lost their
lives. Before enlisting Hoy had homesteaded a quarter section of land in the
Coteau Hills about sixty miles upriver from the elbow. Now the land reverted to
the government and my father acquired it along with other lease land in that
area. He bought, also, a quarter section of deeded land from a discouraged
homesteader adjoining his lease. There he brought his family and there we
continued to live for the thirty or so years that Leslie operated a horse ranch
in the Coteau Hills.</em></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em> T</em></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>he first winter away from the old
Giauque Ranch at the elbow, however, was spent on Hoy's homestead quarter. There
was a dugout barn and a house sheltered from the wind by Maple Butte which
towered to the north of them. </em></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>That first winter at the new ranch
must have been a nightmare for the young mother. She was city born, not of
pioneer stock. Regardless, no one ought to be expected to bear the isolation
which she was to experience.</em></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>
</em></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em> Early in December, by team and
sleigh, Leslie left for the elbow homestead. He wanted to see that his mother was
all right for the winter ahead. Also, supplies were needed for this own
household. He planned to be away for ten days at most, but it was a little more
than three weeks before he returned. It was the tail end of the year 1917 and a
dreadful epidemic of influenza was beginning to take its toll. There was no way
to get word to his wife that he had been stricken. She could only wait and
worry, alone with three children. What would she do if he never returned? There
were neighbours three miles away, an old man and his wife who never left her
house. The man came once a day to feed and water the stallion in the barn, a
chore that Gertie was afraid to do. Every day that Leslie lay sick he worried
and far sooner than he should have done he left his bed and started back to
Maple Butte. The sixty miles that would ordinarily have taken two days now took
three for he was weakened by the illness.</em></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>It was Christmas Eve when my father
opened the door of his house and said, "Hello! Did you think I was
dead?"</em></span></div>
<em><span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>
</em></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>Outside in the sleighbox there was
a gift for everyone. I remember only mine – a little wooden trunk. Chewed now
by mice and discoloured by time, it is still somewhere in the old bunkhouse at
the Maple Butte Ranch.</em></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>
</em></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>The following year the family moved
to a new and permanent location a little closer to High Point Post Office and
to school but still a long way from nowhere. The nearest school was still seven
and a half miles away.</em></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>
</em></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>…. </em></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>
</em></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>Like settlers everywhere, there was
a great deal of visiting done during most of the year but the winter months were
a lonely time for some of them, especially for the women. Everywhere the male
population outnumbered the female. Also, the men were usually more mobile than
were the women. Some were excellent riders as were the Giauque girls, but many,
like my mother, never learned to ride. Neither did she ever learn to drive a
car so her life on the ranch was very restricted. Most important to her was a nice
home, something she yearned for all her life and never got until the last few
years she lived. A dry roof over his head and three good meals a day sufficed
for my father. Other than that, warmth and cleanliness satisfied his
requirements in a home. Even so it had been with his mother, Rachel. Gertie and
her children picked up dried cowchips to burn in the castiron cookstove and she
hated every single minute of it. She polished the stove top to a lustrous sheen
using the cloth with which she had wiped the greasy scum from inside her
dishpan. But in most ways she refused to copy the ways of the women who lived
out their lives in the west. She had come from a more cultured background and
could not, or would not, adopt the new ways of the frontier. Consequently she
was often lonely.</em></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span></em> </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ft_sPZq18G8/WVrrrjn4qdI/AAAAAAAABTc/q5DXuVGst0oFCHSEj-8p2KVSNRjwwJADACEwYBhgL/s1600/12GrandmaGrandpaWedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1143" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ft_sPZq18G8/WVrrrjn4qdI/AAAAAAAABTc/q5DXuVGst0oFCHSEj-8p2KVSNRjwwJADACEwYBhgL/s320/12GrandmaGrandpaWedding.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gertrude and Leslie Giauque on their wedding day 1912.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>
</em><span style="font-family: inherit;">Remember that little trunk that grandpa brought home on Christmas Eve for my mother? I still have it. Several years ago I rescued it from the bunkhouse and refinished it.</span></span><br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IrQwbNnUaUo/WVrtOp-CuFI/AAAAAAAABTk/R7vupCgRHYsRJi6X5DXpLujVa2UI_Cy6gCLcBGAs/s1600/17Jan10_Trunk1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IrQwbNnUaUo/WVrtOp-CuFI/AAAAAAAABTk/R7vupCgRHYsRJi6X5DXpLujVa2UI_Cy6gCLcBGAs/s400/17Jan10_Trunk1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Before....</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4xF7bLFV-Hc/WVrtf1jyzaI/AAAAAAAABTo/MO7on_yS9UUdO9JjIOP1sY23qN0NtQKnwCLcBGAs/s1600/Web_17Jan14_Trunk2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="750" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4xF7bLFV-Hc/WVrtf1jyzaI/AAAAAAAABTo/MO7on_yS9UUdO9JjIOP1sY23qN0NtQKnwCLcBGAs/s400/Web_17Jan14_Trunk2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">... and after!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>A hundred years ago, December <span style="color: red;">1917</span>, a father bought this trunk for his daughter and it made its way by team and sleigh to a little ranch house in the Coteau Hills and into the hands of a little girl, my mother. Today it has a place of honour in my home.</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
A hundred years ago, in <span style="color: red;">1917</span>, the ranch known today as the Diamond Dot Ranch was established by my Grandpa and Grandma. Today that ranch is owned by my brother.</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
A hundred years ago, <span style="color: red;">1917</span>, Canada was a mere fifty years old! A few days ago, the nation celebrated Canada's 150th! How things have changed in a hundred years!</div>
</li>
<br />
</ul>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>
</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em></em></span><br />Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com1Kyle, SK S0L 1T0, Canada50.8327023 -108.0392125000000250.8126443 -108.07955300000002 50.8527603 -107.99887200000002tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-84692507456142998142017-07-01T10:17:00.001-07:002017-07-06T07:43:06.303-07:00Oh, Canada<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today, on the 150th anniversary of the confederation of Canada, I reflected on my heritage. I knew of course, like most Canadians, many of my ascendants were not born in Canada. But where and when were they born? And when did they or their descendants come to Canada? My great grandfather on my mother's side was actually born in <span style="color: red;">1867</span> - in Holland. But the story that appeals to me most is this one, taken from my mother's book "Back to the Coteau Hills". I am so grateful that she took the time to document this history, the details extracted from her father and grandmother. My grandfather, her father, moved to Canada in <span style="color: red;">1897</span> on Canada's thirtieth anniversary. Here is that story, an excerpt from Mom's book:</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>Louis Napoleon Giauque descended
from French Acadians who fled persecution in Acadia, not the <st1:state w:st="on">Maritime
provinces</st1:state> of <st1:country-region w:st="on">Canada</st1:country-region>,
to relocate in the southern part of the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">United States</st1:place></st1:country-region>. But later, with his
parents, he migrated back north, finally settling in the state of <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Michigan</st1:place></st1:state>. He married a
young Irish-Welsh girl named Rachel Jones and together they started a family.
They were both small of bone and short in stature but they were hardy people
from strong, courageous stock, sprung from families who knew what adversity was
and who knew how to survive in spite of it. Louis, black haired and blue-eyed,
was quick and high spirited; Rachel, more quiet and deliberate but with a
certain look in her grey eyes that boded no good for those opposed her. She
walked with a decided limp, since her right leg was an inch or so shorter than
her left. On the way to a dance on her sixteenth birthday a runaway team had
upset the sleigh throwing everyone onto the ice-packed snow and pinning
Rachel's leg beneath the overturned sleigh.</em></span></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Louis was a violinist, an
accomplished ventriloquist, a natural entertainer, also, perhaps a gypsy at
heart. He was never really satisfied in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Michigan</st1:place></st1:state>,
so after a disastrous fire took their home and all their possessions, he
decided to leave that state. In the spring of 1897 he outfitted two wagons and,
with Rachel and their six children, some horses, cattle, a pig which was to
farrow along the way, two geese and a few chickens, they started north and west
to the Canadian border beyond which, they had heard, was good land free for the
taking. Behind them lay the charred remains of their first home; before them
lay their hope for a brighter dawn.</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Louis drove the lead wagon loaded
with tools, the pig and the chickens. He had his rifle and his shotgun in handy
reach and there was seldom lack of fresh meat for the supper meal. Tied to the
tailboard of his wagon was a team of horses, spares in case any of the
harnessed ones became footsore or trail-weary. Rachel followed with a covered
wagon. Hers was loaded with the necessities of life – bedding, a stove, a few
dishes and pots and pans, the barest of food staples and clothing. Four of the
six children rode with their mother or, except for the baby, took turns riding up
front with their father. Nellie, the oldest of the family and Leslie, a year
younger, were on horseback. Their job was to herd the loose horses and cattle
along the trail. One cow was led – "Bossy", their milk cow and the
only one to lead. She was supposed to serve as leader for the others, most of them
not at all anxious to leave the green fields of <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Michigan</st1:place></st1:state>. So Bossy plodded placidly behind
Rachel's covered wagon, providing a meager supply of milk each morning and
night, not really enough for the family of eight but better than none at all.</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Leslie (my grandfather) was only
twelve years old but already showed signs of becoming a fine horseman. His
father mounted him on a little brown mare, pretty to look at but unbroken. The
first day on the trail she bucked the boy off repeatedly until, finally, bruised
and shaken, Leslie asked for another horse to ride. His father's answer was
matter-of-fact.</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Jest keep getting' back up
there. She'll geet tired of buckin' after a while."</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The second day was no better except
that by now Leslie was mad and each time the mare threw him he hung on a little
longer and sure enough, finally, as his father had said, the little mare got
"tired of buckin'" and learned instead to obey the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>boy's commands. By the end of the trek she
was a good cowpony. Leslie Giauque had done his first bronc busting and had
trained his first horse.</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At last, in the green and lovely
month of June, the little cavalcade reached the South Saskatchewan landing and
crossed by ferry boat to the north side of the <st1:place w:st="on">South
Saskatchewan River</st1:place>. Man and animal alike were tired of the long
trail. In a <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">poplar bluff</st1:place></st1:city>
a little downstream from the point of the ferry, Louis and Rachel decided to
rest.</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">However, the Frenchman did not
intend to stay at the Landing. He liked the river but there was something
missing there, something that told him this move from <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Michigan</st1:place></st1:state> would be his last one. Thus the
choice of a homestead must be a good one. Early one morning, the spring after
the family's arrival at the river, Louise set out on horseback to find a place
to relocate. Leaving his wife and children to look after themselves, he rode
east by a little north, always following the general contour of the river but
more often than not out of sight of it. His quest took him through the
manymiles of hlly rolling grassland which was to be called the Coteau Hills –
"coteau", a French word meaning high plateau.</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Meanwhile, though her hands were
full with care of the children and animals, Rachel was restless. There was wood
for their fuel, fish in the river and deer in the ravines of the river breaks.
Her children healthy, happy as only children can be, romped over the river
hills, swam and splashed in the clear waters of the river and, barefoot, they
stepped on the prickly pear cactus and went screaming home beseeching Rachel to
pull the illusive thorns. One evening, just at twilight, Leslie shot his first
deer as it picked its dainty way to the river for a drink. And so the family
wanted not, but Rachel was rested now from the long overland trip and she was
anxious to get the last miles behind her. Too, there was the nagging fear that
her husband might not return. What then, she asked herself, would she do? When,
after two more weeks he did return, Rachel offered a silent prayer of
thanksgiving.</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Louis was happy as a cricket in the
summer sunshine. "I've found the perfec' place. Right in de bend of de
river, 'bout seventy or eight mile down de river from here. Dere are many fine,
beeg trees for building de house, an' thick willows for shelter for the cattle,
an' a beeeg hay meadow between de river and de breaks."</span></em></div>
<em><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As he talked to his wife of this
dream, his lifelong hope of one day having a ranch to share with his sons, he
waved his hands in the air, spreading his fingers wide to illustrate the
importance of his discovery. And as usual, when he became excited, he lapsed
into his mother tongue. </span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Mais dieu avec nous – de bes'
of all! Dere's a spring of good clear water running out of de side of de hill.
De house, she by de side of dat hill!"</span></em></div>
<em><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That night, tired though he was, he
did not sleep for a long time. What hopes he had for the future. How bright his
dreams of a house beside the laughing spring. Rachel was excited too, anxious
to establish a permanent abode, but something was troubling her until, long
after her husband's breathing told her he was asleep, she decided what she
would do. Then, turning on her feather tick, she too fell into untroubled
sleep.</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the morning preparations began
for the last trek across the prairie. Nellie and Leslie rounded up the horses,
caught them one by one, trimmed feet, cut tangles out of manes and tails,
talked to them of the trip ahead, told them of the good times to come. Rachel,
on the her part, was busy loading household things into the covered wagon.
Certain things, unnoticed, she put aside. But before she got too much weight in
the wagon, her husband appeared, a pail of grease in his han.</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"We grease de wheels
now," he said. "For near a year she sit in de shade of de poplar
trees but she be ver' dry now." There was lots to do before they could
actually leave the small clearing which had been their home for most of the
past summer and all of the winter months.</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That last night they unrolled their
blankets under the wagons, and after the l\st young one had gone to sleep
Rachel spoke. </span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"I don't want to go in the wagon
with those big wheels falling into gopher holes and buffalo wallows for all the
miles across the prairie. Nellie can drive the covered wagon and take Vernie,
Hilda and Hoy with her. Leslie can handle the livestock alone. They will go
better not that hey have been once on the trail." </span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Rachel turned on her side and
looked at the little boat resting upside down beside the wagon. Under it, she
knew, were a few provisions and some blankets. Then she spoke again.</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"It'll take at least five days
for you to reach the place you want to go. I'll take the baby in the boat and
row downstream in one day if all goes well. If it doesn't…." She shrugged
her thin shoulders and looked at her husband with clear grey eyes. "I'll
be there three or four days ahead of you. The baby and I will rest by the river
until you get there."</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Louis knew there was no changing
her stubborn Irish mind. So it would be and it happened that there would be two
babies to accompany her in the boat – the baby Hubert and an orphaned piglet
that Rachel knew would not live unless it had the care that only a mother can
give.</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Morning light saw them all astir.
It took a little time to make the final break and as the livestock stepped
easily along in the wake of the wagons it seemed they were even glad to be on
the move again. Lush grass was everywhere – the people called it "prairie
wool" – and water filled slough and hollow. They would fatten on the way.</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Indeed it was a pleasant time. It
was June again, warm and clam. Flies and mosquitoes had not hatched yet in any
noticeable numbers and, except for one sharp shower which soaked them to the
skin, the sky stayed clear and blue. Forage for the horses and cattle was
everywhere, knee high prairie wool. <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Buffalo</st1:place></st1:city>,
of course, had long since disappeared from the prairie but there were deer,
both mule deer and flagtails, in the river breaks and scattered throughout the
hills above. Antelope, fleet of foot, fled from the wagons to stand alert and
ready on the highest hill a safe distance away. Every slough and hollow was
full of waterfowl. Mallard ducks nested at the edges of the water or in the
buckbrush a short distance away, while their mates, the big drakes, preened
their fancy, iridescent feathers. Occasionally a pair of <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Canada</st1:place></st1:country-region> geese
flew overhead, the gander softly honking as he led his goose to last year's
nesting place. And on the prairie, always a circle on a grassy knoll, the
sharp-tailed grouse, the "prairie chickens" danced a tireless dance,
a thump of wing falling heavy on the morning air. Perky little killdeer dashed
higher and yon, calling as they ran, "Killdeer. Killdeer. Killdeer."
And of course there were the meadowlarks singing, rain or shine, the selfsame
tune, "Spring-is-here-again". Over and over they trilled as though
they could not turn off the glad refrain. "Spring-is-here-again.
Spring-is-here-again."</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The man looked at the blue sky
above and at the buttercups at his feet. He looked at his children and at all
his worldly belongings spread out behind him as he sang an Indian love song. Of
the family, only Leslie inherited his father's musical talents and now he
joined in, his sweet boy-voice complimenting his father's deep bass.</span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
"There once was an Indian
maid, a shy little prairie maid</span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
She sang all day a love song gay as
o'er the fields</span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
She whiled away the days.</span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
She loved a warrior bold, this shy
little maid of old</span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
But brave and gay he rode one day</span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
To a battle far away."</span></em></div>
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p>Then Nellie and the younger ones
added their voices to the chorus, lusty though not exactly in tune.</span></span></span></em></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>"Oh the moon shines tonight on
pretty Red Wing.</em></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>The breezes sighing. The night birds
crying.</em></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia";">
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>Far away beneath the stars her
warrior's sleeping</em></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia";">
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>
</em></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>While Red Wing's weeping her heart
away."</em></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia";">
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia";">
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">
<em></em></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;"><em>The cattle slowed their progress.
Log evenings were spent around the campfires and sometimes they were dark with
smoke if, perchance, it happened that the only fuel was buffalo chips. But no
matter! They were entertained or entertained themselves. Rachel and her young
ones seemed far away during the day but after the blankets were spread under
the wagon and his family was sound asleep, Louis' thoughts turned to his wife
and littlest one of all. He would be glad to see them again. He knew very well
the competence of Rachel but till he had feared for her as she rowed the boat
around a bend in the river and out of his sight, just a tiny spot in a wide
long ribbon of blue. What if the boat upset? There could be bears in the dense
tree growth along the river. But there was nothing he could do now but push on
toward the elbow in the river. He would find her there. But occasionally the
soft night noises would be abruptly broken by the spine-chilling ail of a
coyote and, although the man knew there was nothing to fear from them, the
sound sent shivers running up and down his spine. Eventually sleep came and all
too soon it was time to be up and on the move.</em></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em></div>
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Evenings were a joy but in the
morning Nellie had her hands full getting the family fed and things packed into
the wagon again for the day ahead. Leslie helped with the horses an when it was
time to move, he whooped and swung his rope to get the full-fed bovines going.
Only the meadowlarks seemed happy now, and maybe only Leslie heard them sing.
He listened and his heard was gladdened. Much later he was to say, "We
woke to their cheerful tune and we went to sleep with it. It seemed to me they
sang to us every mile of the way."</span></em></div>
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em></div>
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On the fifth day after leaving the
Saskatchewan Landing they arrived at the designated place along the river.
Rachel was waiting by the spring of clear water that ran out of the side of the
hill. She had been at ease, disturbed only that her little supply of milk had
run out on the third day. She had fed the piglet of her own breast milk but by
now both the baby and the pig were crying from hunger.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"I should have let him drown
when he tried to instead of fishing him out," Rachel was to say years
later when she was in a story telling mood. Then she would tell how the little
pig jumped out of the boat just after she had turned that first bend in the
river. "he came up three times," she said. "The third time I managed
to get hold of him and flip him into the boat. Then I tied two legs together so
he couldn't do it again. Twice while I was trying to fish him out of the water I
nearly upset the boat." As she talked she clamped her teeth down on her
tongue in the habit she had when she was deeply moved. The stern look on her
face belied the tenderness she felt for all young and helpless things. </span></em></div>
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<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"By damn!" thought
Rachel's husband when he heard the story. "De pig, she not worth it. Good
t'ing I not know what happen roun' dat bend. I not sleep at all dat night.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Thus, in the crook of the South
Saskatchewan River almost opposite to where the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">village</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Elbow</st1:placename></st1:place>
later stood, the Giauque Ranch started. For nearly a decade it prospered. The
small herd of cattle grew to be a large one. The family, increased by two, grew
likewise and as each day dawned, the log house echoed with its laughter.</span></em></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SHQVPbt_8_E/WVfXMgeS5GI/AAAAAAAABTM/KfK118fTN_8xE9OwKYHikeJWYhEUhXXfQCLcBGAs/s1600/Grandpa_Bronc_4x4.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SHQVPbt_8_E/WVfXMgeS5GI/AAAAAAAABTM/KfK118fTN_8xE9OwKYHikeJWYhEUhXXfQCLcBGAs/s320/Grandpa_Bronc_4x4.tif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandpa on a bronc (Leslie Giauque)</td></tr>
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Grandpa (Leslie) married and he and grandma acquired a lease for what is now the Diamond Dot Ranch (now owned by my brother) exactly 100 years ago in <span style="color: red;">1917</span>, Canada's 50th anniversary. There is a coulee on that ranch that we always called "Grandma's Coulee" because Rachel lived there for a few years. I would have liked to be on the ranch this day and visit that coulee but the trip is postponed until later this month. I have not been back for 15 years. I so look forward to riding those hills again.</div>
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Happy Canada Day everyone! </div>
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Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0Elbow, SK S0H, Canada51.1203148 -106.5969026000000251.1003813 -106.63724310000002 51.1402483 -106.55656210000002tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-75784406270397830112017-04-01T14:46:00.000-07:002017-07-06T07:43:45.447-07:00She Always KnowsIn the last post, I tried to put into words how I felt about moving to my new property in Alberta. The best I could do was to say I just didn't feel like starting over. I had been in B.C. 30 years and was living the dream on my own property - I would miss the mountains, the people.<br />
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I may not have been the only one with those feelings.<br />
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I knew long before I moved I didn't feel the joy I should have to be re-locating. When someone congratulated me on the sale of my property, I had to hold back tears. As I went about daily chores on my property, it hurt to know I had to leave it. As the time approached though, I was too busy to think much. There was a job to do, a big job, and that took all of my energy. The animals, of course, (or so I thought) were oblivious to pending changes. Mischa happily hopped into the truck thinking we were going on an adventure and the horses loaded into the trailer thinking clinic, trail ride?? For sure they all thought we would be returning.<br />
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On the property in Alberta, Mischa was not happy. She didn't eat for a few days and did not want me to leave her in the house even for a few minutes. Finally, she accepted what she couldn't change.<br />
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It took Silk longer. When I turned her and Mistral into the pen under the trees, she spent a lot of time gazing off in the distance, like she was thinking deep thoughts, which I'm pretty sure she was. At eighteen years, she apparently did not take change that well. Although Mistral seemed only a little displaced, Silk was sad.<br />
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Since she is so connected with me, I had assumed she would be fine with the new property as long as I was with her. But she was longing for something that I couldn't provide. I didn't get it.<br />
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Or did I? Wait a minute. Connected to me. Of course. That was the answer. She mirrored my mood as she always had - the pensiveness, the lethargy! It was like looking at myself... And is it a coincidence she stood looking west? No, I think not.<br />
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It was not the first time or will it be the last that Silk will pick up on feelings I think I have hidden, like another time she tuned in to me in <a href="http://ridin-reinin-writin.blogspot.ca/2012/09/she-breathes-on-my-heart.html" target="_blank">She Breathes on my Heart</a>. As a friend of mine said to me after watching Silk in a Working Cowhorse competition, "What a mare!"<br />
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And so this post is for Silk, my little warrior and my heart. She never lets me down, even when I do. Although she is truly a talented mare athletically, it is her intelligence, grit and telepathic abilities I love. She picks up more from one meeting with a person than a psychiatrist could in ten! And she ALWAYS knows what <em>I</em> am thinking. Every horse person should have one like her.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silk (left) with Mistral looking happier today.</td></tr>
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Hug your horse and have a great day!Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0Mountain View County, AB T0M, Canada51.792972199999987 -114.3083834000000351.163024699999987 -115.59927690000002 52.422919699999987 -113.01748990000003tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-15773587597940976132017-03-26T11:41:00.003-07:002017-07-03T06:28:27.942-07:00A Mighty MoveA month has passed since my move to Alberta. What a month it has been!<br />
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It all started a year or more ago. As most of you know, I was living on 93 acres in the Chilcotin area of British Columbia and loving it. I had bought the property in 2006 and proceeded in the ensuing years to develop it. Although a beautiful setting, it was not horse-friendly at all when I purchased it. I immediately had all the perimeter fencing done and water bowls and hydrants installed. Next on the list was a barn, which I designed myself. I called these projects "The Big Three".<br />
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I never stopped improving my property - a log gate (peeled the logs myself), pens for the horses, a bigger arena (cut rose bushes and pulled roots for a year), a river stone fire pit, perennials, a vegetable garden. I created endless work but I loved what I created. I bred, raised and trained horses and coached students in the peaceful setting. I did not think I would ever leave.<br />
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As the years passed, however, (and with some pressure from others), I began to think I should re-locate to a not-so-remote place. I advertised the property and in October 2016, it sold.<br />
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I didn't even know where I would or should go! Initially I thought the Okanagan would be a good choice but a property hunting trip there underlined what I knew already - I could not afford to move the horses and I there. <br />
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Next I started checking out Alberta since two of my children are in Calgary. That quest led me to purchasing a 4 acre property between Sundre and Olds.<br />
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Now comes the hard part. I was moving because I felt it was what I had to do, not what I wanted to do. I had put real roots down on my little paradise. It was mine, what I had made it to be, and it was hard to leave. I could not lose an overwhelming feeling of there being no place for me if I left but, as I have done all my life, I put one foot in front of the other (and my mind) into preparing for the move. I had done this before - first from Saskatchewan to Armstrong BC, then from Armstrong to Hanceville - both times by myself. <br />
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I knew it would be a daunting job and it was. Fortunately, I had a few months to pack up but as the days passed, tension mounted. So many details <em>besides</em> packing - cancel utilities, sign up for utilities, organizing the move. And accommodating the new owners of my property, who moved a lot of belongings in before I was out. I started lists - one for me and one for the new owners with as many contact numbers and notes that I could think of. I even used up the stain on the deck to give it a new look and painted shelves and walls in the basement with leftover paint. Never let it be said that I left a mess!<br />
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Before the movers arrived, I considered which boxes, etc would go with me and the horses (why pay movers if I could take with me?) and when they arrived February 21, I was ready. I had been worried all winter about the road out and had stockpiled sand and salt to help if needed but the weather cooperated. It was a long day but my belongings left as planned.<br />
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Now the final push began. Friends from Alberta were going to arrive February 23 and would haul some of my five horses back. We planned to leave about noon on the 24th but since I did not have to vacate until the 28th, that date allowed for a weather delay. Until then, my time would be used in the final packing and cleaning up. My young friend Sarah helped and we scrubbed cupboards (slow tedious job) and walls. I either overestimated how much we could get done or underestimated the work to be done because we could not get it completed to my satisfaction. <br />
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My flat deck (loaded with feed tubs, water troughs, hay and barn paraphernalia) I parked at Chilco Ranch to pick up later.<br />
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On the 24th, a snowfall gave me cause to re-think the departure. I certainly was not going to put my horses in danger on the road. However, we (my Alberta friends and I) washed ourselves out the door and left at 2:30, packed to the gills - horse trailer, living quarters, back and front of the truck.<br />
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After the hectic departure (loading the mares was the easy part!), it was almost pleasant to be on the road. I knew that, although I would sometime visit friends in the Chilcotin, I had driven away from my little paradise for the last time.<br />
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I had arranged an overnight in Clearwater at a friend's place, an easy drive that first day. I phoned Lorene that we would be late but that I was still bringing lasagna and she said they would wait dinner. After the mares were tucked away in stalls, Bill, Marion, Jim, Lorene and I sat around the table exchanging horse stories for a bit before we all retired to bed. The next day would be a long one, we knew (I didn't guess how long...)<br />
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The first part of the drive the next day went fairly well. My horses all rode well and no mechanical problems either. We passed through several snow squalls but nothing serious until we left the mountains. As we drove east towards Edmonton, the storm worsened and, although I knew the other outfit was somewhere in front of me, we had become separated. When I pulled over to close a window on the trailer that had dropped open, I called Marion on the cell to let her know I was still on the road.<br />
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The already poor visibility became even worse when I turned on to highway 22 to head south - and it was dark! After sliding through a couple of red lights in Drayton Valley, I started looking for a place to get off the road. I didn't know where Bill and Marion were but assumed they were ahead of me since they had long ago disappeared into the snow. I would phone when I was stopped. I didn't want to just pull over for fear of being hit on the highway and eventually I saw a chain link fenced area off the road with a building and a car parked in front. I drove in, dug my fur parka from behind the seat and braved the weather - snow swirling in a strong northerly wind - to walk to the building and ask questions. It turned out I could not park there because the gate would be closed right away. The man told me however, that there was a gravel pit just down the road and he would lead me to it. I pulled in there and parked on the leeward side of a semi trailer to break the wind. The cell service was terrible though so I could not get word to Marion.<br />
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I thought I would spend the rest of the night there but in a couple of hours the snow let up and I hoped I could creep along at least to Rocky Mountain House. (36 km) As soon as I got on the highway I knew I should not have moved but I did make it to Rocky. I parked the outfit for the night and phoned Bill and Marion, who were home in bed, to tell them I would continue in the morning.<br />
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I felt sorry for Cameo and Sapphire, already in the trailer for too many hours but they were so good - no tromping around or fussing at all. Mischa, behind the seat, was good too. I didn't get much sleep though because it was cold. I couldn't sleep when the truck was running and it didn't take long to cool off when it wasn't. At 5:00 A.M. I walked to a 7/11 for coffee, took Mischa out for a bit, crawled into the trailer with hay for the mares (because the windows were frozen shut) and carefully started down the highway again. I arrived at the Brown's at 7:30 AM. I think my animals were in better shape than I was!<br />
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After unloading Cameo and Sapphire and tea with Marion, I headed to my new property. Home, even if it didn't feel like it.<br />
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Later that day, Bill and Marion brought their outfit over and we unpacked the two trucks, trailers and living quarters, including deep freeze which had travelled in the front stall of a trailer. It was a tight squeeze to get it in the utility room but we did it. And that night I spent the first night in my house - on the sectional I had bought from the previous owners because I did not have my furniture yet.<br />
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Without a chance to take a deep breath, the furniture arrived next morning at 8:30 AM. To say I was exhausted at the end of that day would be an understatement.<br />
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A visit from the Telus and Bell technicians and several phone calls took up some time in the next two days and then back to BC I went for the flat deck. More snowy highways on the way back but finally, on March 4, all my earthly belongings were in Alberta. <br />
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All the horses were still at Bill and Marion's since I knew I had to make another trip but the first thing I did was get Silk and Mistral. It felt a little more like home with horses here! <br />
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And then came the real work. Little by little I unpacked boxes. Most afternoons I drove to Bill and Marion's where Cameo, Sapphire and Perfect still were, to ride in their indoor arena. <br />
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And now, again, I can start over. I do not have a barn but hope to be able to afford a shelter for the horses. I have been removing and repairing barb wire fences (it was deja vous rolling the barbed wire exactly how I did the first days in the Chilcotin) and will be putting in posts (more deja vous...) when the ground unfreezes. I am planning a garden and will have to kill and otherwise remove grass (like I did in the Chilcotin) to make it. I hope to make a fire pit and leisure area as well and there's lots of painting to be done. The list goes on... <br />
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And how do I feel about all this? To be honest, it's not the same as when I moved to Hanceville ten years ago. I was excited and eager to dive into projects then. This time I'm having a tough time making the transition.There's a sadness with this move that I can't lose. Possibly I'm tired; maybe I'm just overwhelmed, a new feeling for me. (Statistics do say moving is way up there on the stress meter...) I'm working on it. More about that next post.<br />
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Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-37985595205054342082016-07-10T13:06:00.003-07:002017-07-06T07:44:28.875-07:00The Road Not Taken<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>And both that morning equally lay</em></span></td><td><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="11"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em></em></span></a><br /></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>In leaves no step had trodden black.</em></span></td><td><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="12"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em></em></span></a><br /></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>Oh, I kept the first for another day!</em></span></td><td><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="13"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em></em></span></a><br /></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>Yet knowing how way leads on to way,</em></span></td><td><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="14"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em></em></span></a><br /></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>I doubted if I should ever come back.</em></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: xx-small;">~Robert Frost from The Road Not Taken</span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em></em></span> </td><td align="RIGHT" valign="TOP"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="15"><em> </em></a></span></td></tr>
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Sometimes it's impossible to know what will evoke emotion, especially in yourself. It all started with a phone call from my son.<br />
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Shayne called from <st1:city w:st="on">Tisdale,</st1:city> <st1:state w:st="on">Saskatchewan, where he was on a work assignment. Only a few kilometers from where he grew up and went to school over 30 years ago, he had embarked on a nostalgic journey of Bjorkdale School and the two properties where he had resided with the family. One of those was an acreage</st1:state> we had owned and lived on for 10 years. <st1:place w:st="on"> </st1:place></div>
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<o:p> </o:p>"Did you take photos?" I asked. He told me did and would send them to me. </div>
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<o:p> </o:p>I had not been back to the Crooked River property since 1988. I knew no one was living there and the mobile home was gone. I assumed the yard, barn and fences were in disrepair. I was not sure I wanted to see the old place rundown and empty, but Shayne told me it was "pretty cool" to go back and memories he had long forgotten had surfaced. I waited for the photos, interested and curious but in no way prepared for the jolt they would give me.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>My husband and I bought the Crooked River acreage – bare land – in 1977. We moved there in July with our three children, a few cattle, a bunch of horses and six Samoyed dogs. We had pastures for the stock but quickly built a dog pen and a hip-roofed, two sided shelter for the two stallions. If I remember correctly, one had to stay tied to the trailer for a few nights. Since hydro and water were not yet to the property, we hauled water and cooked on a Coleman stove. Arrangements were made to put in a well, get the hydro in and build a barn. We didn't think there would be any problem getting everything up and running before fall until... an accident in the "rescue race" at Nipawin Fair sidelined my husband with broken ribs and internal surgery. He was on crutches and useless. I said later that we probably got things done faster with him laid up because friends and neighbours pitched in, putting up fences, roofing the barn and helping us in any way they could.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>This was home, mortgage and all, and it was ours. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did not foresee any changes in the near future. One year later, my husband and I separated.</div>
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The separation rocked my world, but, by mutual agreement, I stayed on the property with the children, assumed the mortgage and began life as a single mother. Of course I needed income and so I opened my doors for business – horse training! I took any horse I was asked to and I rode. At least spring to fall I rode; in the winter I raised Samoyed puppies. As well, I stood a stallion and raised some foals. In between the horse work, I got my kids off to school and ran them to various activities, planted, tended, and harvested a large garden and landscaped the yard – with the help of my children. We planted rows of trees and kept them hoed, seeded a big lawn, fenced the lawn with a wagon wheel fence that was my pride and joy, planted shrubs, fruit trees, perennials and lots of annuals. Even now, so many years and several homes later, I believe my <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Crooked</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place> yard was the nicest of them all.</div>
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Fast forward to 1987. Shayne and Cindy had graduated and Lana was starting grade 11 in the fall. My mother and father had both passed away. Other than friends, there was not anything holding me to <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Saskatchewan</st1:place></st1:state> and it was becoming increasingly difficult to make a living with only the summer months to ride. I had always loved B.C. and had a friend there. Should I stay with the familiar or embark on a new trail? Another road beckoned. In October 1987, Lana and I moved to Armstrong B.C. with two Samoyeds and six horses.<br />
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<o:p> </o:p>Shayne's photos were on my email the next morning. As I looked through them, nostalgia changed to something else. After years of never looking back, I found myself lost in the past. I did love that property and was proud of what I had done with it. Unbidded, the memories flooded back – parties, barbecues, hours riding in the arena, picking bushel baskets of peas, a bouquet of cut flowers… At that moment I wished I had not left, had chosen the other path. Yes, it is run down but good vibes are still there. The mobile home is gone but the porch still stands housing the water tank in the basement beneath it and the sump pump I had to keep running because the water level was so high. So is the tree that shaded the deck (can't remember what kind it was) and the beautiful weeping birch that stood at the corner of the home.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>2016 - Only the porch that was attached to the mobile home is here now.</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>1983 - porch and deck are behind tree at left</em></td></tr>
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Separating the lawn from the vegetable garden was a long lilac hedge. Multiple photos were taken with the hedge as a background! The lilac hedge is still there – untrimmed for many years now but I'm quite sure faithfully blooming every spring. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Lilac hedge in 2016 - Photo above was taken to the extreme right with hedge behind</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>2016 - Lilac hedge from garden side. Porch is behind hedge.</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JXjD7Q-WCp0/V4G25K9b0GI/AAAAAAAABLo/u51dEgKd4BIRq2KtRN2z2W1XexmOoqOtwCLcB/s1600/82June_ShayneCindyLana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JXjD7Q-WCp0/V4G25K9b0GI/AAAAAAAABLo/u51dEgKd4BIRq2KtRN2z2W1XexmOoqOtwCLcB/s400/82June_ShayneCindyLana.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Lana, Cindy and Shayne June 1982 in front of the lilac hedge.</em></td></tr>
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Shayne's photos show the barn still stands, in poor shape but standing. The granary, shed, hip roofed shelter and round pen are not there but the pens are, with a few minor changes. I used to mow the entire barn area so it always looked neat and tidy.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>2016 - The barn as it is now.</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>1983 - The barn, granary, and hip-roofed horse shelter.</em><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">More of Shayne's photos of the barn in 2016.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">T<em>he front of the barn facing the house. I went in and out of this door with training horses every day.</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Side of barn next to trees.</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>2016 - Back of barn.</em></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt;">My beautiful pens have taken a beating over the years but they're still there.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>2016 - view of the pens from the what would have been the deck in front of the house.</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>1987 - View of pens from the back lawn looking east.</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>1987 - Shadow</em> in one of the pens.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt;">"Your arena is grown over," Shayne
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kgifp76D_b8/V4Gl3e42mgI/AAAAAAAABLU/t0n-zyF7Ue8VPPWY_afJJq7LQKrse7JRwCLcB/s1600/16July8_CrookedRiver%2BProperty13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kgifp76D_b8/V4Gl3e42mgI/AAAAAAAABLU/t0n-zyF7Ue8VPPWY_afJJq7LQKrse7JRwCLcB/s400/16July8_CrookedRiver%2BProperty13.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2016 - My arena was the other side of power pole (photo looking west).</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BHgf1FETzfQ/V4Gl1vOCscI/AAAAAAAABLQ/73Vn5pVjxq8M9noKYtcJqtQlyQ8YuWIHwCLcB/s1600/83Aug_CRArena1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BHgf1FETzfQ/V4Gl1vOCscI/AAAAAAAABLQ/73Vn5pVjxq8M9noKYtcJqtQlyQ8YuWIHwCLcB/s400/83Aug_CRArena1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>1983 - Working a horse in the arena (across from the barn)</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IrcJV29RhTk/V4Gl0YBrEFI/AAAAAAAABLM/G0dLj0-CQiEG2wtvXXMd_czhEz7es0PdQCLcB/s1600/83Aug_CRArena2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IrcJV29RhTk/V4Gl0YBrEFI/AAAAAAAABLM/G0dLj0-CQiEG2wtvXXMd_czhEz7es0PdQCLcB/s400/83Aug_CRArena2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>1983 - The power pole in the 2016 photo is seen here but looking east. Our "beef" is tethered in the background.</em></td></tr>
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And so the Crooked River property is the "road not taken" when I considered two paths in 1987. I live in the present so never thought much about my old home place after I left. But now, almost thirty years later, looking at the photos, I feel more than a little twinge of regret. Maybe I should have stayed on this property... What would my life be like if I had stayed? Would there have been another path to tempt me? And most of all, why do I feel such a draw back now?<br />
<br />
For two days I have been thinking about the effect these photos had on me. It's difficult to name the emotion that washed over me as I flipped through them. A friend said, "It's heartbreaking to see all the landscaping gone." Heartbreaking - yes - but they brought back warm feelings too. My children and I lived, loved and worked here. My business started here. Some tough times but so many happy occasions. A peaceful, pretty place to live. And it still is...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em>2016 - A wide view of the property taken from the road in.</em></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oY-cmeQWlio/V4HFYIRGdZI/AAAAAAAABMQ/nNMKeGfsBpkL0HYxfeaZUACTSPcjUYaEgCLcB/s1600/16July8_CrookedRiver%2BProperty17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oY-cmeQWlio/V4HFYIRGdZI/AAAAAAAABMQ/nNMKeGfsBpkL0HYxfeaZUACTSPcjUYaEgCLcB/s400/16July8_CrookedRiver%2BProperty17.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em>2016 - Shayne standing on the road (now a trail) to the property. Behind him at the corner, he boarded the school bus every school day morning with his siblings. It doesn't take any effort at all for me to 'see' the bus there as I did so many mornings.</em></span></td></tr>
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It may be a few days until I settle back into the present, a few days until I don't have a overwhelming urge to stand in the yard as Shayne did. But I chose another path long ago and, in the words of Robert Frost: </div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>I shall be telling this with a sigh<br />Somewhere ages and ages hence:<br />Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,<br />I took the one less traveled by,</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>And that has made all the difference. </em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: xx-small;"><em>~Robert Frost from The Road Not Taken</em></span></div>
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Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0Crooked River, SK S0E, Canada52.852874 -103.7250209999999727.3308395 -145.03361499999997 78.3749085 -62.41642699999997tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-8357791025839646252015-08-24T12:34:00.000-07:002017-07-06T07:45:11.019-07:00"I Would Have Thought They Would Have Been Lined Up!"<br />
I first started planning a trail
ride in the <st1:placename w:st="on">Rainbow</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Mountains</st1:placetype> of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Tweedsmuir</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place>
in 2009. I asked two couples to go with me but several weeks before departure
date in August, one couple backed out and the second couple was waffling. Plans
went sideways anyway when wildfires closed the park. In 2010, wildfires again closed
the park and I shelved the whole idea until last winter, when a young man I had
given riding lessons to contacted me. He asked if I would be trail riding in
the summer and if he could go with me. I told him about the Rainbows.
"We'll do it," I said.<br />
<br />
After our conversation I brought up
all the information I had on my computer – notes, maps, photos – and started
making plans for a ride in August. Some time in the winter a second person
approached me about riding with me. I thought I had a plan B but she soon
decided it would be too much for her.<br />
<br />
As the months passed and still no
one confirmed that he/she wanted to ride with me, I branched out. I asked two
or three friends but due to commitments, costs or lack of interest, no one took
me up on the offer. A Facebook post hinting at a once-in-a-lifetime trail ride
adventure yielded a couple of "I would love to go with you's" that
fizzled out. If I was going to see the Rainbows on horseback, I would be riding
alone. Determined, I proceeded with my plans. I studied maps carefully and
decided on a route but since I had not ridden these trails, I could not be sure
my timeline would be accurate. I had originally planned a four day ride when I
thought there would be two or three of us but I decided three days would be
enough by myself. For safety reasons, I bought a DeLorme InReach so I could
stay in touch with family and friends. I watched the weather forecast for the
best possible three or four consecutive days and finally settled on August
19-21. I would be riding Mistral, a 6 year old mare who had been on only one
trail ride (Where she was lost in the wilderness for five days. See <a href="http://ridin-reinin-writin.blogspot.ca/2014/09/lost-in-potatoes.html" target="_blank">Lost in the Potatoes</a>) and Legacy
would be the pack horse.<br />
<br />
I drove to the trailhead on the
afternoon of the 18<sup>th</sup>, settled Mistral and Legacy for the night with
hay bags and myself in the camper of my horse trailer. The next morning, I
saddled and packed up (sounds fast but in fact took me quite a while by myself),
slung a back pack on me with emergency items (in case I got separated from the
horses) and my camera and headed into "unknown-to-me" territory.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D_w2TDdPJ3s/VdtLQnLGAGI/AAAAAAAABHo/8-0nU0mBl4Y/s1600/Web_15August19_RainbowRide3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D_w2TDdPJ3s/VdtLQnLGAGI/AAAAAAAABHo/8-0nU0mBl4Y/s400/Web_15August19_RainbowRide3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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A sign at the trailhead warned of bears – no kidding! I had belled Mistral hoping the steady clanging would ward them off and, for the first time in my life, I had bear spray but I knew it would be a wreck if we came across a grizzly. Mistral, especially, was on looking for something to happen. I will never know what she saw on her five days lost in the wilderness last year but it's safe to say she saw grizzly. The experience changed her. I knew she was having déjà vous moments.<br />
<br />
I followed a rocky trail along what might be East Branch Creek with no difficulty though light forest sprinkled with
fireweed with very little change in elevation. Mistral was fresh but the day
was warm and sunny and I was relaxed and eager with anticipation. I woke
from my reverie with a jolt when Mistral leaped into the air. (This was the
first of a few times on the ride that a lifetime of riding saved a serious wreck
– I stayed in the middle of the horse!) At first I thought Legacy's lead rope
had slipped under Mistral's tail but that was not the problem. A stumpy tree
had scratched her belly and apparently she thought something had bit her! I
might thank her for the wake up call though because I discovered my oilskin
coat, tied behind the saddle, had fallen off. I had to back track and pick it
up (almost back at the trailhead).<br />
<br />
A sign (almost missed it because it
was laying flat on the ground) indicated the junction of Octopus and <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Crystal Lake</st1:place></st1:city> trails. I
turned right to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Crystal Lake</st1:place></st1:city>.The unmarked trail wound around
through the trees and over small streams for a few kilometers. I was tracking
the trail on my GPS but was very conscious of not losing it in the bush. A few
times I had to look closely as there had not been any recent horse traffic. I
also worried about the bogs and once I stepped Mistral into one. Fortunately,
she came right out and I found a drier way through. According to the GPS, we
gained about 700 feet to a semi open area and, a short while later, a small lake where I stopped for
lunch.<br />
<br />
The weather was perfect – sunny but
not too hot – and, since I had skipped breakfast, I wolfed down a sandwich and
coffee from the thermos. It was here, for the first time of several that I wished
I could share this moment with someone. Instead, I sent a message on InReach
that I was okay.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch break</td></tr>
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After lunch the mares and I
followed a sometimes faint but reasonably easy to follow trail with ever amazing vistas
opening up all around us. The semi-open terrain was much more to my liking than the trees and I was beginning to see where I was going and what was ahead. A few cairns marked the hard-to-read trail and once in a while an orange ribbon was tied to a tree. I felt like I had a better chance of avoiding a grizzly encounter when I could see more around me.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kBjlahRKd2A/VdtrYT8lGLI/AAAAAAAABH4/lVXt9w6j3W8/s1600/Web_15August19_RainbowRide8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kBjlahRKd2A/VdtrYT8lGLI/AAAAAAAABH4/lVXt9w6j3W8/s400/Web_15August19_RainbowRide8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I knew I should reach Lester's camp before long and
had no problem recognizing it when we did. It would have been a great place to
camp had the timing been right as it is sheltered and boasts a bear locker and
a toilet (open air kind), water and grass near for horses. I tied Mistral and
Legacy, finished my coffee, checked the InReach and took a few photos. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lndrtcm56vs/Vdtr5K-_M9I/AAAAAAAABIA/ZudEWW7utrw/s1600/Web_15August19_RainbowRide12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lndrtcm56vs/Vdtr5K-_M9I/AAAAAAAABIA/ZudEWW7utrw/s400/Web_15August19_RainbowRide12.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<em> I am going to try to describe this
experience now but words will no doubt fall short. First, it is rather
humbling to be so insignificant in such vast wilderness,
which could be unsettling but in
fact for me is deeply peaceful. To be surrounded by nature, indeed, wrapped in
it, is therapeutic in a way that multiple visits to a psychiatrist is not. The
stress is simply washes off. Combined with that, though, is vulnerability - I am at the mercy of the elements I so love and admire. I am never more aware that my horses are my legs and how much I need them.</em></div>
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<em> It is the responsibility when I ride alone that eventually exhausts me mentally – I am 100%
responsible for 100% of the elements of the ride 100% of the time. That means I
must find the trail, stay on the trail, keep a keen eye out for possible
problems and/or wildlife, keep the horses safe day and night and take great care to not be thrown for
any reason. That being said, seeing that pristine lake, that sparkling stream or that snow-capped peak for the first time is a feeling like no other. It is a privilege.</em></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rlvYdXVc-oQ/Vdts7lqWHyI/AAAAAAAABIU/pnpsAkr7zH0/s1600/Web_15August19_RainbowRide10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rlvYdXVc-oQ/Vdts7lqWHyI/AAAAAAAABIU/pnpsAkr7zH0/s400/Web_15August19_RainbowRide10.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
I stopped for the night at a little
lake that had grazing for the mares. I would have liked to ride farther but
according to information I could glean from internet sources there would not be
a place to camp for several kilometers. I saw that horses had been tied at a
small clump of trees so I tied Mistral and Legacy and put my little tent up.
Although I have in the past hobbled my horses to self graze, in light of the
problem last year and the fact that I was alone, I did not. Thank goodness the
flies were not too bad at the edge of that lake where the grass was! I gave
them a half hour, ate, and took them back for more before tying them up for the
night. Both were belled to scare away bears. This is when the trouble began –
the mares would not settle down!<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x6ztYRcLhE8/VdpwLETZnTI/AAAAAAAABGg/T0lcORq5Nwk/s1600/Web_15August19_RainbowRide25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x6ztYRcLhE8/VdpwLETZnTI/AAAAAAAABGg/T0lcORq5Nwk/s400/Web_15August19_RainbowRide25.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I cannot say how many times I got up in the night to check horses. Finally, I hobbled both. I knew there was more chance of them escaping if they were agitated and that truly worried me. Mistral had been on high alert all day, no doubt remembering her "lost" time in the bear country last year. And they were probably cold and not completely satisfied with their dinner. For whatever reason, they trashed my sleep. (I did appreciate an awesome night sky, though. The stars really are brighter when you are closer to them!)</div>
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And I was cold even with long
underwear, sweats and my oilskin coat on top of the sleeping bag. Then I remembered the foil "emergency
blanket" that had been in my back pack for years. (I don't think I ever believed it
would work!) What did I have to lose? I opened it and wrapped it around me. Gradually I felt heat - wonderful! Around 5:00 AM, I slept for an hour or so,
comfortably warm for the first time in the long night.<br />
<br />
I woke to a cloudy sky, quiet
horses in their hobbles and ice on the water in the basin. I needed coffee! I
downed a couple of cups, then grazed Mistral and Legacy. Then came the arduous
job of breaking camp and packing up – by myself. My aching shoulder didn't help
– lifting the boxes on Legacy especially – but I got it done.<br />
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I had had lots of time to think in
the long hours of wakefulness. I had planned a circle ride going to <st1:city w:st="on">Crystal Lake</st1:city>, then Rainbow cabin on this day and back via <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Octopus</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lakes</st1:placetype></st1:place>. I knew now that I might not be
able to get back to the trailhead in one day from Rainbow cabin, in good part
because it took me so long to pack up in the morning. I could take an extra day
though if I let my people know at home with an InReach message.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my shoulder was getting progressively
worse. What if I could not pack up? And the weather was changing. It worried me that the horses were so ready
to leave me too. If they ever got loose… A bear walking in to camp would mean a
wreck that could result in me being horseless and I was pretty sure there was
even more possibility of bears where I was headed – down in to the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">MacKenzie</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Valley</st1:placename></st1:place>. I decided the sensible thing to
do was to be happy with what I had done and try to stay safe. I would head
back the second day. <br />
<br />
Not before I had seen <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Crystal Lake</st1:place></st1:city> though. I
calculated that I could go forward to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Crystal
Lake</st1:place></st1:city> and still make it back to the trailhead. It would
be a long day but if I didn't stop much...<br />
<br />
It was cold and windy. Whereas the
first day I rode in a tank top, this day I rode in underwear and my oilskin. As
we climbed to the barren highlands, the wind blew harder. The sky was threatening
rain but thank goodness we did not get wet! Of course the cold wind jazzed up
the mares and they wanted to keep moving. I didn't want to get off because I
didn't want to have to mount multiple times with backpack, camera and my
damaged shoulder. Once my cap blew off, necessitating a dismount I had not
planned. I jammed it in my pocket and went bare headed so I wouldn't have to
get it again.<br />
<br />
The scenery was incredible but all
photos I took from Mistral's back. What I would give for a photo of the mares and I
with this beautiful back drop, impossible of course by myself. There was not a
tree to tie to so I could handle the camera without the horses. I regret that I
could not take advantage of such wonderful photo opportunity but thankful for
those I did get. Another time? Maybe.</div>
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The trail across the highlands was
really not there at all. If it had not been for the many cairns (thank you,
hikers!), I would have been lost. I swear even Mistral started looking for the
next cairn! I did find <st1:city w:st="on">Crystal Lake</st1:city> and, for a
moment, considered continuing on through <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Boyd</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Pass</st1:placename></st1:place>
and down to Rainbow cabin. I really wanted to see that cabin. However, for all
the reasons aforementioned, I knew I should turn back. I was incredibly tired
and two more days with unknown problems…. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mWzOKav-aUM/VdsyqH7969I/AAAAAAAABG8/kPrmpDyEqOE/s1600/Web_15Aug20_RainbowRide13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mWzOKav-aUM/VdsyqH7969I/AAAAAAAABG8/kPrmpDyEqOE/s400/Web_15Aug20_RainbowRide13.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wX1GB4v2MyE/VdtGM9YZv5I/AAAAAAAABHQ/hRg77ZSWKsM/s1600/15Aug20_RainbowRide18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wX1GB4v2MyE/VdtGM9YZv5I/AAAAAAAABHQ/hRg77ZSWKsM/s400/15Aug20_RainbowRide18.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crystal Lake</td></tr>
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Mistral was a handful when I turned around! Apparently she thought we should "get out of Dodge" as fast as we could! For almost all the way back to the trailhead, I could not ride her on a loose rein. Poor Legacy, trying to keep up.</div>
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I stopped where we had spent the night for lunch, then headed down the trail again. I had tracked our trail with GPS but I didn't need it. I was reminded once again how well a horse remembers the trail. Mistral knew exactly where we had travelled the day before, even on which side of a tree we had gone. We arrived back at the trailer around 6:00 PM - tired, a little sore but healthy. The mares thought it looked like home.</div>
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As I untacked and unpacked, I thought about the ride and what all those that I had asked to go had missed. Again, I wished I could have shared the experience with a friend or two. And I thought about the short-but-to-the-point statement of a man whose business it is to take groups into the Rainbows when I told him I was alone because I couldn't find anyone to go with me.</div>
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<strong><em> "I would have thought they would have been lined up!", he said.</em></strong></div>
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Indeed. But we both have to remind ourselves that priorities are not the same for everyone. For me, this is the ultimate experience but for others, it is not. Or is it just not worth the risk?</div>
Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com2Tweedsmuir South Provincial Park, Cariboo J, BC, Canada52.5954402 -126.0711041999999827.0734057 -167.37969819999998 78.1174747 -84.76251019999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-16065912899204900292014-09-01T13:55:00.000-07:002017-07-06T07:45:40.832-07:00Lost in the Potatoes<div style="text-align: justify;">
Not a leaf stirred. Not a bird
chirped. Not a cone dropped in the forest in those moments we rested on the
steep, rocky trail. But for the steady rhythm of Legacy's heart against my leg,
the soft expanding and contracting of her rib cage and the occasional licking
as she moistened her mouth on the bit, the stillness would have been absolute. Grateful
for the presence and strength of my little bay mare, I waited for her to air up
so we might continue climbing.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The adventure had started well. On
August 8, 2014, Lynne and I happily tacked up at <st1:placename w:st="on">Tatlayoko</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype> for a 3 ½ day pack trip into the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Potato</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Range</st1:placetype></st1:place>.
Lynne rode her good gelding, Free. I rode Mistral, my 5 year old mare and led
Legacy, packed. All three are well-bred, trained reining horses.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fiUsPbBlE1U/U_6M4t6RqLI/AAAAAAAABAI/HUtRV727A-w/s1600/09July17_TatlayokoLake2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fiUsPbBlE1U/U_6M4t6RqLI/AAAAAAAABAI/HUtRV727A-w/s1600/09July17_TatlayokoLake2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tatlayoko Lake</td></tr>
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We planned only to ride to the top
and overnight in a rancher's cabin. The three-hour plus ride, an elevation gain
of over 3000 feet, would test the condition of our horses but the weather was
perfect, the horses healthy and Lynne and I eager and excited. By nightfall we had
grazed the horses, feasted on Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes and tucked ourselves
in our sleeping bags on the wood benches. The comforting soft clang of the bells
on my horses assured us all was well with our companions.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AiF9vuINkvU/U_6NV0FLz7I/AAAAAAAABAQ/Efq7Ei7MTyk/s1600/Web_14Aug8_PotatoRide14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AiF9vuINkvU/U_6NV0FLz7I/AAAAAAAABAQ/Efq7Ei7MTyk/s1600/Web_14Aug8_PotatoRide14.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 8 - Mistral and Legacy when just after we arrived at cabin</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HTA1hD8a-cI/U_6Nk7KCDrI/AAAAAAAABAY/0zZjj-JxrTc/s1600/Web_14Aug8_PotatoRide18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HTA1hD8a-cI/U_6Nk7KCDrI/AAAAAAAABAY/0zZjj-JxrTc/s1600/Web_14Aug8_PotatoRide18.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 8 - Free (at back), Mistral and Legacy grazing at the cabin</td></tr>
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The next day, under warm sunny
skies, we rode the historic Potato Trail to the south end of the <st1:placename w:st="on">Potato</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Range</st1:placetype>,
taking in ever-changing, spectacular scenery and stopping for a late lunch
above <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Fish</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype></st1:place>, our destination for the night.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GmaOhJrRi8k/U_6dtGiKenI/AAAAAAAABAs/zXa17cH0Tek/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GmaOhJrRi8k/U_6dtGiKenI/AAAAAAAABAs/zXa17cH0Tek/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mistral and I leading Legacy with our supplies</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fjnFpyOonVU/U_6duOMch5I/AAAAAAAABA4/O77d9geHFZo/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fjnFpyOonVU/U_6duOMch5I/AAAAAAAABA4/O77d9geHFZo/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide15.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lynn and Free in Gopher Basin</td></tr>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BwH1G9ckd8U/U_6dssnuzWI/AAAAAAAABAo/BL0QkYyTVs8/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BwH1G9ckd8U/U_6dssnuzWI/AAAAAAAABAo/BL0QkYyTVs8/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide19.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 9 - Above Fish Lake</td></tr>
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We set up our little tent beside the
lake, grazed the horses, and then tied them to trees since there were not any tall
enough to high line. We shared the meadows with a few cattle on their summer
range but, thankfully, the grizzly, cougar and wolves that inhabit the area
didn't make an appearance. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IACk4xjJIcQ/U_-hl11aZ-I/AAAAAAAABBI/e1uf2dl7w4g/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IACk4xjJIcQ/U_-hl11aZ-I/AAAAAAAABBI/e1uf2dl7w4g/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide21.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o8e-L3El3Pg/U_-hn8UofSI/AAAAAAAABBQ/EvHyVhfcygs/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o8e-L3El3Pg/U_-hn8UofSI/AAAAAAAABBQ/EvHyVhfcygs/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide20.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div align="center">
August 9 - Horses grazing as we set up camp at Fish Lake.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MvZXGBve3yk/VAS1OgtdduI/AAAAAAAABD0/RWSsRJj5jBk/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MvZXGBve3yk/VAS1OgtdduI/AAAAAAAABD0/RWSsRJj5jBk/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide24.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Super Moon" rising over Fish Lake</td></tr>
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Lynne went to bed early but I stayed up to watch the moon rise, one day shy of full "Super Moon". I was not disappointed although the photos I took don't live up to what I witnessed. Once, during the night, wild
clanking of the bells woke us and we leaped out of the tent to see the horses,
obviously startled but still tied, staring into the bush. At 6:00 a bellow from
a bull woke me again. Apparently we were camped on a trail he wanted to take. I
shooshed the cattle back but, awake now, grabbed the camera and took a few
photos of steam rising from the lake while I waited for Lynne to get up. After
an hour or so, I decided to graze the cold and hungry horses. Since Free would
not have been happy if I left him tied, I turned him loose with the shank dragging
as Lynne had done the night before (because his hobbles were soring him),
hobbled and belled Mistral and lead Legacy away from camp.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Jf-21g2y3d8/VASxa6XOSLI/AAAAAAAABDk/-k0y9vaccPg/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Jf-21g2y3d8/VASxa6XOSLI/AAAAAAAABDk/-k0y9vaccPg/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 10 - I wonder if that's the cow that started all of this?</td></tr>
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The horses had grazed a half hour
or so when it happened. A lone Charolais cow skirted the trees above the
grazing horses, distraught and looking for her calf. I saw her only a few
seconds before Free who, for reasons known only to him, trotted briskly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">to the cow</i>.</div>
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I just had time to think "That
isn't a very good idea," when the cow burst out of the trees. Free turned
and bolted. Mistral, in her hobbles, lunged after him. Lynne, now up, could
only watch as they raced through the trees above our camp and over the hill. I
made my way back with Legacy, now agitated that the others had left, quickly saddled her
(and yes, I was plenty upset because I know how bad this scenario can be...) and rode down the back trail. When I didn't see tracks, I returned and searched
areas around the lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Failing to find
any trace of the pair, I packed for a longer ride. I suspected Mistral had
broken her hobbles but Free's dangling lead shank, sure to get tangled in brush,
worried me.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cCho6hmwSdg/VAH3lFgA1VI/AAAAAAAABCM/cOwmGNOY_uE/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cCho6hmwSdg/VAH3lFgA1VI/AAAAAAAABCM/cOwmGNOY_uE/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 10 - Lynne took this photo of Legacy and I returning from our first searches. We now know Mistral and Free did run into the trees, then bushwhacked until they got on the trail a few km north.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_Lphgdy6XDA/VAH4_hmWJBI/AAAAAAAABCc/sVyi_eFVQwE/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_Lphgdy6XDA/VAH4_hmWJBI/AAAAAAAABCc/sVyi_eFVQwE/s1600/Web_14Aug9_PotatoRide6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This shows the vastness of the area Mistral and Free were lost in.</td></tr>
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"I'll have to ride down the
back trail," I told Lynne." If I don't find them down the trail a
bit, I won't be back tonight." Lynne had an <em>InReach</em>, a satellite
communicator, and after a crash course in using it, she gave it to me since I
was tracking the horses. I told her there was a cabin a short distance away and
how to get there but she said she would stay at camp in case the horses
returned.</div>
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"I hope I see you in a couple
of hours," Lynne said. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She didn't
see me for more than two days.</i></div>
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I picked up Free and Mistral's
tracks (and the mark of the dragging lead shank) about three kilometers down the trail and all the way
to the open meadow west of the cabin where we had spent the first night. I felt
hopeful – obviously they were headed back to the trailers. I checked the cabin and when they were not there, started down, about a two-hour ride. My optimism evaporated. I didn't see
another track.</div>
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When I got to the trailers, I immediately looked up a phone and made some calls. That's how I met Len and Joanna Knight, who live at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Tatlayoko</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype></st1:place>.
Then, and in the following days, they provided a base contact, a phone and a
lifeline to local connections.</div>
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I was convinced Free and Mistral
had turned toward the lake (and the trailers) when they came off the trail into
the meadow at the top but somehow had missed the trail down and tried
bushwhacking. If they did that, Free's halter shank could easily tangle in the
brush and stop them. I hoped, though, that they would find their way back to
the trailers during the night. When they were not there in the morning, I
saddled Legacy and headed up to the top again. Much of the
trail wound through heavily forested terrain, grizzly habitat. Once Legacy
abruptly halted, alert, ears forward, and I yelled. A loud crashing in the bush
confirmed what I suspected – a bear was close by. After that, I sang "The
Bear Went Over the Mountain" for a kilometer or so</div>
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Legacy, not in condition for this
much riding, was tired. I stopped several times to let her blow. Those tender,
bonding moments alone in the bush encouraged me to "dig deeper" for strength
– if Legacy could do this, so could I.</div>
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As I came out of the trees at the
top, I eagerly looked for two sorrels grazing the meadow where I had lost
tracks the day before. Nothing. I knew I must rest Legacy for a few hours so I continued
on to the cabin and unsaddled. There, I communicated with the Knights and friends
from home on <em>InReach</em> to coordinate search efforts. My first priority was
rescuing Lynne, who had already spent one night in a tent in grizzly country. I
had been told before I left the trailer that Alex Bracewell (Bracewell Alpine
Wilderness Adventures), who took guided tours into the Potatoes from the other
end, would pick her up (a huge relief) and was waiting for confirmation of
that. Again with the help of the satellite communicator, I learned Jordan Grier
and Pat Jasper would arrive the next day to assist us in our efforts to find
our horses.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qpVo7fvq-Sg/VASdA47sY6I/AAAAAAAABDU/8gg5ILugyOE/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qpVo7fvq-Sg/VASdA47sY6I/AAAAAAAABDU/8gg5ILugyOE/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 11 - I took this photo when I searched the slope to the crest above Tatlayoko Lake</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zo8Xt6hRvX4/U_-iYktajVI/AAAAAAAABBc/BL_kmBkm23k/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zo8Xt6hRvX4/U_-iYktajVI/AAAAAAAABBc/BL_kmBkm23k/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide10.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 11 - I took this photo from the cabin the night I stayed there.</td></tr>
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I searched several places in the
area in the afternoon and evening, still convinced the missing pair were close
since they had not taken the trail down. Then I grazed and watered Legacy and
tied her to a tree by the cabin. Even though I had not found Mistral and Free I
felt somehow close to them on the mountain. I hoped they would come to Legacy
in the night. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Eb6LDWVZwac/U_-i5uuiwiI/AAAAAAAABBw/ag2JqRcqnQ8/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Eb6LDWVZwac/U_-i5uuiwiI/AAAAAAAABBw/ag2JqRcqnQ8/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide9.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 11 - Legacy tied by the cabin.</td></tr>
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My strength was starting to wane a
bit now. I forced myself to eat and drink but I didn't have much food and wasn't
sleeping well. After a fitful few hours on a wood bench in the cabin, I made
the worst coffee ever on the wood stove and rode the area again – still no
clues and no response from Legacy either, who I counted on to alert me if they
were near.</div>
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Jordan and Pat arrived around noon
with extra horses. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This is when I found
out Lynne had not been picked up – now two days in the wilderness alone! </i>With
this information, we quickly ate the lunch they brought and continued down the
Potato Trail to Lynne's camp by <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Fish</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype></st1:place>.<br />
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HSFUZOTZayw/U_-i4bLp_dI/AAAAAAAABBo/kR6LuMQxXi8/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HSFUZOTZayw/U_-i4bLp_dI/AAAAAAAABBo/kR6LuMQxXi8/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide14.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 12 - Jordan and Pat arriving with extra horses.</td></tr>
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Lynne was not at the camp when we
got there but a note confirmed that Alex Bracewell had taken her to the wilderness
cabin I had told her about. We packed up the camp on Legacy and I rode one of <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Jordan</st1:place></st1:country-region>'s horses
to the cabin.</div>
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My reunion with Lynne was bathed in
relief. She assured me she was fine but had been worried about me.</div>
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"I thought you were laying
along the trail somewhere," she said.</div>
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"You had the hardest
job," I told her, "Just waiting with no information."</div>
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Lynne said the cows comforted her.
They were around the tent the first morning but there was not a cow in sight
when she woke up the second day.</div>
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When Alex picked her up, he cleared
that up for her. "Did you see the big grizzly?" he asked.</div>
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"No," Lynne said,
"But I guess that explains why the cows disappeared!"</div>
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Lynne had handled her time alone
very well. She told me she kept up a camp routine to keep busy; she studied the
little cow herd and their habits; she watched the fish jump in the lake and
counted tadpoles (Thousands…). I know she would have much rather been searching
with me but she knew how to survive. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still,
the situation was dangerous and one of many times luck was on our side in those
trying days.</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From Bracewell's cabin we descended to the
lake again – at the south end this time, a two hour ride, loaded all five
horses in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Jordan</st1:place></st1:country-region>'s
trailer and arrived back the north end at 10:00 PM. After unloading Legacy, out
rescuers drove home to Hanceville.</div>
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Lynne, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Sharon</st1:place></st1:city>, Legacy and tack were now back where
we started – without Mistral and Free. The next morning we re-grouped. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get the word out – posters, contacts up and
down the road, phone calls in case the horses came down somewhere else – and keep
searching. We tried to hire a small helicopter to fly the area but most were out
fighting wildfires. Mike King was flying over every day and he checked the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Potato</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Range</st1:placetype></st1:place>
every time. We talked to a Clifford Schuk, a local rancher, about tracking and
he agreed to help. One thing we knew for sure – we were not going to quit!
Legacy, however, needed to rest. I had a commitment at home so we decided I
would take Legacy home and Lynne would stay with Len and Joanna at the lake. And this is when the full force of
the last few days hit me – when I was going to leave the lake without Mistral.
Backing the rig out of a tight spot with well-intentioned people yelling
directions triggered a melt-down. – everything from "I can't do anything
right!" to "I know she's dead!". I cried all the way to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Tatla</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype></st1:place>,
the only time I cried during the entire ordeal.</div>
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On the 14<sup>th</sup>, Lynne and I
talked several times on the phone. I organized things at home with the plan to
return on the 15<sup>th</sup>. Clifford took his quad part way up the trail,
then walked. He told us Mistral and Free were trying to return to the lake (and
our trailers) but were probably stopped by grizzlies foraging on the slope.
This was the area I had stayed in for 1 ½ days with no sign of them but I
suspect Free's lead shank was tangled until he broke it, which may account for
the fact they didn't come to Legacy when we were there. Lynne and I agreed we
had to get back up to the area as soon as possible! Lynne was trying to rent/borrow
a horse in the area and said she would start up in the morning if I was not
there. With that information, I packed up as soon as I could, loaded Legacy,
and drove back to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Tatlayoko</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype></st1:place>, arriving at 1:00 AM
so I would be there when Lynne was ready to leave in the morning.</div>
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I rose early and packed up Legacy
to go up the mountain again but there was no sign of Lynne. I had no means of
communicating with her so I left a note and pointed Legacy up that mountain for
the third time. This time I buckled the cow bell around her neck. It would
serve dual purpose – to ward off grizzlies and to alert Mistral and Free, who
were familiar with the sound. I was prepared to stay on the mountain two days to search and just be there for them to come to. The long term plan was to organize a group to go for a week if that did not work. (Later, on Facebook, a friend commented "I knew you would never give up.", which is how I felt but I suppose the time could have come when we would have to...)</div>
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I stopped several times on the
ascent to listen and even veered off the trail to search for tracks in the
trees on the slope. When I reached the open meadow where I had lost their
tracks before, Legacy showed no sign of interest in anything besides putting
one foot in front of the other, the bell clanging in time with her footfalls.
Then, to my right, I sensed movement. I turned my head and what I saw I did not
believe – two chromed-up sorrels racing through the brush to Legacy and I!
Heads high, manes flying, they tore down the long incline with abandon, with
joy and, I think, with much relief. I knew as they ran toward me that they were
all right. My chest swelled, my heart pounded and all I could say was,
"Oh, my God!" over and over. It is vision that will be forever
etched in my memory.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LJ4p6pDK6jA/VAH4_7CDpfI/AAAAAAAABCg/ZcAq1SZVn9w/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LJ4p6pDK6jA/VAH4_7CDpfI/AAAAAAAABCg/ZcAq1SZVn9w/s1600/Web_14Aug10_PotatoRide7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took this photo on the 11th from almost the exact spot Mistral and Free ran from when they came to me on the 15th. Where were they? In the bush with Free's shank hopelessly tangled in trees?</td></tr>
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Mistral and Free were a little
buzzed. They milled around Legacy as if they couldn't stand still. Free no
longer dragged his long black shank and Mistral's hobbles were gone. The bell
was still around her neck though and they both still wore their halters. Free
had some marks on his face from the halter, testimony to his struggle with the dragging lead
shank and both had scratch marks from trees on their sides
but they were okay other than being super alert. I snapped the shank on
Mistral's halter and, with Free following, started down the mountain. About
half way down I met Lynne (on Sabina Harris' nice little mare) and Clifford.</div>
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"They're okay, Lynne," I
hollered when I saw them ahead of me on the trail.</div>
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The inner strength Lynne had called
on for the preceding five days weakened as she dismounted and approached Free.
On Legacy, with Mistral in hand, I watched her attempting to keep emotion in
check. I lived that moment with her, a moment we had prayed for for five days.</div>
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We are acutely aware of how lucky
we are to have these special horses back unharmed and are grateful for the many
people who helped us achieve that - kind, caring Chilcotin people who put their
own lives on hold to help us. I am also grateful to my patient, gutsy mare for carrying me close to 100 km searching for Mistral and
Free in unforgiving terrain. Legacy has always been special to me since she is the fifth generation of a strong maternal line of Wildwood horses but the connection is deeper now. If I close my eyes, I am on her back on the Potato Range again. I can feel her muscles under me. I can smell the sweat. I can hear the clacking of her shoes on the rocks. And I can see her head bobbing, ears flicking. It's a memory I cherish. </div>
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Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com4Tatlayoko Lake, BC V0L, Canada51.6861249 -124.4148240000000126.164090400000003 -165.723418 77.2081594 -83.106230000000011tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-34865482373518853622014-07-05T09:24:00.001-07:002014-07-05T09:24:12.227-07:00What Was I Thinking?<div style="text-align: justify;">
Several of my horses run in a field below my house of about 50 acres of bush, banks and pasture. Since I ride some of them every day, I hope they will climb the hill to the house so I can easily catch the one (or more) that I want. Of course that does not always happen. Then I must walk down the hill to catch them and bring them up.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Walking <em>down</em> the hill is not bad; walking <em>up</em> is another story. It's a steep climb and frankly I could do without the extra exercise so I choose a horse who is gentle enough to ride bareback with a halter and <em>ride</em> up the hill. The rest follow, I halter the one I want at the top and proceed with my day.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For the past few years, the horse I always caught up to ride bareback was Legacy if she was in the pasture. This year, because she was not and the four mares grazing the bottom pasture were all young, I had to walk the hill leading one up.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One thing you should know about me is that I hate to walk <em>leading </em>a horse so that got old pretty fast. One day I tried Sapphire, looping the halter over her neck and jumping on from a rock. (After all, I could slip off easy if things went wrong...)</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The reason I chose Sapphire was not because I thought she was quiet enough to hop on bareback with a halter but because I knew the rest of the herd was <em>not</em>. What a great surprise - she was quite amenable to the idea. She was, as a matter of fact, almost <em>proud</em> to be the one leading the rest up the hill.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's a comfortable feeling wrapping my legs around Sapphire's warm body as she confidently follows the trail through the bush to the top, grabbing a piece of her mane to keep from sliding back and off her rump on the steep sections. I feel a little like the Pied Piper with the rest of the herd streaming behind me in the quiet stillness of the bush. (So far no deer or bears have jumped out or that quiet scene would change...)</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A few days ago, as we negotiated the trail once again, I was thinking that this is almost the only time I ride bareback now. I used to do that a lot, every chance I had, actually - whenever I caught a horse in the field, taking horses out to pasture, after the day trail riding. I couldn't find any "bareback" photos to go with this post but I did find this video of me on Tamarac (Sapphire's grandma) with Whisper (Sapphire's aunt) at her side loping through the field. </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzOi6QxA3WgOADepLy0Y2DTl5I3hlqifeGNw6e19UPIq6ryDhzAS8sF9YNIAktzthJw1JAuAGLNEtN0RgYfIQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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As Sapphire put one foot in front of the other <em>at a walk, </em>I reminisced about other bareback rides I had<em>, </em>especially flat racing. Yes - I flat raced without a saddle! What was I thinking?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know what I was thinking. I was thinking my horses would run freer and with less weight (and therefore faster) but now, since I'm older and wiser, I know I did not consider my own safety. Even a wreck-in-the-making (my mare veered to the outside of the track, jumped the cable, and slipped between two cars) didn't stop me. After all, I stayed on...</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
All of this was on my mind because Williams Lake Stampede added a flat race for women to this year's events. I did not know that until the results were posted. What was my reaction? I want to be entered! Of course it was too late and besides, my current horses, although fast, had not been run so may have embarrassed me, but the adrenalin did flow for a moment or two. Was I thinking of running that race bareback? Not a chance. I may have done foolish things like that when I was younger but not any more. What was I thinking?</div>
Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-1613612352303846362013-03-04T09:27:00.002-08:002013-03-04T09:31:54.376-08:00That went well...<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
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A few days ago, someone shared a photo on Facebook of a horse pulling a lawn mower. The photo inspired several "likes" and various comments mostly in the tone of "what a neat idea". I was not one of the "likes" and I refrained from commenting. What I saw was a wreck-in-the-making although I'm the first to admit that I would rather be on top of a horse than behind him in some mode of wheeled transportation. The real reason I could only see disaster in that photo might have been because it reminded me of a story I heard from one of my clients many years ago. According to Melanie, this is what happened.<br />
<br />
Hank and Melanie lived on a small acreage beside a paved highway. Although admittedly beginner riders, they wanted a horse or two on the property. To that end, they bought an Appaloosa mare which they brought to me for training. I believe her name was Rosy.</div>
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<br />
In those days, clients rarely left a horse with me longer than a month, believing (incorrectly) that I could return to them a safe, dependable mount in that limited time. Rosy was one of those. The little coloured mare had some issues. One of them was refusing to go forward but that's another story... In a month's time, the couple picked her up and presented me with a dozen roses for my trouble (they had witnessed a difficult ride). It was with some concern that I sent the horse home but the Appy behaved herself. She could not be blamed for what happened one sunny afternoon a few weeks later.<br />
<br />
Melanie had just ridden Rosy but instead of returning her to the pasture this time, she tied her to a two-wheeled cart in front of the house and went inside, where she decided to try out her newly-purchased (from me!) Mary Kaye skin care products. Shedding her jeans and shirt for a bright yellow bathrobe, she pulled her hair up in a pony tail on the top of her head, washed her face with the cleanser and pulled out the deep-cleansing mask. She had just finished smearing the sticky white stuff on her neck and face when a commotion outside interupted her beauty treatment. Running to the window, she immediately saw what had caused the racket - Rosy was spooking at the cart... and the cart moved. The game was on and Melanie knew this would not end well. She sprang into action.<br />
<br />
Grabbing a knife out of the kitchen drawer, Melanie pulled her boots on and the robe tightly around her and bolted out the door to see Rosy and the cart clattering down the driveway toward the highway. Now panicked by visions of a severely injured horse, she charged after her<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>across the highway, through the ditch and in to an almost-ripe, four-foot high wheat field on the other side, with one thing on her mind - separating horse and cart.<br />
<br />
But Rosy had stopped running. She must have decided the strange, noisy thing behind her was going to keep following her and the best thng to do was stop and look at it, because that's what she did, allowing Melanie to walk up to her, cut the shank and lead her away from her tormentor. Rosy was unhurt but the cart didn't fare so well - pieces were strewn across the highway, the ditch and the wheat field.<br />
<br />
Only after Melanie had rescued her frightened mare did she think of the spectacle she presented to passing motorists (and to Rosy) – dishevelled woman in bathrobe, face painted a ghostly white (the mask was now cracking...), wildly wielding a butcher knife, pursues wild-eyed, wild-coloured horse towing wheeled wreckage through wheat field.<br />
<br />
It's a wonder I wasn't arrested," she said. "And why didn't Rosy flee again, this time from the apparition coming after her through the wheat?"<br />
<br />
Maybe Rosy was more 'broke' than I thought she was...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-11947689945751015482013-02-04T19:38:00.002-08:002013-02-04T19:38:47.622-08:00What Can't Be Changed<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today is my birthday. That can't be changed. Not even if I wanted to. Which I do...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
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Not the day, just the number. But these are the facts:</div>
<ul><div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;">
I was born to rancher parents in the Coteau Hills of Saskatchewan.</div>
</li>
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<li><div style="text-align: justify;">
The ranch was competely isolated in the winter, accessible only by horses - either riding or team and sleigh.</div>
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</div>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;">
Mom's "due date" was in February - not a good time or the year to be having a baby - so our trusted Grey Team transported a very pregnant Mom to "the settlement" two weeks prior to my expected arrival.</div>
</li>
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</div>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;">
I arrived as expected and Dad made the trip back to pick my mother and I up at what he calculated to be the right time - when I was about two weeks old. </div>
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</ul>
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None of the above could or can be changed. Even if I wanted to. Which I don't.</div>
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And so I spent the first years of my life on an isolated ranch. That could not changed either. Not even if I wanted to. Which I don't. My first birthdays I celebrated there, in the little ranch house in the hills, like the one in the photo below:</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_cfd270NWgQ/URAISOtJrVI/AAAAAAAAA48/Y6moJabTrJs/s1600/Sharon1stBrthdy.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_cfd270NWgQ/URAISOtJrVI/AAAAAAAAA48/Y6moJabTrJs/s320/Sharon1stBrthdy.tif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first birthday - what was I looking at? Not the camera...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My birthday always falls on a winter day. That cannot be changed, either. Mom and Dad made the most of my day with a cake, candles and gifts, of course, but parties at the lake or parties at all (since we were snowed in) were out of the question. As I grew up, married and had children, I came to accept the fact that I could not change the date of my birthday just because I wanted to but one year I rebelled. I threw a 40-something Hawaiian birthday party complete with Hawaiian food, beach attire and surf boarding (in the snow!) in my snowed in mobile home in Saskatchewan. It was one of the best birthdays ever! Here's a photo from that party.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hFG81Gu4klo/URBxxyFvsdI/AAAAAAAAA5Q/Dk_0POniYhk/s1600/87SharonBirthdayHawaian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="314" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hFG81Gu4klo/URBxxyFvsdI/AAAAAAAAA5Q/Dk_0POniYhk/s320/87SharonBirthdayHawaian.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Hawaiian- themed birthday party</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I remember three times that I was surprised on my birthday - once in Crooked River Saskatchewan, when friends arrived unannounced with cake and gifts (I was overwhelmed) and last year when my friend, Crystal, arranged a surprise birthday luncheon with Chilcotin ladies. The third time was for my 50th birthday. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I, like everyone else, expected something on my 50th but since my boyfriend and I were in Hawaii, I thought I had avoided it. Not so. A week later, after we were home, and in the middle of a Vern Sapergia reining clinic, my friends caught me off guard. When I was spiritied away on a useless errand, my house filled with people. The party was on.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--n0sL-urKLY/URB91sVWxxI/AAAAAAAAA5s/94mBBlkgJ3k/s1600/94Feb_Sharon50thBirthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--n0sL-urKLY/URB91sVWxxI/AAAAAAAAA5s/94mBBlkgJ3k/s320/94Feb_Sharon50thBirthday.jpg" width="254" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vern and I on my 50th Birthday</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ten years later, on my 60th birthday, I celebrated with my Samoyed, Kirby, by myself in the Kootenays. Maybe I gave in to what I could not change - celebrating my birthday in the snow!</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n8w84gL3rxE/URB4Fr0FlQI/AAAAAAAAA5Y/MqnAikckTEA/s1600/04Feb4_SharonKirby5+Web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n8w84gL3rxE/URB4Fr0FlQI/AAAAAAAAA5Y/MqnAikckTEA/s1600/04Feb4_SharonKirby5+Web.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kirby and I on my 60th birthday - in the snow!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This year it's just Mischa and me and it's a quiet day. I'm reminiscing a little, thinking back to as many birthdays as I can remember. Many I have forgotten. I can't change the number of birthdays I've had and I can't change the date but, if I try, I might be able to change what I take away from each one. Until next year...</div>
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<br />Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-8975292211608637962013-01-07T17:15:00.000-08:002013-01-07T17:15:38.401-08:00Every Day is a New Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
It’s been a real struggle for me to post on this blog for
some time now. I just didn’t feel like writing about my life and I didn’t ‘see’
anything worth writing about either. It isn’t writer’s block; it’s just a
block. I guess you could say I lost my mojo and I can see it’s going to take a
supreme effort on my part to find it again.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I’ve always been the kind of person that thrives on a
well-laid plan. If I have a plan, I have a plan of attack, so to speak,
something to look forward to, to complete. With that in mind, I committed to
taking a photo every day, not just any photo but one that awakened something in
me, that touched me in some way. It meant I would have to ‘look’ for that
photo, ‘look’ at things around me. I started January 1, 2013.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And so I have seven photos, one for each day of the new
year. I am putting them in a slide show presentation with date and a short
caption with music background. Will these photos tell me something? That
remains to be seen, but in the meantime, I look forward to finding a photo of the day. I’ve discovered there is always something new. </div>
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I don’t intend to post every one for the year but because I am trying desperately to start posting again, these photos seemed to be a good start. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NlnSMF7A6Qo/UOttN4duV5I/AAAAAAAAA2g/FW5akWArzMc/s1600/12Jan1_PerfectCameo2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NlnSMF7A6Qo/UOttN4duV5I/AAAAAAAAA2g/FW5akWArzMc/s400/12Jan1_PerfectCameo2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">January 1, 2013: My beautiful babies, Perfect and Cameo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-etwrFb6JBsA/UOtuFmEhBfI/AAAAAAAAA2s/cfdnd23bWG4/s1600/13Jan2_Sunrise2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-etwrFb6JBsA/UOtuFmEhBfI/AAAAAAAAA2s/cfdnd23bWG4/s400/13Jan2_Sunrise2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">January 2, 2013: A pink morning...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OdZmSeK4fMQ/UOtuKTquKPI/AAAAAAAAA20/tJ4nEcjnYOs/s1600/13Jan3_Cow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OdZmSeK4fMQ/UOtuKTquKPI/AAAAAAAAA20/tJ4nEcjnYOs/s400/13Jan3_Cow.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">January 3, 2013: A lone cow trying to find something to eat...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZnzLCVfOCYA/UOtvVo-e5II/AAAAAAAAA3Q/FFvnSSiHjGA/s1600/13Jan4_Peppers1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZnzLCVfOCYA/UOtvVo-e5II/AAAAAAAAA3Q/FFvnSSiHjGA/s400/13Jan4_Peppers1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">January 4, 2013: Peppers in the snow...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L3ORtTPFbms/UOtv41x7UcI/AAAAAAAAA3Y/ZCZsjb3WCuw/s1600/13Jan5_View1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L3ORtTPFbms/UOtv41x7UcI/AAAAAAAAA3Y/ZCZsjb3WCuw/s400/13Jan5_View1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">January 5, 2013: The sun setting on another day...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3X4V_2wnFYk/UOtxJR7HdkI/AAAAAAAAA3o/2MKP6Z5Yk5c/s1600/13Jan6_Rake1a.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3X4V_2wnFYk/UOtxJR7HdkI/AAAAAAAAA3o/2MKP6Z5Yk5c/s400/13Jan6_Rake1a.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">January 6, 2013: If this old rake could speak...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h7rckyivdJQ/UOtwaVp0QzI/AAAAAAAAA3g/Bs1gY3hrk9Q/s1600/13Jan7_Mischa2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h7rckyivdJQ/UOtwaVp0QzI/AAAAAAAAA3g/Bs1gY3hrk9Q/s400/13Jan7_Mischa2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">January 7, 2013: Mischa playing in the snow...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions but I suppose, in a
way, I made one. Let's see if I can keep it.Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-86597990195303001732012-12-10T08:21:00.000-08:002012-12-10T08:21:24.763-08:00A Handful of Dirt<span style="text-align: justify;">The National Finals Rodeo is in full swing now and technology has made it possible for me to see the action even if I can’t make the trip to</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><st1:city style="text-align: justify;" w:st="on">Las Vegas</st1:city><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">with up-to-date coverage on television. (If I miss that, there’s always the internet.) Barrel racing has a special attraction for me since I barrel raced for many years, steer wrestling because that’s my brother’s event and tie-down roping because that was Dad’s event, but I wouldn’t miss the bull riding or bronc riding either. Although I can’t imagine climbing on the back of a brahma, I <i>do</i> get bronc riding since I have not been able to avoid a few bronc rides myself… </span><br />
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Growing up on a ranch, I heard plenty of bronc riding stories. Mom, especially, delighted in the telling and re-telling of numerous “cowboy vs bucking horse” encounters she had witnessed and heard about. As long as the victim suffered only bruised body and pride, each story was punctuated with laughter – after all, that was the reason for telling the story! I learned then that getting bucked off provided everyone else with a good belly laugh and respect because apparently you couldn’t be a cowboy if you didn’t get bucked off once in a while. In fact, I so internalized these stories and the respect they garnered for the cowboy that, when I was thrown the first time from my horse at the age of five, I was proud of that accomplishment. But that’s another story. What I learned when I was very young, and still know to be true is this: As long as the rider is not hurt, cowboys laugh when another one bites the dust. And no one laughed any harder than Grandpa.</div>
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Grandpa, wiry, tough and quick, was a rancher and cowboy but he was also a bronc rider. In his day, topping off broncs was everyday work and one he was exceptionally good at.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rOflkjwfoo8/UMUpm6fQTPI/AAAAAAAAA0s/hgTITxWMN4c/s1600/Grandpa_Bronc_2x2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rOflkjwfoo8/UMUpm6fQTPI/AAAAAAAAA0s/hgTITxWMN4c/s400/Grandpa_Bronc_2x2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Grandpa "fanning" a bronc</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I did not see this of course, but I heard the stories. Often as not, the cowboy's horse of the day would start the day off bucking, reason enough to become a bronc rider, and part of a day's work. They must have enjoyed it though because, just for fun, they all got together on Sundays more bronc riding. The photo below was taken in 1918 at The Diamond Dot Ranch, where I grew up. Note there is no arena, no fences. I dare say it was pretty western.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B-79c2jZhqs/UMUoTAeCNiI/AAAAAAAAA0k/7CqeJNfPSsw/s1600/Web_1918_RodeoRanch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="155" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B-79c2jZhqs/UMUoTAeCNiI/AAAAAAAAA0k/7CqeJNfPSsw/s400/Web_1918_RodeoRanch.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">1918 rodeo at Diamond Dot Ranch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Grandpa may not have found it amusing if he got bucked off (rarely) but nothing made him laugh harder than seeing or hearing about a rider’s unplanned parting from his mount. One of his favourite sayings was,<i>"That's grabbing for leather and getting a handful of dirt!"</i><br />
<br />
It didn’t have to be a horse, either. I remember Grandpa, in his 70's at the time, sitting on the top rail of the corral at the Diamond Dot Ranch (my home) watching a few of us ride yearling heifers. I should say we <i>tried</i> to ride the heifers because one by one, we all got bucked off in short order. My cousin, Gloria, landed so hard she couldn’t get up (knocked the wind out of her). I was worried, standing over her asking her to say something but I looked up and Grandpa was still laughing – so hard the tears rolled down his cheeks. I wish I had a picture but I don’t need one – I will never forget it. What I do have is a photo taken that same weekend. Grandma and Grandpa lived in B.C. then, but had made the trip back to the Diamond Dot to celebrate their 50<sup>th</sup> wedding anniversary, the ranch they once owned, owned by my parents at that time and now owned by my brother and his wife.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Izm2KsWIXK4/UMUy3ixFuYI/AAAAAAAAA1A/s9gtnAxGdaE/s1600/62Aug5_GrandmaGrandpa50Anniversary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Izm2KsWIXK4/UMUy3ixFuYI/AAAAAAAAA1A/s9gtnAxGdaE/s400/62Aug5_GrandmaGrandpa50Anniversary.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 5, 1962 - Grandma and Grandpa (Les and Gertrude Giauque) on their 50th Anniversary</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Grandpa passed away the following January. My last memories of him are with Grandma on their 50th anniversary and sitting on the top rail of the corral laughing at us kids getting thrown in the dirt by some rank yearling heifers.</div>
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And some things just do not change. Although more cheering than laughing could be heard when the bareback and saddle bronc competition was going on at NFR, the crowd <i>laughed</i> when one of the horses in the grand entry started pitching and bucked off his rider in the middle of the arena. Not sure if the man grabbed for leather but I do know he got a handful of dirt. </div>
Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-45080879486253387972012-12-03T10:12:00.000-08:002012-12-03T10:16:17.578-08:00Losing My Place<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
You know how, if you lose the book marker in a book you’re
reading, it’s sometimes difficult to find your place again (especially if
you’ve put the book down for a while) - you're either re-reading what you've already read or have jumped forward missing some of the story. Well, that’s kind of what happened to me
– in the book that is my life, I lost the marker and I’m trying to find where I was again. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
A good book surprises the reader with twists and turns that
challenge the main character and that character meets each challenge, resolves
it and, we hope, finds what he/she is looking for by the last chapter. The book wouldn't be interesting if it was any other way! I like
to think life wouldn’t be very interesting, either if there weren’t some bumps and
detours in the road. I’ve certainly experienced those! So when and why did I
lose my place? Did I just hit a bump and run off into the ditch?<br />
<br />
I’ve always been the kind of person who has goals – lots of them. I’m also the kind of person who has a plan – always. Plans doesn't always work out the way I want of course, but that never deterred me much before. I changed course, altered the plan and kept going. Not so lately. I'm spinning my wheels trying to find that marker.</div>
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Losing my place means I am questioning what got me to this
point in my life, where I have arrived and where my story is going from here.
I’m floundering around in self-doubt and uncertainty and that’s an unfamiliar
and scary feeling. For someone who always knows where she’s at in her “book”,
with an unwavering eye on several goals, finding my place again is crucial to
my story. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
And so this post is about planting both feet in the present
and marking the place. By starting to blog again, I hope ideas, plans, enough
for several ‘chapters’ of my book will follow. Are my weanling fillies, Perfect
and Cameo, that lost marker? Maybe. They are the future of several Wildwood mares
no longer with me; maybe they are part of my continuing story too.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JMSRK32KqDg/ULwf6VlfzmI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/bG6LMiK8-RM/s1600/12Nov21_PerfectCameo1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JMSRK32KqDg/ULwf6VlfzmI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/bG6LMiK8-RM/s640/12Nov21_PerfectCameo1.png" width="425" /></a></div>
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Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-58171985325613445742012-09-24T10:00:00.001-07:002012-09-24T10:06:44.428-07:00Not in a Rocking Chair<br />
<h4>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">Lately several people have
been telling me its time to slow down. A series of incidents inspired those
comments, the latest an injury to my leg when my horse hit it jumping a ditch
in the bush behind me. Although I appreciate the concern of well-meaning
friends and family, Joyce’s comment on Facebook when I posted a “Note to self” is the one that lifted me most.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>“Wouldn’t have happened
in your rocking chair!</i>” Joyce said.</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Indeed it would not have and
aren’t I happy that isn’t all there is to my life! My leg will heal just fine
and I don’t regret any of the decisions that led up to the injury. I enjoyed
taking my little mare on a new experience that day. I loved teaching
her new things and sharing my day with her!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was Sapphire I saddled to check the fence at the river's edge last Friday, a beautiful, warm fall day. Since the ‘path’ directly to the corner along the
fence was overgrown, I crossed the river channel downstream and rode on the river rocks
along the river, then cut into the bush to get to the corner. The river had collapsed the fence there in the spring and would need to be repaired.</div>
</span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YXsNWRRLPzc/UGCNQJLW-iI/AAAAAAAAAzs/sjsEYpBsG38/s1600/06Sept23_Chilcotin7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YXsNWRRLPzc/UGCNQJLW-iI/AAAAAAAAAzs/sjsEYpBsG38/s400/06Sept23_Chilcotin7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I rode across this channel and around the trees to follow the river.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
Sapphire quite
willingly negotiated the underbrush to the corner, where I got off and checked
out the fence while she quite patiently waited.</div>
</span>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TnypSVu0cFk/UGCNqSJyUNI/AAAAAAAAAz0/_jnRAXLfr4E/s1600/06Sept23_Chilcotin9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TnypSVu0cFk/UGCNqSJyUNI/AAAAAAAAAz0/_jnRAXLfr4E/s400/06Sept23_Chilcotin9.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The view up river from the corner of the fence.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To exit, I decided to lead her along the fence through the bush
back into the open instead of going back over the rocks and she seemed amenable
to that. But, just before we stepped in to the open again, we must cross a
small ditch. I could not get to the side but gave her lots of rein - not enough
I guess because she jumped the ditch and hit the back of my calf with a foot.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It hurt, of course, but I
didn’t think it would be more than a bruise. Not so. My jeans soaked with blood
and the incident ended with a trip to the Red Cross outpost so the nurse there
could suture it.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, Joyce – you’re right!
That would not have happened in a rocking chair. It would not have happened
either if I had quit training horses or had been too chicken to give my young
mare a new experience riding through thick brush! And I am so happy I can say
that! The life style is worth the risks.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Joyce was probably referring
to a line from my book, “A Life with Horses”, where I wrote, “When I am old and
sitting in a rocking chair, I'll have memories.”<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
</span>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">That would be “when I am
old”! And, in a rocking chair or not, I’ll have a scar on the back of my leg to remind me of a ride along
the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Chilcotin</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place> on one of my favourite mares...</span></div>
</h4>
Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-89206473578986073022012-09-10T07:17:00.000-07:002012-09-10T09:39:00.139-07:00She Breathes on my Heart<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><br />"In the steady gaze of
my horse shines a silent eloquence that speaks of love and loyalty,
strength and courage. It is the window that reveals to me how willing her
spirit, how generous her heart."</i></span></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0YYhna3_skQ/UEz_HDAe7GI/AAAAAAAAAzI/6mCGaokSzt4/s1600/Web_SapphireEyeSwirl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: inline !important; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0YYhna3_skQ/UEz_HDAe7GI/AAAAAAAAAzI/6mCGaokSzt4/s400/Web_SapphireEyeSwirl.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
The above roughly-paraphrased
quote from an unknown author embodies a sentiment I have always known to be
true but of which I am reminded of from time to time. This past week was one of those times.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My connection to my horses
and theirs to me has always been strong, so much so that I take little notice
but sometimes what passes between us is more - telepathic, even spiritual. So palpable I can 'feel' it. I write
about such a time in the blog posts, <a href="http://ridin-reinin-writin.blogspot.ca/2011/03/peace-in-their-presence.html" target="_blank">A Peace in their Presence</a>, a morning when my mares bathed me in peace and softness, and <a href="http://ridin-reinin-writin.blogspot.ca/2011/07/filly-named-feather.html" target="_blank">A Filly Named Feather</a>, how a special filly lifted me. Then, in <b>A Life With Horses,</b> about how four
foals supported me in the only way they knew how at a particularly difficult time in my life:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Oddly, the four foals sensed my emotional dependency. They attached themselves to me in an almost protective way. They never failed to greet me when I walked into their field. They checked in to see how I was doing and then, satisfied I was all right, wandered back to their mothers. I thought they needed me (and of course they did), but they knew I needed them more. They gave me a safe place to fall. (From A Life With Horses)</i></blockquote>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IFRIQojOB4Y/UEu6QbZfqZI/AAAAAAAAAyY/H7zFLCdlk2o/s1600/05Aug21_SharonFoals1_Eyesfixed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IFRIQojOB4Y/UEu6QbZfqZI/AAAAAAAAAyY/H7zFLCdlk2o/s400/05Aug21_SharonFoals1_Eyesfixed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 2004: Wildwood Honor, Wildwood Splendor, Running With Wolves, Wildwood Courage</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This past week my horses again offered a safe, soft place to fall.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1VoPqThC9Rk/UE0A8xLsKyI/AAAAAAAAAzY/EP_1ebSiW3Y/s1600/Web_12Sept9_Sapphire1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1VoPqThC9Rk/UE0A8xLsKyI/AAAAAAAAAzY/EP_1ebSiW3Y/s400/Web_12Sept9_Sapphire1.png" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wildwood Sapphire</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">I arrived back home from an overnight
in Emergency at </span><st1:place style="text-align: justify;" w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Williams</st1:placename>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Lake</st1:placename></st1:place><span style="text-align: justify;"> hospital (See <a href="http://ridin-reinin-writin.blogspot.ca/2012/09/i-fought-them-all-and-they-all-won.html" target="_blank">I Fought Them All and They All Won</a>) last Sunday afternoon and immediately checked my horses. I could see the four mares that pastured together in the river field waiting at the fence to greet me and I walked there first. Something
was different. Although they often come for a visit, today they were more attentive. Actually, where they before </span><i style="text-align: justify;">asked</i><span style="text-align: justify;">
for attention, now they were </span><i style="text-align: justify;">giving</i><span style="text-align: justify;">
attention. I first noticed the change in Sapphire, my four-year-old mare. She hung at the fence longer, lowered her head to be stroked, ran her nose up and down my arm and face. Breathed on me. Generally, she and her friend, Mistral, both came to me but that day, Sapphire was more interested in me than Mistral. She wanted to be at my side.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TJp_A34HFFY/UEv_TsDkmdI/AAAAAAAAAy0/w5ArK5FQ7P4/s1600/Web_12Sept8_SilkHead3.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TJp_A34HFFY/UEv_TsDkmdI/AAAAAAAAAy0/w5ArK5FQ7P4/s400/Web_12Sept8_SilkHead3.png" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wildwood Soul O Silk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
Silk also, was unusually attentive. Her eyes never left me, her ears forward listening, her body relaxed and giving. Although she always looks at me like she really 'sees' me, now she looked at me with tenderness too. Was I imagining this? I don't think so because two days later, as I walked down the trail to the bottom, the mares met me. Silk looked at me again like that as if to say, " I am so glad to see you! I was just coming up to check..." </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I love this mare with a love that frightens me. Her soul and mine are enmeshed in a way I cannot explain. Although I have the support of friends and family, Silk is here for me every day in every way. I feel that although she does not speak. No. She <i>does</i> speak . . . but in a different language . . . and I am so grateful. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<br />
Of all the horses I have ever owned, Silk is perhaps the most intuitive. Highly intelligent with a raw energy that could scare some riders, she and I bonded the day she was born and we have not been apart for long ever since that time. She likes to know where I am and the feeling is mutual.<br />
<br />
That these two mares of all my horses should be the ones who "gathered 'round" for the past several days should not have surprised me. Sapphire is Silk's daughter. She is also the daughter of Running With Wolves, one of the four foals in the photo above.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I didn't catch Sapphire last Sunday even though she wanted me to. On Monday, though, I relented. I turned her in the pen opposite the house, the one I can see from my window. We're both happy with that arrangement. On Tuesday I rode her to check fence/ gate in the river field. Although she is often high-spirited like her mother, looking for bears in the bush, she was not that day. She walked quietly, head down and relaxed as we circled the pasture, waded into the channel of the river and up the hill home again. Sapphire is continuing the legacy of her dam, Silk and maybe her grandmother, Tamarac, great-grandmother, Mahogany, and great-great grandmother, Duchess. All those fine mares "carried me" in good times and in challenging ones.<br />
<br />
To some of my readers, this may seem like a lot of nonsense; others will understand perfectly. As I heal and adjust to a new reality, I value even more the company of my horses, who give back more than I can ever give to them. They breathe on my heart. </div>
Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-20211676462145622202012-09-03T11:19:00.000-07:002019-04-16T16:38:24.980-07:00I Fought Them All and They All Won<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Sometimes the best way to tell a not-so-funny story is to see the hunour in it. Reliving the
past weekend is one of those times.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The days preceding the weekend were typical work days – feeding, caring for and riding my horses, house work, yard work, and garden - with one exception. Unrelenting sciatic pain made everything I did harder. As the week progressed, I decreased my work load, riding only two horses every day and those with vague symptoms of light-headedness that I attributed to lack of sleep as well as body pain. On Saturday morning I promised myself I would ride three horses. After a short ride on Wolf (just getting in him in shape), I broke for lunch then, in he afternoon, I rode Mistral and Peace. When I came back in the house for a cold drink, however, I knew I must make a call to
the nurse at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Alexis</st1:placename>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Creek</st1:placename></st1:place> – there was stuff
going on with me that needed to be checked out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I called Heather, advised her of my symptoms and before
I could say any more, she told me she was coming out to see me. <i>This is where things started to get out of
control.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Heather arrived with a bag and a machine that would soon be
hooked up to my body. As I lay on my own couch with wires attached to me, she watched the results for a few minutes before telling me, in no uncertain terms, that I would have to go to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Williams</st1:placename>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Lake</st1:placename></st1:place> – by ambulance! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“No,” I said. “I can’t!” The already-erratic lines on the paper
spewing from Heather's machine squiggled even more wildly. (My heart was beating at up to 160 beats per minute.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I can’t leave.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“You have to.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I resorted to pleading.<br />
<br />
“Not by ambulance, please. Too much drama. Someone
will drive me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“No, Sharon. By ambulance. I’m going to phone.” <i>(Lost this
one…</i>)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I let this sink in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Can I go out and get everything ready with the horses?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“No. You can’t. We’ll look after everything.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Well, can I make some calls?” Heather took some of the paraphernalia
off of me so I could call a friend to look after my horses and dogs. I did that and then I saw my
opportunity.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I’m going out now,” I announced as I headed for the steps downstairs.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I’ll come too,” Heather said. <i>(Won this one…)</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Back inside, resigned to the inevitable, I packed a few
things to take with me. When the ambulances (not one, but two – don’t ask!)
arrived, I was ordered back on the couch (<i>Lost this one – one nurse and three
paramedics in the room…</i>) where Heather started an IV, commenting that I was "tough everywhere" when she couldn't get the needle in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I wanted to get her on oxygen but she wouldn’t stay still
long enough,” she told the paramedics. (<i>A small victory… I just ran around the
yard getting set up to leave – how could I need oxygen?)</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Finally, everyone was happy that we were ready to go. A
brief discussion with one of the paramedics determined that he would hold the bag
attached to my IV as I made my way to the ambulance. I got up and started
walking.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Slow down!” (<i>Apparently the man could not keep up with me…</i>)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Then I saw the stretcher at the bottom of my steps. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“You want me on that?” I asked. “I don’t need to go on a
stretcher! (<i>Lost again...)</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
So they hoisted me up into the ambulance like I’ve seen a
thousand times on television . . . and I immediately became claustrophobic!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I can’t do this!” I said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Do you want to drive?” asked the driver.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes.” <i>(I lost this one too, of course - it was a rhetorical question.)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
So for that outburst I got a shot of Atavan. <i>(Fought that too and lost!)</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It's a good thing I didn’t know until later that the RCMP had set up a road
block at the end of my driveway, completely unrelated to my situation. I wish I had the picture my neighbour
described to me: Road block with RCMP, two ambulances driving out of my
driveway and my friend with truck and trailer stopped on the highway waiting to
turn in to my driveway! <i><b>(And I didn't want any drama!</b></i>)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
In emergency at Williams Lake hospital, I was transferred to a bed, hooked up to various wires and tubes (including oxygen - yes, they got their way in that one, too!). The doctor assessed my condition and advised me that I might need a pacemaker (<i>situation going from bad to worse!</i>) but, after all tests were complete, diagnosed my condition as atrial tachycardia and told me he would put me on beta blockers. I could go home in the morning if I was stable. Good news!<br />
<br />
I cannot find anything humourous to write about my overnight in emergency on a Saturday night of a long weekend in the Chilcotin. The high point of the evening was when the nurse brought me a phone and I heard the voice of a friend on the other end of the line. I assured her ( and her me...), then kept the phone for a few more calls including one to the good friend feeding my horses and caring for my dog, Mischa.<br />
<br />
The next morning, I was released and had to call for a ride home. As I said to the paramedics, "You mean you can take me against my will but you won't bring me home?"<br />
<br />
As I waited for my ride, a chance conversation with a man waiting for treatment, yielded unexpected offers - he wanted to know if I wanted a room mate and then asked me out. "You seem to be a nice lady," he said. (Not that nice...)<br />
<br />
So I am home now, very glad to be here and feeling a little more in control. But, for a few hours last weekend, I was not . . . and there seemed to be very little I could do about it!<br />
<br />
I fought them all, they all won! Damn! Hate it when that happens...<br />
<br />
PS Thanks to Heather (nurse at Alexis Creek), paramedics, doctor and nurses in Williams Lake, Crystal and Tim (who did chores and kept Mischa), my friends and family for support and Marion (who was prepared to drive from Alberta and stay at my place should my 'hospital holiday' be any longer!)</div>
Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-64331851745283537732012-08-06T06:38:00.001-07:002012-08-06T06:55:45.848-07:00"It's a holiday if I'm not wearing spurs!"<div style="text-align: justify;">
Last weekend (and extending into today) was a long weekend. As I read Facebook posts about camping, trail riding and water sports, and saw trucks pulling boats, campers and motor homes heading down highway 20, I admit I felt a twinge of envy, especially since the weather was perfect for those kind of holidays. My holiday of choice would have been a trail ride but instead of that or water sports and evenings by the campfire, I spent the weekend by myself at home doing what I do almost every day - caring for and riding horses. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I guess my "holiday" was the previous weekend, July 27-29, when Wildwood Reining Horses hosted a three-day Vern Sapergia horsemanship/reining clinic. My house and yard was filled with people and horses . . . and an old friend.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1uAOfWrYR-E/UB8yUhRc_4I/AAAAAAAAAxk/QCWC7L3QATs/s1600/12July29_VernDonnaSharon2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1uAOfWrYR-E/UB8yUhRc_4I/AAAAAAAAAxk/QCWC7L3QATs/s400/12July29_VernDonnaSharon2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vern demonstrating to Donna and I</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Vern and I go back a long way - back to the hills of Saskatchewan, reining shows, working in Italy, clinics and many, many soul-searching heart-to-hearts. Although 'time for talking' was limited last weekend, we still managed to have a couple of in-depth discussions. One topic was about time off - holidays - of which neither of us gets much. Vern told me he had plans to "holiday" a little after the clinic before he returns to Austria. His family, he said, told him he never took a real holiday. Vern disagreed.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Don't you remember?" he said to his son-in-law. And he reminded him of a one-day outing they had once had. His son-in-law disagreed, saying it was nothing but a spur-of-the-moment little adventure.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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"Yes, it was a holiday!" Vern said. "Any time I'm not wearing spurs it's a holiday!"</div>
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So that's the 'holiday' criteria for horse trainers... Although I somewhat agree, I can have a holiday even if I <i>am</i> wearing spurs, like last weekend.</div>
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Vern's clinic, as always, was fabulous - informative and fun! I know of no other clinician who could and <i>would </i>give more of themselves to each and every student. He loves to teach.</div>
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"I will never retire," said Vern, "As long as I have something to teach and someone wants to learn."</div>
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The clinic, however, was not for anyone who wanted to be stroked or coddled. Vern tells it like it is! He also pushes everyone to the limits of their capabilities. He has an innate sense of how far is too far, though, and riders come away from the clinic with the wonderful realization that they (and/or their horse) have accomplished more than they thought possible!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vyg2XpBTqJc/UB8yvjaZQUI/AAAAAAAAAxs/cBNuVPRUhnc/s1600/12July29_VernShannon1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vyg2XpBTqJc/UB8yvjaZQUI/AAAAAAAAAxs/cBNuVPRUhnc/s400/12July29_VernShannon1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shannon getting spurs on - guess the holiday is over!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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I think Vern might have to admit the trip to the Chilcotin was a little bit of a holiday even if he didn't take off his spurs. Evenings around the firepit, a visit with a long-lost cousin, lots of good food and laughter counts for something. Good horses doing good things does too. Sliding my stallion, Walking With Wolves, sure brought a smile to his face!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fOCWXecAJis/UB8wC3ADt0I/AAAAAAAAAxM/ZZSSaoPGgXs/s1600/Vern+Sapergia+2012+059+(800x530).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fOCWXecAJis/UB8wC3ADt0I/AAAAAAAAAxM/ZZSSaoPGgXs/s400/Vern+Sapergia+2012+059+(800x530).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vern and Walking With Wolves (Photo by Jordan Grier)</td></tr>
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And when the clinic was over Sunday evening, Vern was the first to say, "Let's go!" when we were invited to Chilco Ranch for an impromptu team roping and didn't hesitate when Jordan offered him Maverick, a rope and a glove.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uCsnOfFyCCg/UB8xmghz45I/AAAAAAAAAxU/QyLo9YMCD0M/s1600/12July29_VernRoping2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uCsnOfFyCCg/UB8xmghz45I/AAAAAAAAAxU/QyLo9YMCD0M/s400/12July29_VernRoping2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vern on Maverick getting the job done. (Photo by Crystal Grier)</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cuY37a-xsD4/UB8x00mY5iI/AAAAAAAAAxc/hNwqZr5GE_U/s1600/12July29_VernRoping4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cuY37a-xsD4/UB8x00mY5iI/AAAAAAAAAxc/hNwqZr5GE_U/s400/12July29_VernRoping4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out that smile! (Photo by Crystal Grier)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
He still had his spurs on so maybe even these moments didn't qualify as a holiday but I'm pretty sure he loved every minute of it.<br />
<br />
So I am not going to cry any tears about not being able to take time off for the long weekend. I strapped on spurs just like I do almost every day and rode some fine horses.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l1ZZAB7-WUU/UB_MhoV1t_I/AAAAAAAAAyA/_rchQy_s-No/s1600/Vern+Sapergia+2012+008+(800x530).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l1ZZAB7-WUU/UB_MhoV1t_I/AAAAAAAAAyA/_rchQy_s-No/s400/Vern+Sapergia+2012+008+(800x530).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wildwood Mistral and I (Photo by Jordan Grier)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-45391125131685437582012-07-20T07:00:00.000-07:002012-07-20T07:03:26.430-07:00Hearts in the Sand<div style="text-align: justify;">
The sun had already set as I slowly drove through the trees and down the sandy driveway to my yard. I had met my friend at the corner and we had driven to Williams Lake for shopping and dinner but now, possibly for the first time, I didn't want to come home.</div>
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Bypassing my house yard, I drove past the gate and parked close to the barn, turned the key off, got out and put one leaden foot in front of the other, glancing at the old round pen to my left but walking instead to the barn to feed my stallions, one in the barn and one in a pen behind. It was then I saw the first heart drawn in the sand at the door of my barn. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2CF8miIKzJo/UAgM0-05dyI/AAAAAAAAAvk/IZUwvWfzBFE/s1600/12July13_Heart1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2CF8miIKzJo/UAgM0-05dyI/AAAAAAAAAvk/IZUwvWfzBFE/s400/12July13_Heart1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I knew what the significance of the heart in the sand was... Thinking about that, I forked feed to Little Wolf and Wolf, then plodded by the old round pen again on a path across the arena to check and feed the broodmares. Usually my two pretty fillies, Perfect and Cameo, lifted my spirits but tonight I doubted they would. Feed them I must though so I shuffled along eyes to the ground . . . and stopped. There, in the harrow drag-track across the arena, was another heart, carefully scribed, carefully positioned so I would see it when I crossed the arena.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jGW4sjWQYBI/UAgNBnkqJRI/AAAAAAAAAvs/3cLyiCVvBNw/s1600/12July13_Heart2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jGW4sjWQYBI/UAgNBnkqJRI/AAAAAAAAAvs/3cLyiCVvBNw/s400/12July13_Heart2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l__CC2v-dJw/UAjCXzEf_EI/AAAAAAAAAwo/LU61dAnY0EU/s1600/07Sept21_Destiny_HeadShot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l__CC2v-dJw/UAjCXzEf_EI/AAAAAAAAAwo/LU61dAnY0EU/s320/07Sept21_Destiny_HeadShot.jpg" width="213" /></a>Hearts in the sand. I knew who drew them . . . and why. "I thought they might cheer you up," he said later. Well, no - the hearts in the sand didn't cheer me up but I so appreciated the effort because, you see, I had come home that evening to one less horse. Destiny was gone.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Wildwood Destiny entered my world on April 20, 1993 and immediately captured my heart. The first foal for my good mare, Wildwood Tamarac, I had great expectations for her. Her sire was an own son of Doc Bar and double bred King; her dam was sired by Solanos Peppy San. I was sure she would be a reining horse and had plans to train her and compete in the NRHA Futurity in Oklahoma City in 1996.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ATqaqZDw07I/UAg0H2PedpI/AAAAAAAAAv4/P36_L-G53YE/s1600/93April20_DestinyBorn_wSharon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ATqaqZDw07I/UAg0H2PedpI/AAAAAAAAAv4/P36_L-G53YE/s400/93April20_DestinyBorn_wSharon.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">April 20, 1993 - Destiny born to Tamarac</td></tr>
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But my talented little bay mare was "destined" to overcome adversity time and time again. Savaged by her mother when she was only a few hours old, lost in the mountains when she was two, sustaining a traumatic shoulder injury at three and surgery and three pins in her leg at four years old, we missed the futurity. I entered the reining pen only a few times before breeding her. Again, she faced pain, the pain of losing her three week old filly. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KbCtgNhp-yA/UAheEg8abNI/AAAAAAAAAwc/P28gBkooUqI/s1600/99June_Destiny_Lace.TIF" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="398" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KbCtgNhp-yA/UAheEg8abNI/AAAAAAAAAwc/P28gBkooUqI/s400/99June_Destiny_Lace.TIF" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Destiny and her first born, Lace.</td></tr>
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Through it all she remained cheerful and tough - really tough. She learned to not only survive but thrive and went on to gift me with wonderful trail rides, beautiful foals and a charming stable presence. Last year she raised her last foal and I did not breed her again, believing she would be with me for several years of retirement. I was wrong. A sudden debilitating lameness left me only with a choice I did not want to make. For the past few months I spent time with her every day, moving her to grass, penning her alone at night so she would not be hurt running from the others. She was never far from me and she always greeted me with ears up and often whinnied, making a difficult decision even more difficult.</div>
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On July 12, a vet humanely euthanized Destiny at home. I lost a very special friend and the fourth of what I call "The Dynasty". </div>
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The morning after I discovered the 'hearts in the sand', I walked to Destiny's grave by the fence east of the house. There I found another heart - this one outlined in river stone - and inside the heart, a "bouquet" of grass and alfalfa in flower. While my friend had kept me company her husband had tried his very best to ease the pain he knew I would feel when I came home to an empty pen. Thank you, my friends, for lifting my heart just a little...</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_EiUoxPHBug/UAhbcMTcx2I/AAAAAAAAAwE/t36jCL-68P8/s1600/12July13_DestiyGrave2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_EiUoxPHBug/UAhbcMTcx2I/AAAAAAAAAwE/t36jCL-68P8/s400/12July13_DestiyGrave2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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And now life begins without Destiny, although I still imagine I see her face looking through the rails at me with her ears up and her nose stretched to my hand as it was when I said goodbye. I can still feel the softness of that nose although she has been gone for a week. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WT_0rs4K8QI/UAhcniogJvI/AAAAAAAAAwU/ZOo8sphBuf0/s1600/duchfmly99.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WT_0rs4K8QI/UAhcniogJvI/AAAAAAAAAwU/ZOo8sphBuf0/s400/duchfmly99.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Destiny (center with head up) with her family 1999</span><br />
Duchess, Mahogany (at back)<br />
Tamarac and Silk (mare and foal upper right)<br />
Kokanee, Promise, Whisper and Harmony)</td></tr>
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Duchess, Mahogany, Tamarac (Desiny's maternal ancestors) and her little filly, Lace, are buried on myold property in Armstrong and Destiny is here in the Chilcotin but I like to think they are together now as they were in the photo above. And the legacy of this fine maternal line still lives . . . in Legacy and Legacy's offspring. Last spring Destiny's daughter, Legacy, foaled out a beautiful bay filly that I named Wildwood Perfect Six because she is the first of the sixth generation of this line of Wildwood mares. Perfect, Legacy and Legacy's siblings - Whiskey, Sable, Honor, Magic and Breeze - carry the genes of this fine mare. She will never really be gone.<br />
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I took the photos below on July 12, 2012, the last day I spent with Destiny. The first is of Destiny with Legacy and Perfect - I thought she should meet her granddaughter. In the second photo, Destiny is looking off in the distance. What is she thinking here? That she would like to trot over the hills like she used to? I hope she's doing that now. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0z-5xUSsnJQ/UAjKXO7GC0I/AAAAAAAAAw8/Ab795gMUcKU/s1600/12July12_DestinyLegacyPerfect.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0z-5xUSsnJQ/UAjKXO7GC0I/AAAAAAAAAw8/Ab795gMUcKU/s400/12July12_DestinyLegacyPerfect.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Legacy, Perfect and Destiny</td></tr>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W2kHetP77kU/UAjKKsrlRyI/AAAAAAAAAw0/MnqjhJu4HfM/s1600/12July12_Destiny4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W2kHetP77kU/UAjKKsrlRyI/AAAAAAAAAw0/MnqjhJu4HfM/s400/12July12_Destiny4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Those hearts in the sand have been erased by the footsteps of her stable mates (somehow fitting) but my memories of Destiny will live on. For nineteen years she was part of my world. Now a river rock 'heart' marks her final resting place. I go to see her there every day. Miss you, girl. Rest in peace.</div>
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<br /></div>Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385621703031929161.post-5912357109661386182012-06-11T07:25:00.000-07:002017-07-06T08:04:40.987-07:00Horse Camping at Beaverdam Lake<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;"> It’s been a while coming, but
I finally managed a brief “holiday” – with horses, of course. On the weekend of June 1-3, I met with
friends at </span><st1:place style="text-align: justify;" w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Beaverd</st1:placename><st1:placename w:st="on">am</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype></st1:place><span style="text-align: justify;">
for a weekend of campfires, camaraderie, and trail riding. Some things don’t
change, though – I co-ordinated the trip to include dropping off another horse
after the camp-out and I brought the greenest horse I have on the property to
ride (for the experience, of course because I would not want to miss a training
opportunity…)</span></div>
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Arriving at the campsite at
around 5:00 PM on Friday, I talked briefly with my friends, Mandy and Shawn, about where and how to overnight my mares. Prima, an aged broodmare, had never
been on a campout and Sapphire, a four-year-old mare, had never been hauled
prior to the 250 km I had just hauled her. She was brand new to everything.<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7wbwriRpew0/T9X-jpGGzhI/AAAAAAAAAvY/uCq2AtwhVW0/s1600/12June2_BeaverDam47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7wbwriRpew0/T9X-jpGGzhI/AAAAAAAAAvY/uCq2AtwhVW0/s400/12June2_BeaverDam47.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beaver Dam Lake as seen from our camp site</td></tr>
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After weighing all options
(including pens at a facility across the lake), I decided I would high-line
both a short distance from my outfit. I’m happy to say they adapted to the
high-line right away.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M0jgpNFtoqk/T9X7dRrC5WI/AAAAAAAAAu4/mFPblUfmAIk/s1600/12June1_BeaverDam1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M0jgpNFtoqk/T9X7dRrC5WI/AAAAAAAAAu4/mFPblUfmAIk/s400/12June1_BeaverDam1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sapphire and Prima high-lined. Mischa went too!</td></tr>
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The next day, we saddled for
a ride. I started before the others so I could test the waters – how Sapphire
would react to the new country and how Prima would cope with Sapphire leaving.
Prima was not happy but I was occupied with Sapphire, who did not want to leave
the camp site. A few well-placed smacks lined her out and we headed away from camp
into a meadow at a ground-covering long trot broken by sudden halts when
Sapphire tried to head back. How very much like her dam this mare is! I went back ten years to the first rides out I had on Silk . . . and I love them for their grit! When I returned to camp, Mandy, Shawn and Lacey
were ready to ride. Prima, still not happy, would have the company of another
horse and Mandy’s mom to monitor the situation.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UQhtYcSnrA0/T9X8Tim4wuI/AAAAAAAAAvA/GdDRvZcWhPI/s1600/12June2_BeaverDam23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UQhtYcSnrA0/T9X8Tim4wuI/AAAAAAAAAvA/GdDRvZcWhPI/s400/12June2_BeaverDam23.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5x_pV7YmI6Q/T9X8u6EcF8I/AAAAAAAAAvI/xuFOJtvLVtM/s1600/12June2_BeaverDam28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5x_pV7YmI6Q/T9X8u6EcF8I/AAAAAAAAAvI/xuFOJtvLVtM/s400/12June2_BeaverDam28.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sapphire and I </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span> After the somewhat reluctant start, Sapphire was good on the ride, in part because she had company. Mandy, Shawn and I all rode 2008 offspring of Running With Wolves. The three - Wildwood Sable, Wildwood Cactus and Wildwood Sapphire - are from his first foal crop and all out of daughters of Tamarac. How cool is that!</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WV-yChmt7CA/T9X994EljfI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/opTxYKkJmzg/s1600/12June2_BeaverDam14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WV-yChmt7CA/T9X994EljfI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/opTxYKkJmzg/s400/12June2_BeaverDam14.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me on Sapphire, Shawn on Cactus, Mandy and Sable</td></tr>
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Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02226297946830772490noreply@blogger.com0Meadow Lake Rd, 70 Mile House, BC V0K 2K1, Canada51.277592136571535 -121.5988134266808651.267658636571532 -121.61898342668086 51.287525636571537 -121.57864342668087