Ridin', Reinin' and Writin'

This is a difficult post to write. I almost didn't, but since Ridin'. Reinin' and Writin' is supposed to be a bit of a snapshot of my life, I knew I must. Here goes...

There are bumps in the road of life for everyone, I know, and we all hope the bumps are only little ones. I have had some rather large bumps (more like craters...) along the way but, as my brother once told me, "You always pick yourself up and start over." In the past few years, after my husband walked out in 2004, I did that again - I started over. As always, the thread that had connected all phases of my life for all of my life remained - my animal friends. My female Samoyed, Kirby and my horses were my anchors. In the ensuing years, I willingly 'gave' all of me to them and they have returned to me more - a reason to be, deep understanding, loyalty and joy. With their help, I healed.

I knew I would be tested, however. It was just a matter of when and how. As last fall turned to winter and winter to spring, Kirby failed. Although I knew the logical decision was to take her in to the vet, I procrastinated. Although she could barely walk and was almost blind, she was not in pain. I carried her in and out; at times, I hand-fed her. She could still hear and that alone made her life livable for she heard my footsteps, my voice, the tractor, the horses - all the things she had heard all of her 13 years. Eventually, she lost her battle. She died the evening of May 12th.

I had been prepared for Kirby's passing and was grateful she had died at home. Even so, as I threw that first shovel of dirt on her lifeless body, I bawled like a baby. My loyal, loving companion was gone.

That night I slept in the tack room of my barn beside my mare, Peppy Del Cielo (Prima). She carried a foal by Wimpys Little Step and I had allowed myself to dream a big dream for this foal. If the foal arrived that night it would take the sting out of losing Kirby. 

At 4:00 AM on May 13th (that's Friday, the 13th!), I knew the mare was going to foal. A few minutes after 5:00, the foal was born - a mahogany bay colt with a snip on his nose and three socks - but he flopped in the straw limp and lifeless. Frantically, I checked his mouth and nose for mucous an, finding none, tried to hold him upside down to drain his airway. I could not get him high enough so I draped him over the water bowl. When nothing drained, I laid him in the straw and started CPR but no amount of air from my lungs was going to bring Baby Wimpy back to life. He did not draw one breathe. He, like Kirby, was gone.

Over twelve hours, I had lost my dog and a foal in which I had packaged my hopes and dreams. At first I did not know how I would be able to cope but of course, there were things to do - feeding the rest of the horses, weaning Prima (still licking the baby in hopes of reviving him) away from her baby, choosing a location to bury the foal, digging another grave...

So, by the fence in my house yard, under two small poplars that would someday shade Baby Wimpy's grave, I dug a resting place for the small innocent body one shovel-full at a time, tears mingling with sweat. I transported his lifeless body in the bucket of my tractor, laid him in the grave and kissed his cold, sweet nose, the same one I had tried to breathe life in to. And when the first bucket of dirt, tumbled over him, I collapsed over the steering wheel of the tractor, great gasping sobs racking my body. So final. Sooo.... over. First Kirby, then a wee foal that had not yet had a chance to live. I hope they are romping together in a green field...

With one more mare left to foal, I feel like I have nothing left to give. Beam me up, Scotty! I want to come back when it's better.

I've always been a little fascinated with the way very small things link my mind to events. Seemingly insignificant words, items or actions connect my thoughts to a time in my life or an annual event... like ice cream with my homemade caramel sauce and the Kentucky Derby. Forget the wide-brimmed hats, mint juleps and My Kentucky Home. Give me ice cream with caramel sauce. This is how it happened.

Years ago, when we only had one channel on our black and white television (that's after we could get television!), the Kentucky Derby was always aired - and it was a program we would not miss! Even though we were extremely busy at that time of the year, my husband and I planned to take a break for the prestigious event. For some reason, I remember one of those May Saturdays very well - so well, in fact, that it comes back to me at every running of the Kentucky Derby.

It was a warm spring day in Crooked River, Saskatchewan, the perfect day for raking, preparing the garden for planting and other spring work. My three young children played outside as my husband and I worked, checking our watch often. Finally, it was time.

As we walked to the house, I planned a snack for us, something befitting the big event and the advent of warm weather. Yes, I knew what I would do. I would make my mother's famous Caramel Ice Cream Sauce. As I stirred the ingredients together on the stove (now I use the microwave), the pre-race hype blared from the televsion. Just in time, I dished up ice cream for all of us, topped it with the rich, buttery sauce and sat down. On the screen, ladies in floppy-brimmed hats toasted with mint juleps while my family spooned a decadent dessert into our mouths. Ice cream with Caramel Sauce has not tasted any better ever since that day in 1973, the year Secretariat won the Kentucky Derby. Since he went on to win the Triple Crown, that could explain why that day and Ice Cream with Caramel Sauce is forever linked to the Derby in my mind. Or was it because it was a pleasant interlude with my family?

Here is the recipe:

This year Animal Kingdom won the 137th running of the Kentucky Derby... and I watched with a bowl of caramel-sauced ice cream in my lap.

It's been an eventful week – the weather changed from spring to “winter” to spring in a day or two (sort of "wonder" ful) and new lives entered my world (truly "wonder"ful!).

At this time of the year, my life has revolves around my broodmares. Four mares, heavy in foal, are my life. I bred them and cared for them. Now I ask that they deliver strong, healthy foals and I promise I will be there for them when they do. I was.

Last Tuesday (only six days ago), a spring snow storm swept through the Chilcotin, covering my property with a chilling, icy blanket. I had penned three of my mares across from the house where I could watch them closely, only guessing which would be the first to foal. Now, in swirling snow, they clearly were begging to be taken to the barn. I got the camera out and the montage below is the result.

That night, two hours past her 18th birthday, in a warm stall in the barn, Destiny delivered a stunning bay colt, the first for my young stallion, Walking With Wolves. I was sleeping in the tack room only steps away and I was there when Wildwood N Whiskey entered the world into my arms. 

“This never gets old and it is always, always a miracle,” I thought.

Whiskey wanted to get up right away. He had no time for me at all. He just wanted to rise and run. Destiny whinnied softly to him a few times, then struggled to her feet, turned and licked him. Soon, though, she lay down again, uncomfortable until she expelled the afterbirth. This was Whiskey’s chance. As his mom rested in the straw, he tried out his new legs – popping up in one move,  then trying to run and jump - a little awkwardly, of course. I laughed at him.

Since I wanted to stay up until Destiny had cleaned and Whiskey had sucked, I made a quick trip to the house… and came back with a glass of wine! There, in the stillness of night, I sat on a salt block in the corner of the stall, sipped wine and marveled at the pureness and wonder of what I had, again, witnessed.

“It just doesn’t get any better than this,” I said out loud.

I thought Easter was going to foal the next night. She stopped eating, stood uncomfortably in the corner of her pen and showed all the signs of being in the first stage of labour, but no foal that night nor the next day or the next night. At 7:00 AM on Friday morning, after hour checks all night, when I went to get her from her stall, I could see she was going to foal. As I led her to a grassy area, her water broke. I waited. Nothing. Knowing a little about mares foaling, I knew this was not good. When a half hour had passed, I phoned Louise, another horse person a few minutes away.

“I think I have a problem,” I told her. We discussed the situation and decided I would call back in 15 minutes.

“I know I have a problem,” I told Louise 15 minutes later. “Can you come over?”

We knew what we had to do. We had to see what was going on inside because there was absolutely no sign of a baby nor was she trying to foal on her own. What we found out was not good – the foal was upside down!

I had seen movement so I knew the baby was still alive, but since I am 100 km from a vet, the best approach (if it worked) was for us to try to pull the foal. It was not easy, but after close to an hour, we did. Wildwood Timber Wolf arrived into our laps from the womb of his exhausted mother. I cried – with relief, with raw emotion. I was fully prepared to lose this foal, yet there he was! Not only alive but strong and raring to go. He was up before his mother, touring the round pen with all the courage he had used to enter the world. Easter, Louise and I had a higher power helping because, against all odds, mother and baby are doing well. And Timber was born on Easter’s birthday!

His name should have been Wonder. It's a wonder he's alive, a series of wonder-ful, lucky breaks that helped Louise and I deliver him. It could have turned out very differently but, after all, it was a week of wonders.

No – not Christmas. The most wonderful time of the year for me is foaling time. And that time is now! Four of my mares are preparing to add to my herd. A year of planning, breeding and waiting is coming to fruition in the next few weeks.

For me, time almost stops as I wait it out for the new babies. I go through the motions of feeding, riding and spring work, but only one thing is on my mind – new foals, new life. Although it’s a waiting game now, things could get pretty busy – downright hectic – really fast. The first three mares – Destiny, Prima and Easter – were bred to foal about ten days apart but it looks like they are going to be very close together. Only time will tell of course, but Destiny (due tomorrow) doesn’t appear to be on time while Prima looks close to “on time” and Easter looks like she will be early.

Wildwood Destiny

Prima (Peppy Del Cielo)

Poco Easter Lena

Wildwood Soul O Silk

 There’s a variety of sires this year. Easter and Silk are bred to Running With Wolves, Destiny is bred to Walking With Wolves (first foal for him) and Prima, my Gallo Del Cielo mare, is bred to Wimpys Little Step. There is also a possibility of four different colours – my grey mare, Easter, could have a grey, Destiny has the best chance to produce a bay (since sire and dam are bay), Silk’s almost certainly will be sorrel (she and sire are sorrel) and Prima could produce a palomino (if she does, it will be the first palomino foal I have ever had!). We’ll have to see how this plays out.

Fillies or colts? I always want fillies but in Prima’s case it doesn’t matter because she has produced some fantastic stallions. I do know if it’s a filly, I will have a hard time selling, so business-wise, it should be a colt. I would like Destiny to produce a filly since it’s Little Wolf’s first but, again, I would hate to sell Destiny’s filly by Walking With Wolves. Easter has had three fillies in a row crossed with Running With Wolves. Is it her turn for a colt? And Silk, foaling in May? I’m betting on a colt for her since she has had a filly, Wildwood Sapphire, already. Again, I’ll just have to wait and see. It’s a done deal now and the most important thing is four healthy foals.

Yes, it’s the most wonderful time of the year and I intend to reap all the rewards. I can look forward to sleepless nights and four little miracles arriving soon. It doesn’t get much better.

Although late morning, the air holds a chill - after all it is still March - and the rails I lean on are slippery with frost. Not a breathe of breeze stirs the towering tops of the Douglas firs but I can hear the soft twitterings of a few birds in the branches. I look down at the river, frozen yet, so still now, so swift in the summer. I turn my face to the sun to soak up the welcome warmth.

Is the deep sense of tranquillity I am feeling born of these surroundings? I ponder that for a moment ... until I look into the eyes of my favourite mare, Silk, standing in the sun on the other side of those slippery, frosty rails. I know then that the peace settling into my body emanates from her and the other two other mares beside her. One by one, all three come to the fence; one by one, they each gently touch me with their nose. I look around me - all my horses, in pens around the yard, emit off that same quiet energy.

I've often said that I love where I live because it is so peaceful, but in fact, it probably doesn't matter where I call home. Since I have always had and always will have horses living with me, I will always know that serenity if I am aware because it is they who provide that. Of course I have always known that but this morning I felt the shroud of peace - as real and tangible as the horses themselves.

"It's simple enough," I think. "There is peace in their presence." 

I am the mother of three children - Shayne, Cindy and Lana. Although my children have told me I am not a typical grandmother (whatever that is!), I love spending time with my grandchildren. I have four - Kendra, Adara, Larissa and Jaden. Little known fact: I worked as a nanny for a few months one winter in Saskatchewan.









I love music.

I play violin and once played second violin with an orchestra. I also sang in a large choir. I also play guitar just well enough to accompany myself singing and I play the piano mostly by ear, although I can read music and sometimes try to play that way. I still pick up the violin once in a while but it is one of those instruments that one needs to play often to play well!



Junior Orchestra 1957 Oliver BC (I am third from outside second row left)



Junior Orchestra 1958 Oliver BC (I am outside second row on right)

I played basketball.

Kyle Composte Basketball Team

I absolutely loved basketball and I played center for the high school team. We had an excellent coach - Mr Johnson. I remember one game that was going badly because the opposing girls were getting rough. He took a couple of us off the floor and I asked why. "Because even if they are not acting like ladies you are going to," he replied.

I made the   University of Saskatchewan team but quit before I ever played a game because I thought I could not keep my grades up, a decision I regretted...

My husband was the one who got me started in archery and I enjoyed practicing and going to archery shoots (where we competed walking a course and shooting at "animals" in different positions and different distances. Although I never won anything (that wasn't the point anyway), I did shoot a "robin hood" at the range - one arrow in the center of the target and another splitting that arrow. My husband was impressed, but I didn't even know it was a good thing. I complained that I wrecked two arrows!

I love to swim.

1994 - Swimming Hawaii

I only put on a bathing suit to hot tub these days, but I used to swim as much as I could. I loved the water and tried diving, water skiing and even surfing! The dive I remember is one off of a very high cliff into Gallager Lake - I know now I should never have been diving into rocks but what convinced me not to do it again was the huge belly flop I did! I only water skiied once (ony because I did not have access to skis or boat) and I couldn't get up - kept pushing myself backwards. (The guy driving the boat wanted me to give up but I kept trying) The surfing happened on my 50th birthday in Hawaii. I wish I had a photo but the only one I could find is this one taken on the same holiday. (I hated this pic at the time - funny how it's all relative - wouldn't allow a photo now!)

I am a fisherwoman!

My first catch!

Well, not really but I did fish a few times. Mostly I liked sitting in the boat in tanning weather, but it was more interesting if I caught a fish. First time was with my boyfriend in Lake of the Woods, Ontario where this photo was taken. That's the first fish I caught - a pickeral. One time there, I thought I snagged a log - turned out to be a huge jackfish. I reeled him in like a pro.


I love to cook.

I've always said I am sorry for a woman who does not like to cook because she has to do so much of it. Fortunately for me, that was not the case. I learned to cook at an early age from my mother, who was an excellent cook. I have always made my own bread, prepare most dishes from scratch and once in a while I experiment with a complicated new recipe.

I am an avid gardener.

I don't believe I have ever not had a garden since the first year I was married in 1964. Sometimes, when I moved it meant digging up a small plot and fighting weeks and quack grass for the first year, but I always had my own garden vegetables. I still do. I also grow stawberries and raspberries - don't know what I would do without my own fruit. Flowers, too, I like, especially roses. I miss the wonderful rose garden I had in Armstrong, but still manage to brighten my home in the Chilcotin with petunias, pansies and various perennials.

Dancing is a little like swimming - I don't do it anymore - but there was a time when I wouldn't miss a chance to dance. I like all dances (even square danced the first winter I was married) - waltz, polka, two step, schottische and jive. I remember at a horse show dance in Swan River, Manitoba a girlfriend and I just about cleared the floor jiving! We had waited a while for someone to ask us to dance and when no one did (that we wanted to dance with), we chose each other. What fun!

In Saskatchewan, a friend and I drove 100 miles once a week to learn to line dance. Later, in BC, I taught line dancing for a couple of winters.

So there you have it - a little information about me outside my passion for horses. I suppose I am the sum of all these parts.