To Be A Tumbleweed

 

 

Last year I read two books about habits that discouraged making goals because, for many people, goals become end points. For example, a goal like, I want to lose 10 pounds for my daughter's wedding, might work, but after the wedding I might also gain them all back. 

I was thinking about it this year and I like goals. 

In fact, what if goals are just POINTS, (not end points) on a line that extends forever?

My dad once drew a line with two arrows at the end, and he said this is God; he has no beginning and no end. Then he drew a dot on the line, and he said this is you right now. Sadly, I can't remember what else he said. I was really young. But my mind did focus in on the idea of God having no beginning and no end.

My dad believed that our bodies are finite, but our spirits are created to understand, and exist, in eternity. They are eternal  and have no chronological age. While my body might be X years old, my spirit stands outside of time, and has NO AGE.

Goals, for me, are merely a looking forward, more like a "what's next" and how do I get there?

Horse Goals. 

(MORE of this! Walk it, then ride it!)

I want Tweed to TRUST me. I want him to know that wherever we go, we are a team.

Last year we attended a despooking clinic and registered for a 2 hour spot. In retrospect, I would not do that again. Perhaps, an all day clinic, but not two hours. It did not give us the time to adequately work through his fears, and quitting too early in the process set us back.

Also, last year I needed my trainer to help me keep moving forward SAFELY with Tweed because my mind and heart were pre-occupied. This year, I want to be more of an independent team. 

Another goal is to get my grandson going with horses. He's still very young, and he screams with joy when he's on their back--which is very sweet--but it stresses them out. I have a rule around here that you can only ride horses if you also help clean stalls, and he has been doing that for over a year now. He has earned his riding time, ...but I will need to find ways to make it work for both him and Foxy.

I feel like there is one more horse in our future--yet to be revealed--that will be good for the grandkids. No rush though.

Personal Goals.

(The photo I took for my online flute lesson account. That scarf I'm wearing is my old lady scarf and I LOVE it. It's a triangle scarf made of cashmere from the Banana Republic and it is so, so, so soft. I got it this year by fluke, and most days I am wrapped tight in its loving arms of magical angel kisses. Do yourself a favor and buy one before they're all gone!)

I had my first flute lesson with a super fun instructor online yesterday. She is the Flute Lady 101 on YouTube and she travels to beautiful spots, plays her flute, and gives tips. I'd never used Zoom for a lesson before, but once I worked out the snafus on my end, it worked quite well. I'm looking forward to many more lessons with Kate, which is also a goal--take lessons and be on a development program.

I don't know if I shared this, but last summer I would play my flute back and forth to the barn, and our neighbor's cows got interested and came to the fence line. It started a thing--every once in a while I'd walk over and serenade the cows at sunset. They are not a picky audience, but they don't particularly like the high notes.

I don't know how much longer I will have with Tuffy, but I plan to enjoy every minute I can with this sweet sanctuary boy. 

I look forward to my spring 2025 barn garden: new tomatoes, flowers, and probably another batch of jalapenos and habaneros. 

Snow-covered Thyme.

Of course, lots of walks! Whenever we can be outside--rain, snow, or shine--we need to be out exploring.

We have two trips planned this winter. The first one is to Arizona. We purchased plane tickets, but not a hotel/Air BnB. The plan is to wait until the last minute and see how we feel and what the weather looks like. We have five days to just be tumbleweeds and go where the wind blows us.

Perhaps, that will be my last goal for 2025--and the theme--BE A TUMBLEWEED. Tumbleweeds are being blown forward, not in an exact line, and certainly not in a predictable one, but light as a feather and freer than the birds.

Happy 2025!

Happy New Year, everyone!

Things are humming along pretty darn easily around here. The weather has been extremely mild, and all the horses are out together, healthy and happy. I wouldn’t complain if deep winter skips us. 

I go back and forth to the barn everyday, but mostly to take care of my old barn cat, Tuffy, and to practice the flute in my barn music room. 

Tuffy is almost 14 now, and I love having him out there with me. He’s a bridge between the past and present, as I can still remember Cowboy watching over them as kittens. 

The barn room addition was the highlight of 2024. 

Looking out the window from the barn room at sunset. 

It quickly morphed into a music room when I rediscovered my love for the flute after a FORTY year hiatus. Apparently, the piano and guitar weren’t filling the need I had to wail with the woodwinds. I had to buy a student flute to get started. I did that February 2024. I became obsessed with relearning and playing, and by October upgraded to a very magical, beautiful instrument, which has captured my heart even more. When we travel, I miss it and long to get home. 

I don’t know where this flute journey is going to lead me, but there is a flute choir in our city that I’m watching with great interest. 

My barn is a magical place for me: music, Old Mr. Tuffy, my sweet horses, and the barn garden, …quietly awaiting spring. 

The apples from this little tree became daily treats for my herd in late fall. The memory of them eating apples from my hand is a sweet one, indeed.

Oh, the memories of fresh herbs, flowers and tomatoes.

 

It truly is my Sanctuary. 

My husband loves it, too, and we often remark that we could happily live in our barn. 

Our daughter and grandson still live here with us, and we have become quite addicted to him. He left for five days during Christmas and I don’t know if we’ve ever felt so bored. There was plenty to do, of course, but it’s like the spark had gone out of our home. 

We certainly did NOT ask for these circumstances, but we don’t know any other way except to turn sadness into joy. It’s like the fable of turning straw into gold. We didn’t ask for it, but we are DAMN well going to turn it into a blessing. It might take a little time, a little faith, a little ‘one foot in front of the other,’ but with love and dedication—it happens—you go BEYOND mere healing to something much greater. 

Would I have returned to the wailing instrument if I hadn’t needed, so deeply, to speak music out of my brokenness?

Probably not. 

And what a horrible tragedy that would have been, as returning full circle to the flute can now be counted one of the best decisions of my life. 

I can imagine my dad smiling next to me when I play. He and my mom didn’t have much money, but they bought me my first flute on payments, and it opened the door to a life of music and many other musical instruments.

Interesting tidbit: a couple months after returning to flute, I looked down at it and noticed the 222. I had bought a Yamaha 222 student flute without even realizing the significance. It’s like I had been blind and suddenly could see. That is the number my family holds dear as a “message” from my dad. Just further confirmation that it is ALL connected. 

I look forward to 2025 and EVERYTHING it will bring, and I wish the same for all of you. 

If you do stop by to say hi, please give me an update of your own happenings!

ReBorn Again

Last year, as so much was happening in our lives, I had a difficult time concentrating on what I was doing with Tweed. I sought help from my longtime trainer to be my eyes on the ground and keep us safe, but keep us going. I had to be laser focused on my daughter and grandson,...(well, I still do), but I didn't want to let Tumbleweed sit.

The first day of preschool, October 8th, I missed my sweet grandson so much, but I also had such a feeling of freedom. I loaded Tweed right up and went to the equestrian park. Our time was our own again, and uninterrupted, at least for two days a week.

Autumn 2024: I have changed.  I don’t feel the same need for help. I have a different need for autonomy with Tweed, a need to find our own unique way through this. I feel confident again, yet I don’t regret how I survived to get here.  I feel like a child again, and eager.

I wonder how many times we are reborn in life? By that I mean, a major life event radically shifting our perspective. To come out on the other side of it, and emerge healed, or on the road to healing. To look back and realize how powerless we were, ...or still are, and yet, to be okay with that, maybe even comforted by it.  I'm more grateful on the other side.

Tweed seems different, too. He's more relaxed and in tune with me. We both lost Cowboy and Little Joe this year, leaving Tweed as the only male in a mare herd,... maybe we find ourselves more in need of each other than we were a year ago. 

Last Thursday, I had the greatest day with Tumbleweed. When we arrived at the park, I didn't want to warm him up in the round pen, or even on the obstacle course. It didn't seem right. 

When I unloaded him, we just kept walking.

(Tweed has a sad face because I told him to stand there while I walked in front of him to get his photo. He's being a little pouty.)

And walking.

And walking.

Finally, when we were done walking, I saddled him and rode off again.

We bushwhacked and rode up and down hills, through trees, over logs--we went where the wind blew us. Not a care in the world. Just pure happiness.

As we were returning to the trailer, and it was in sight, I wondered if Tweed would pick up his pace and get barn sour for it, but the exact opposite happened.  He slowed down and looked over at the path going away from it like, Let's keep going, please.

Cowboy used to do that, too, and I take that as a very good sign for our future.

Older, but Not Wiser

I ran into a friend yesterday, before my solo ride with Tumbleweed, and as we were talking, she said that she is happy to now be "older and wiser" and confident in her horsemanship, and knowledge of her own horse. She rode away on her beautiful boy, and they did, indeed, look like a great partnership.

But it left me wondering, Am I older and wiser? 

That question rattled around in my brain all day.

Tweed and I had a great time together. We started at the obstacle course, where he was able to open and close the rope gate for the first time ever. He opens real gates like a PRO, but the rope gate has always freaked him out.

Not yesterday.

Does that make me wiser? Or, does it make him wiser?

Today, the answer finally came to me.

No, I'm not wiser. 

Life, and horses, are always knocking me off of whatever perch I think I've ascended to. I am most often as helpless as a baby, and as vulnerable, too.

But I don't let that stop me. In fact, I always feel like I'm starting again.

Starting, and starting, and starting...forever.

Tumbleweed and I did a short ride alone together, and when it was done, I replaced the screensaver on my phone.

We are starting again, again. 

New ears. New eyes. New journey.

Volunteers

Every year I get these magical surprises growing between the bricks of my front patio. 

They are volunteers, and they come from summers past to grace us with their beauty. 

As I was photographing the one above, I also thanked it in my heart for choosing to be a part of my life, for choosing to be on this earth among us.

You see, these volunteers are not supposed to be here. They were supposed to have died during the harsh winter cold, when everything else died. 

They survived a frost so cold it broke our pipes. But it did not break the spirit of these beautiful flowers. 

In fact, it made them stronger. They are greener, and more vibrant than any you will find in stores. They have the spirit of those who walked through fire, and came back to tell about it.