WordPlay

by Doranna

Or, how I spent my summer vacation.

Or, since I didn’t have a summer vacation, how I spent my weekend.

We live in a rugged area of the Sandia Mountain foothills, in a bowl that’s surrounded by a distinct continuous crest.  You would think we’d have some protection from the wind and weather, but no.  We’re well protected from cell signals, though.

The central area of the bowl is fractured by a series of arroyos.  Our property backs up to one of these arroyos (with a minor swale in between; we call these Arroyo Major and Arroyo Minor).  In the back north corner, the property line slices through the second prong of Arroyo Major.  On the back south corner, where the arroyo sides are gentler, the property rises up on the other side to a small but pleasant flat.

Looking down into Arroyo Major. It's hard to see the true bottom from any given camera angle.

When it comes to property lines, there are certain unspoken–and spoken–rules.  One does not develop right up to the property line; even with fencing, there should be a buffer zone.  That’s a given.  In this community, the buffer zones are defined by CCRs that require buildings to be set back a certain amount, fences to be set back a certain amount…improvements to be set back a certain amount.  (Also, do not throw your garbage onto someone else’s property, even if you think they won’t see it.)

There’s a reason for all this.  For one, in this area we need to make sure we leave access zones in case of fire.  But it’s also to keep us out of each others’ faces.

Say, for instance, if the neighbor along the back property line has built a large outbuilding way too close to the property line, and then defined a gravel area that not only goes up to the line, but goes over it.

Dear Neighbor: When you take a leak behind that building, maybe your family can’t see you, but I can.

The outbuilding and the gravel area were established before we moved in.  We chose not to make a fuss.  The newly surveyed property stakes were in place, and that should have been enough to put Neighbor on notice.  And maybe Neighbor has no reason to wander the arroyos and therefore doesn’t expect me to be clambering around back there (tracking, hunting wildflowers, identifying birds), but I do.

So I noticed when a collection of rusty garden wire cages ended up over the line and on its way down into the arroyo.

VERY BAD FORM, NEIGHBOR!

I nudged the trash closer to the defined gravel area–still mostly over the line–and made a phone call to Sister, who also has an interest in this property.  “We need to re-stake the line with T-posts and bright yellow post caps.”  That, I thought, would make a statement without being too confrontational.

An undisputed (front north) corner of the yard. I track along this line with the dogs sometimes, and off into the arroyos.

If you want to feel middle-aged, clamber around steep arroyos while hauling T-posts and a post-pounder, ramming the posts into hard adobe ground.  That’ll humble you right quick.  (And for those of you who are aware of my injured foot…yes, I did this anyway–!)

The view down into Arroyo Minor--a continuation of the line in the corner photo.

So we did that thing, having our adventure.  Beautiful day, a bit of a breeze, the sun a little too hot, the junipers scenting the air, little birdies fluttering around…

Across Arroyo Major; the second corner post that finishes the line shown so far

Moving south along the point that divides two branches of Arroyo Major. Hellooo over there--!

Then we came to the wire trash–which, as it happens, had been shoved back over the line to some small degree.  We pondered it.  “If we put it back into his graveled area (which is right up to the line even where it’s not actually over), will that be too confrontational?”

And then I wanted to kick myself.  As well as kicking Neighbor.  Because someone tosses crap onto our property on top of pushing property improvements over the line, and yet it seems awkward to return it to him?

That’s the way it goes, it seems.  People who respect others are concerned about such things, and that means such trespasses become more than just looking for ways to remedy it.  It becomes a stress of conflicting responses–the offense of being trespassed upon, the stress of finding the right way to deal with it that feels non-confrontational even if Neighbor hardly showed the same concern.

Property lines are definitely your friend.  Especially if you PAY ATTENTION TO THEM and I’m talking to YOU, Neighbor!

(Oh, sorry…shouting.  Oops.)

Do you have Neighbors like this?  And how do you handle them if you do?

In this case, we carefully created the more obvious property line stakes…and then we piled the stuff back over the line, infringing on the defined gravel area as little as possible.  Anyone want to take bets on whether it stays put?

By Patty Wilber

Jan 31 is the first Back Country Horsemen ride of the year! Meet at Town and Country Feed Store (Under new management!  Stop in and check out the changes!) down (from here)  by Tramway and Central where I40 begins to climb into Tijeras Canyon at the eastern edge of Albuquerque. 

10 am ready to ride!

This is a training ride.  The idea is to get the horses started on gearing up for the work season. 

The dark of November and December are behind us (lurking in front, too, DON”T LOOK AHEAD!)  It is late January, the sun is up longer each day, and soon soon!, it will be warm!  (In all fairness, the barn pipes have thawed, so that is something, but it was 19F Thurs A.M.–and 52 F Thurs P.M.-that’s New Mexico for you.)

From my house, I can track the lengthening days by where the sun sets.  In the dead of winter it disappears for the night to the southwest of my house right through Tijeras Canyon, seemingly onto I40!  As the minutes add on, the sink point moves north over the arc of the Sandias.   Twilight lingers longer each night!

The sun sets near the left of the picture in the winter and moves right through the summer, then back again in the fall.

The BCH work season is only weeks (ok, about 8-10 weeks) away, and the horses need to get reacquainted with their BCH buddies, saddle saws, pack equipment, water crossings, etc.  The riders need to drag out their work gear and make sure it is all in good shape. 

Town and Country Feed (505.296.6711) sits right on the banks of Tijeras Creek and backs up onto some Albuquerque Open Space  The creek is not big, but it is live and not a dry arroyo; it runs year round.  If you don’t live in an arid area, this may not seem very remarkable, but around here, water is hard to come by, and year round water even more so!

Great place to remind the equines about water crossings.  Let us hope mine remember!

The open space is strewn with pink-toned granite boulders and bedded with decomposed granite for footing.  There are bayonette-tipped yucca, pinons and junipers, but mainly it is quite open.  At about 1500 feet lower than my house, it is usually quite a bit warmer at this time of year.

I am riding Penny and packing Risa.  T is going,  too.  This will be his first trailer ride in a slot right next to a girl!  Since he was gelded, he has definitely mellowed, but he still gets an  interested murmur in his throat now and then!

Since I put in so many back country hours with Penny and Risa last year, I expect few exciting moments.  Am hoping that Risa has improved in her ability to handle horses on her heiny.  If not, I will either ride drag (tricky since I am a ride leader) OR I will let T ride behind her.  She knows him, so should be able to handle that.  Hmm–think I will haul them to the ride in adjacent trailer slots to increase their bonding.

A couple  years ago on this ride, I took a 4 year old gelding (Jack) of mine and a 5 year old gelding I had in training (Miracle Whip).  They were penned together and Jack was the alpha (head honcho).  However, Jack was still pretty green and liked company, so I figured MW would be just the guy…

I started off riding Jack and ponying MW.   MW was a pest.  He kept touching Jack with his nose, and the two of them were just like little kids. 

“He’s touching me!”  Ear pinning.

“I did not!” Tail swishing.

“Did too!” Head tossing.

Me, hissing: “Stop it.”

Small pause. Quickly followed by:

“He’s touching me!”  Eye rolling.

Me: Disgusted sigh.

I made it to lunch.  Figured I’d ride MW back and pony Jack. 

Ha.

MW was petrified that Jack was going to get him and shied every time Jack got too close. 

Switched back. 

But Jack, by this time, was sweaty and it was warm and the sand looked so very inviting….SO, as we were walking along, wth some semblance of control, he flopped right over to roll! Yes, I was on him. 

I let go of MW and stepped off.

Using my Pissed Off Mother Voice “GET UP!” (Unuttered swear words bulging out my forehead.)

He got up, I got back on.  MW poked him. Swish.  Walk walk, slight pause, walk walk walk, hesitation, walk walk….  The sand looked so inviting.  He was so hot and itchy and YEP, before I even felt him go, he flopped down again!

Away went MW.  I stepped off. 

I was mad.  Mad at MW for poking.  Mad at Jack for flopping.  Gotta love it when your trainees behave so badly in public. Mad Mad MAD!

I got MW.  I got Jack.  I put MW on my right and Jack on my left.

YOU!  Stay over there and DO NOT TOUCH Jack!

YOU TOO! Stay over THERE and DO NOT TOUCH MW. 

I gave them my best glare,  marched them straight back to the trailer (0nly about a mile and all down hill), loaded them up, took them home and rode them both  (one at a time) in the arena until they straightened up.

So, really hoping that any Risa Antics pale in comparison to that!

See you Sunday?

PS Jim and Cometa were going to come along–Risa would have stayed home– but Jim is having Lance Armstrong surgery to repair the collar bone he busted last week due to a bike malfunction. The prognosis is good!  And boy do I miss his help at the barn!

By Patty Wilber

  Just as we (4 of us) were saddled up and ready to go, the cows busted out of the holding pen.  Apparently, they were unsatisfied with the accomodations.  Grass too short? Water too cold?  Too shallow?    

It was unclear, but Penny must have had the same thoughts, because she escaped in the middle of the night, driving the  2 horses near the tack room where I was “sleeping” to stomp around and call to her.  Did I get out of my sleeping bag?  No.  I could tell those 2 were stll in.  My sleep deprived brain didn’t quite make the leap to “something  might be amiss”. Penny woke up David, and Peter kindly brought my wayward filly and his mare  (to keep Penny company) to the trailer at some wee hour.  I didn’t register that either…    

The cows are out! The pen is visible to the right. The eastern gate is beyond the hill in the back of the photo.

But back to the cows.  Since they were out, we might as well get them moving.  Easier said than done.  Mooove? As a group, with a purpose?  Nope.  Meander meander meander.  We had to push them from behind and  from the side. These cows had been moseying around all summer, eating lots of luscious grass, so they were not  into the whole concept of  Forced March. A purposeless herd is kind of like a big blobby ameba, and pieces (cows) kept oozing off.  

 Not only that, but calf 17 was bloated and really couldn’t be expected to walk the 18 miles out.  It  took a bit of time to for David to push her back to the trailers and load her up. We held the herd at the eastern gate until he returned. That sounds dramatic, huh?  But really the cows just ate and we hung around on our horses.    

We got them off the ranch and started downhill.  The cows picked up speed.  David’s horse was still feeling pretty fresh and Penny panicked when the energy levels went up and Alameda (Peter’s horse) disappeared from sight.  Bucking (on a down hill slope with cows streaming by) ensued.  Truthfully, Penny is a lame bronc, so staying on is not an issue.  She recovered quickly, too.   

David (L) and Lee (R). The group is heading downhill.

 The morning was warming up and our Not Into It cows were heating up.  They started going for shade and water whenever possible.  Keeping them on track is doable,  if one is preemptive enough.   

We weren’t.  Thus, we spent a bit of time rousting cows out of dense spruce  thickets (the needles collect in your saddle pads; glad Penny isn’t super tall!), pasting the herd back together (all 45 of ‘em) and coercing forward movement.  Calf 21 should’ve joined 17.  He was not feeling well, and spent the entire day at the back of the pack, where we all took turns making him keep up.   

After the river, we rested the cows (and some people) at several more areas with water.    

Lee really didn't feel great (he barely ate dinner--a sure sign of illness in a teenager), but he hung in and rested when he could.

Mostly it was just Git Along Little Dogies.  Unlike the old westerns, there was zero danger of stampede.  Our bunch was just Hot and Tired.  The horses had to double back and forth at a trot to convince the cattle to move along at a paceabove an amble.  Except when we came to other herds. 

Our path to the pens crossed other ranches, with cows.  So, one rider had to scout ahead to make sure any new cows were well away from our line of travel.  When any strange cattle were anywhere close to path, our cows (and especially the bull!) perked up and wanted to join the new group.

 Penny had no trouble leaving her horsie buds at this point, and riding off the front of the herd to scout the terrain ahead WAS as romantic as it sounds.  

It was open and undulating grassland with a stream down the center of a wide valley.  Aspens (my favorite!) and spruce formed dense stands along the distant edges.  The wind was under my hat (but it stayed on) and on my cheeks; my horse was smooth under me as we loped out.  The best! 

I had to take a  “break”, so we loped up a hillside into some aspens.  There was a ridge of gray rock (perfect cover), and I wondered what it would be like to have to worry about who might be lurking there to swoop down and steal our herd! 

The last stretch was LONG and hot and dusty and down the  road lined by that fence.  Close to the end, three cows and a calf piled on to the fence and Penny and I attempted to peel them off.  A calf put his head through the wire…and his body followed…drat. (That was the second calf I put through…but I wasn’t fired.) It was a pretty decent fence, too, so there was no good spot to push him back over. He followed along.  Sam (Peter’s son) had walked up from the pens and at last, he found a place that could be opened up, and he got the little wanderer back into the herd.   

We watered them one last time in the creek near the corrals (where upon 3 strayed up stream under the fence and 2 went downstream).  Gathered those up penned them all, and fed the horses. Ahhh.   Job well done! 

End of the day and all are penned.

The Cow Boss finishing up with the feeding

 Sunday morning, Penny and I worked in the pens to sort cows (everyone else was on foot). 

The guys loaded the cows  into trailers.  Ernie and his wife Ruth came with an extra trailer, and I took all 4 horses in my 3 horse trailer (just didn’t use the dividers), but even still, all the cows did not fit!  

Calls were made, cows were unloaded.  Three loads (2 of cows and me with the horses) and one smaller empty trailer left.  About 45 mnutes down the road, we met a new trailer.  Muscial Trucks.  Three way switcheroo!  The cows and horses headed south and the empty (bigger) trailer went back to the pens.  

I made it home with Penny about 7 pm  but Peter and David didn’t get the last cow moved down and unloaded until nearly 11.  

Never a dull moment!   

I’d go back in a heart beat!

…Friday

It’s a Write Horse day!  And a hint of the grand adventures that have brought Patty back to report on posts, all “Wow!” and zen and “Whoa! Pretty!” Seriously. Sad Keanu could take a lesson here.

Around home, things have been more drenching. As in, astonishingly drenching. As in, the monsoon is here and it’s not playing around, either. After enough rain last weekend to create creeks across this sloped property and send the arroyos running hard, we’re still drying out and finessing the waterscaping (one must, after all, DIRECT those creeks. Especially since one of them quite naturally wants to run through the barn).

Since then we’re back to more typical seasonal activity–building clouds during the day that, on a lucky day, burst free with rain overhead. But even if we’re not getting it here, it’s pounding out a mile or so away…someone’s getting wet.

But y’know…it’s the desert. We try not to complain about rain. We tend to go out and dance in it!

…Friday

It’s a Write Horse day!  And the things you just don’t necessarily think about when you haven’t spend hours on horseback. Surprise!

And surprise again! Patty’s off having a grand time again, so here I am, looking to greet your comments with a wave and a smile and a “have a good read!”

I, on the other hand, am happy to be home. There’s an arroyo ride in my day today, if it seems safe enough–we’ve had rain, and that means the arroyos aren’t dry or stable. I might just sneak around to gentler land and work some canter fun. And being home means I can give Duncan a pat, return to the office, and dive back into the first draft with which I’m having such fun!

Monday…

Valerian Mist, Mountain Mare

Duncan has always had a weird presumption about the ground beneath his feet, which is that it won’t dare to vary without his consent. Let’s just say that unlike my cat-footed young gaited mare in the Appalachians–who occasionally saved my life with her sure-footedness in challenging ground–I don’t make any assumptions of Duncan.   And for the past many years, Duncan has been on fairly flat ground. Some slope, but evenly done. The occasional trail ride in a distant cinder cone foothill with narrow switchback trails he had no idea how to handle–

(NO, horse, you do not obsess about flinging one lone fly off your head when navigating a hairpin turn to a narrow down trail on a steep slope!)

He, he assures me, exists for loftier things than watching his feet.

Well, let’s just say he’s learning better.

This winter (mudmudmud), his riding ring was the mile loop of dirt road that climbs up out of the ridge-nestled bowl in which we live, flattens briefly as it curves around, and then strafes down to the cross-road that feeds in from the outer world. It’s not so steep that you instantly go, “Wow, that’s straight up!” But those of us who have biked it or driven it in slick snow have a very good idea of its slope.

So does Duncan, now. Just as he’s had a few forays into the gorgeous nearby trails that wind up and around the ridges here, with their ditches, mini-arroyos, scattered rocks and boulders, and a few places where all those things are combined on short but “gee, I hope my saddle doesn’t slide off his butt/off his neck” inclines.

(Note: yes, one day I WILL dig out those old pictures, Mona Rethia!)

Add in his pasture–a flat north area, a flat south area littered with agility equipment, and the mild arroyo connecting them between–and oh yes. Duncan is learning to respect the ground.

Not without lessons to learn–he has a particular problem with deep, narrow ditches, in which he doesn’t seem to perceive the drop–but a little experience should help with that.  Er, I hope.

More than that, the hills are s taking an aging horse whose long-term stifle issues were getting the best of him, and turning him into a horse who knows how to balance himself going up or going down, in all three gaits, with or without rider. The work is building muscle and flexibility…and it’s taken years off his frame in the four months we’ve been here.

DuncanHorse: Nineteen years of Lipizzan, learning to be young again.

Did I say Yay!..?

Up out of the arroyo...

posted on Wednesday

Yup. Got me my cactus fork.

Got me my little hatchet.

And today, the juniper nursery and I gave each other a nervous hairy eyeball and faced off.

I like my little hatchet.  Buh-bye, little trees!

Of course, I feel guilty.  I always feel guilty, cutting trees.  But in this case, they’re all clustered together so tightly that it’s not healthy anyway–I don’t see that growth pattern anywhere else in this area and I wonder if that land wasn’t disturbed somehow in the past.

And in this case, they’re right in the middle of my agility area, which is a vaguely L-shaped patch of mud and grama grass (now shorn of prickly pear) in the south pasture area, already formed around several large stands of juniper and pinon.

So…yeah.  It’s me, my hatchet, and the juniper nursery.  Besides, I’ll pick out some of the larger ones to stay around–appropriately spaced, too.  I want to leave this gorgeous, fragile high desert land as healthy as possible (which is why DuncanHorse is currently closed in his paddock and not running loose on the wet, erosion-prone soil).  The baby trees are already serving another purpose: dragged to the head of forming gullies, where they’ll slow the run-off.

When it comes to this sort of project, I tend to over-do it.  For one thing, I’m using tools that mean something to me.  This hatchet was my grandfather’s, and is older than I am.  (And I swear I checked the handle before I started work.  Really I did.)  So working with it means more than just being out on the land, out in the quiet…out in my zen zone.  It means thinking about my grandfather…thinking about the places and spaces in which I’ve used this hatchet over the years.

Besides.  With me, it’s always just one…more…leetle…tree…

So maybe it’s a good thing that the hatchet head came flying off in mid-stroke.  It’s certainly a good thing that I ducked the flying hatchet head.

Anyway, I got plenty done, but I didn’t over do it, and Yes! I still have a reflex or two left!

Anyone here have any favorite old hand-me downs?

(I was going to ask “anyone have any favorite old tools?” but a scared little voice in my head popped up and said, “No!  Don’t do it!” and indeed, that seems wise after the back-scene responses I got to “cactus fork,” to which I can only say OW OW OW OW.  You silly people.)

posted on Monday

Not a word combination that comes often to mind.

But the agility area is rife with a low-lying prickly pear and hoo boy, it’s gotta go.  It starts with the hoe:  lift the flat pads of the winter-shrunken cactus with hoe, find that tap root…and then just the right, swift combination of hack-n-slice.  Prickly pear be gone.

Actually,  that’s when the hard part starts.  Because what then?  Can’t leave the things lying around.  For one thing, they’ll just root where they are.  For another, then they’re still…well, lying around!

But by golly, don’t go picking the things up.   The spiny scary parts aren’t even the problem–it’s the horrid little hooked fuzzy spines that you never see until it’s too late.  No matter what.  No, leather gloves are no protection.  Maybe I’ll try kevlar sometime?

So today I discovered a new use for a trusty old tool…my half-size manure fork.  It used to be assigned to yard duty when Duncan grazed in Flagstaff and ABQ’s South Valley (“mowing the lawn” had nothing to do with machinery), but here, it has no such use.

However, the poo fork (because yes, I am too lazy to say “manure fork” more than once) has now found new life!

Behold!  The Mighty Cactus Fork!

I might even be smug and satisfied, if it weren’t for the juniper nursery located behind and to the left of where I stood to take this picture.  I’m kinda getting the feeling that the hoe and the cactus fork aren’t quite gonna do the trick…

Hmm.

Quick! Don’t look at the Scary! Turn around instead! It’s…

Much better.

posted on Friday

What’re you gonna do. The dogs are clamoring for training, and the road is pure muck, and the agility yard is hovering somewhere between knee-deep in snow and melted into sludge.

Not to mention the next trial is looming, in the big scheme of things–when you’ve got dogs to condition and tune up.

So out we go into the arroyo. It’s more like a pre-arroyo–it has some really steep parts but is mainly more gentle, and it’s within the horse pasture. Now, just the other side of the horse fence, that’s where we’ve got a several-story drop and sheer verticals, a tangle of junipers growing out with no visible purchase, deadfalls, and gutted-out soil.

We’ll stick to this side, I think.

We head out the north side, loop around the back…running leaping happy dogs, sniff sniff sniff *wag* BAWH! And we play the Come Game, which means I wait until Connery has found the very best most interesting SNIFFY thing and I call him, and there are cookies.  (Belle doesn’t really  need this game, but she gets a cookie anyway.)

Along the fenceline, through the arroyo, and climb back up out, where we emerge into the agility yard south of barn. Not much there now–a few half-buried jumps, set low. The dogwalk; the teeter. The table, half obliterated by snow.

Connery, of course, throws himself over the dogwalk, all full of BAWH, and then we play with handling in the little jumping square. Wraps, turns, switches, front crosses…drive out to that far jump and pull around to the teeter. None of it’s very fast, but it doesn’t matter. They’re having fun, and they’re learning to work agility under conditions that will leave them unphased by inclement weather at trials.

Half of the obstacles they perform in tandem; they head for the table together; they run the dogwalk in single file…Belle watches while Connery works the jumping square, and she’s thinking, “I’d rather keep my feet tidy right at this moment.”

Then we cut through the arroyo to skim behind the house and hit the gate we used to get out, and towel off, and if it’s not agility…well, it’s snowgility.

Here he comes to save the day!

Racing for it…

Wuh-oh

“No, really. Pick me up.”

Obligatory artsy piccie

End of the Day: Hat hair and happy Beagle

posted on Wednesday

I know, I know.  You thought I was going to say “giving good–”  Well, something else. And someone has, I’m sure–in some other blog…

This one actually is about good reviews.

But ho! It’s a trick! Because “good review” doesn’t equal “reviews of high praise.”

Don’t get me wrong–those are highly cool and to be worshiped accordingly. But this is about those short reader reviews that help other readers decide if a particular book is for them. In other words, the same reviews I want to read when I’m looking at a book.

I didn’t like this book. This book sucked. This book was too [insert mad lib here].

Ugh!

Everyone evaluate books from his or her own head space. No one’s in the reviewer’s head, rooting around for context. “Ahh…Yeye said this book was too X, but I see here that X is actually a hot button for YeYe.”

Because X isn’t a hot button everyone. Some people even like X.

Okay, I really, really don’t like first person POV. So sue me. Still, if a first person POV book is written well in all respects, that element isn’t an issue. However…if it’s written in a way that the POV introduces problems, then those problems REALLY PUSH MY BUTTONS!

But what I say in comments is that while I found the POV to be problematical, those things might not bother someone who enjoys first person POV in the first place…unlike me.

It’s even helpful to do it the other way around. Ooh, I love Patricia Briggs’ recent work. I love that she does nothing with the animal form of her shapeshifters that makes my naturalist self go snortysnort. So I mention it in comments, because maybe I’m so beguiled that I gloss over things likely to bother other people.

So if the point of commenting on a book is to help someone else choose reading material they’ll delight in, then think beyond, “Ugh!” (or “glee!”) and offer the context of the things you on which you comment.

Oh, what the heck. Skip the ugh! It’s enough just to say it was a problem, y’know?

Course, if the point of commenting is to get a power rush from slamming a faceless author in an anonymous online context, then, um…oh–hey! Look over there! Lots of shiny stuff over there!

*runs away*

….

At this point I bet someone’s wondering if I’ve just gotten slammed. Though I tempt fate, I say nope! In fact, SingleTitle.com just put up a RECKONERS review with lots of words like mesmerize and captivating and my favorite phrase, will fuel your imagination. I am all a-glow!

But find myself braced for the slamming, sooner or later. I think we all do, these days…
==================

OBLIGATORY SNOW PICCIE

Just beyond this giant snag of a deadfall, the ground plunges away into the small arroyo of the pasture area (beyond which is the truly profound arroyo slashing through the back third of the property).  The roots of this tree anchor the area’s fragile soil, and for that reason–although the snag blocks a crucial little portion of land–we’re not removing it.

Plus, isn’t it pretty?