Eagles, horses, and ponies.

Sometimes when I hear Elton John sing "Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road" I try to imagine him as a farmboy.

How about no.

  

Elton John might have put on some wellies at some point and been corralled in a pasture for an album photo op, but has obviously no other ties to the country life.

I've heard people complain about strangers wearing cowboy boots when s/he (the observant complainer) thinks the boots look silly and doesn't think the stranger has ever set foot in a barn. Now, I do find some styles of boot reprehensible. 

This, for instance.

But in general I like the look, and they make me think happy thoughts.

I think about grass, barns, and being unafraid to walk through mud. I think of the warm, molasses smell of sweet feed, and the pleasure of doing chores at the farm while various animals follow me around. I get an egotistical thrill when I turn around and run into a horse (or llama, or nilgai, as the case has been) who had been about his own business before I showed up, but decided he would rather spend time with me. They follow me because they are genuinely interested in what I am doing and want to stay close; I like being viewed as a safe presence to animals, and also to humans. 

Me and Mara, very content in each others personal bubbles. 

(Photo by Priscilla)

Sometimes the horses try to get involved with my chores and end up pulling hoses out of troughs, and picking up and losing brushes and tools I was trying to use. 

 Iron Man, not helping.

This is frustrating, but even then it is a delightful sort of frustrating. The kind of frustrating where I yell a little bit and demand an explanation, but can laugh because the general response is to amble over to me to see what the fuss is about, and ask for an itchy forehead to be scratched.

Here Redman (Iron Man's son) gets into the game of de-worming and 

helps me chase an unwilling Magic down.

 "I'm just going to rest my entire head here, thanks."
-Tomme

 A couple weeks ago I was hosing a sweaty Iron Man off near my boss's house. A car pulled up with a couple people there on matters of business. I talked to them while continuing my work. My work included me making several demands of Iron Man, including telling him to move his butt over, and pick his desert-plate-sized foot up off the hose line. In both cases he obeyed instantly without me touching him, but only by hearing my words and reading my body language.
When a stud horse that weighs roughly 1300 or so pounds and whose head towers over his observers decides to move, it is an impressive thing. I made my demands and turned back to the visitors. Their mouths were actually open. 

"That," said one. "Is a beautiful horse."

I realized in that moment that to these two businesspeople, I had an impressive skill set they were not gifted with (or had no knowledge of), but definitely admired. I was actually badass. I could just tell this huge creature to move, and he would, without a grumble, and continue playing with the thin rope I held him by. I suddenly understood that there are remarkably few things I feel pretty confidant in about my abilities, but understanding horses is one, and it is amazing.

This all does go back to music.

I have a great job in Pittsburgh with a very reasonable, understanding boss, and a lot of really fun co-workers. I am very competent in my job and enjoy doing it well. But I don't love it. I don't love the commute that sometimes takes 24 minutes and sometimes takes an hour and a half, but usually takes 40 minutes. I don't love all the cars and the people and the noise, and the time it wastes in my day where I could be doing something useful or fun, or nothing at all. I don't love the city. Sometimes it is okay, and sometimes I am glad I can easily access an asian food store, or go to Bikram yoga every week with a friend. Sometimes at night when we're driving back into the city it is quiet and all you can see are the lights and it is beautiful. 

But I can't have a dog. I can't take a walk without staying alert and making eye contact with strangers so we both know we've both been seen, if the police have to ask. I can't walk outside and see sky and fields. I walk outside and see an attractive apartment building blocking the sky, with some shaded porches on which a few hopeful tenants have tried to keep planters alive, and no grass, and a few, thin little trees in grates by the road.

Most of the time I am philosophical about this and focus with pleasure on the asian food stores and the yoga and friends and blessing of a job I have. But sometimes I get depressed, and stuck in traffic, and decide for subtly masochistic reasons to play John Denver, and he sings this song. 

Horses are creatures who worship the earth
They gallop on feet of ivory
Constrained by the wonder of dying and birth
The horses still run, they are free

My body is merely the shell of my soul
But the flesh must be given its due
Like a pony that carries its rider back home
Like an old friend who's tried and been true

I had a vision of eagles and horses
High on a ridge in a race with the wind
Goin' higher and higher, faster and faster
On eagles and horses I'm flying again

Eagles inhabit the heavenly heights
They know neither limit nor bound
They're the guardian angels of darkness and light
They see all and hear every sound

My spirit will never be broken or caught
For the soul is a free-flying thing
Like an eagle that needs neither comfort nor thought
To rise up on glorious wings

I had a vision of eagles and horses
High on a ridge in a race with the wind
Goin' higher and higher, faster and faster
On eagles and horses I'm flying again

Flying again
Flying again
Flying again
I'm flying again

And then I just am sad. 

I do not belong in a city, even though I appreciate some amenities it offers.

I am so glad I still have the opportunity to go north and see nothing but animals and nature for a few hours* every week, and a husband who understands and supports that need. 

And then I am there and feel more like this song:

Somewhere out on the prairie
Is the greatest cowboy that's ever been
And when he lays his hands upon the ponies
They shudder with an understanding skin

And he says ponies
Now ponies don't you worry
I have not come to steal your fire away
I want to fly with you across the sunrise
Discover what begins each shining day

When the storm clouds in the west
Are quickly gathering
The ponies they run wild there
Before it rains

You'll see their sleek dark bodies
Brightly gleaming
You know the fire is flying through
Their brains

And he says ponies
Ponies don't you worry
I have not come to steal your fire away
I want to fly with you across the sunrise
Discover what begins each shining day
I want to fly

 Me and Malachi, a pony (and sometimes butt-face) from Marmon Valley Farm.
(Picture by Priscilla)

Tomme, enjoying the day.

(Picture by Ronni)

This is a bad picture of my very own Rust-pony from MVF.
I miss him. Other people didn't like him, but I did, and he would do anything I asked him to (sometimes we fought about it, first).

Ronni (owner of the horses I work with on Thursdays) suggested I look into veterinary technician schools, and that idea is sounding more and more appealing. Also, there is one in Silicon Valley (where we might end up when Garrett graduates in December). I might have found a career direction for this whole animal thing!

That would be nice, and for now I pull on my boots with pleasure on Thursdays, and sometimes decide to wear them in the city for no reason at all.
I've earned the right.

*Fruedian slip, I accidentally typed "horses" again, first, and corrected it.