Transylvanian horseman

Countdown to the New Year

The long holiday that encompasses Christmas and New Year is drawing to a close. In a way, I am glad. Christmas is an important Christian festival that matters to me. New Year is an excuse to drink and party, having done no work since Christmas. Nothing is done for nine or ten days, just when there is work to be done.

This afternoon the horses loitered on the hillside, benefiting from the last rays of sunshine. As we got out to the field, shadows climbed the slope. The hillside became enveloped in that familiar bluish winter twilight. A few horses ambled down, hoping for extra feed. The majority that receive corn daily were already at the gate, of course.

As Cornel and Vasile headed up the hill, the exodus to the feeding place began. The herd moved up, one after another, zig-zagging along the easy path that is well trodden. The path is slippery after passage of so many hooves, yet the unshod horses are sure-footed. To a man walking in rubber boots, it is treacherous going. Cornel commented that we should put socks outside our boots for extra traction. There is, in fact, a type of forged iron crampon that used to be used locally by lumberjacks and raftsmen. (Until the 1960's, logs were floated down the Bistrita river. Now they go train or truck.) Crampons might be just the thing. I have a pair of the old type of crampon here, they just need new leather straps.

The horses lined up for feeding, a thin line in a large landscape, their natural environment. This field has been their home, in some cases, for eight years. Two were born in that field, in daylight strangely enough.

Looking back over my shoulder, the valley is bathed in light. Plumes of woodsmoke rise from dozens of hearths. Fragrant grey woodsmoke rising through slanting sunlight is the strongest memory of my first evening in Romania, seventeen long years ago. (Writing that makes me feel old.) But even now a smoking chimney in evening is a welcome sight, promising warmth, food and hospitality.

Back at home, I am piling wood on the fire to warm the house through. Two guests have arrived, but missed all the equine interest because they stayed in bed all day watching DVDs on a laptop. More guests will arrive tomorrow. Six claim that they will arrive on cross-country skis, though this seems optimistic given the thin, patchy snow cover. Still, they might find sufficient snow if they travel through the woods. The frigid woodland winter shadow will have protected the snow against melting. Like the corner of the fairytale garden where winter lingers.

Hiding and feeding

In the bright slanting afternoon sun, Claws the cat hid in the hay piled by Luke and Luciana's paddock. It must have been quite warm in there.....for a plump, furry cat, anyway. Pretending that he was well camouflaged - despite a very visible black and white coat - Claws steadfastly ignored me. The cats do lead such a charmed life.

The horses trailed down the field with a quite different idea about the hay. Their inner clocks indicated quite clearly that feeding time approached. The sun was dropping towards the ridge, pools of shadow filled dips and depressions in the field, the temperature was falling. Joining in spirit their brethren around the world, they would perform the timeless equine ritual of hanging out around the gate.

Those horses requiring corn were separated out by Nelu and Vasile. Off they went to the yard, where their feeds had been prepared. The remainder loitered around by the gate, for a while anyway. We were forking hay over the fence higher up the field, leading to an exodus back up the slope. Not wanting the horses to be crowded when feeding, we left small piles of hay around the feeding area.

Despite my concern about wastage, the horses so far have succeeded in eating virtually every stem of hay forked onto the snow. Wastage has been almost nil, which is satisfying. The cold may make some aspects of life less convenient, however it is such a blessing not having to endure mud. It's good for the horses not to stand in mud, and easier for their owners. The fresh air is germ-free. For these local breeds with their thick winter coats, this outdoor life is so much healthier than being tied up in a stuffy stable.

Cold and dry

Back in Britain, a snowy winter brought unpleasant wet slush more often than nice clean powder snow. In those days I didn't realise just how dry a really cold winter could be. Hot deserts are extremely dry, as we all know, however cold deserts are very dry too. It feels much like a dry desert here right now. There is little water, hardly any moisture (except in some of the wood that I have been trying to burn!), and the frozen ground prevents the wells from getting replenished.

Gelu the grey gelding has just finished drinking through a hole in the ice. There is far more ice than water in the stream now. It is more like a glacier with a trickle running underneath. I have put cinders on the ice around the water holes so that the horses don't slip. Each horse has to bend a front leg to lower his nose far enough to reach the water. That can be surprisingly challenging to a horse's equilibrium on a slippery surface. However a few inches of ice isn't too far to reach down.

Lucky the kitten, meanwhile, enjoys exploring the ice. Here he is playing amidst the jumble of ice blocks left from clearing a hole in the ice. Travelling on his soft, grippy pads, the ice isn't at all slippery. For a youngster, he seems to display a great deal of common sense regarding the holes where the water runs. He takes far less care circulating around the horses' feet, and has several times alarmed me by his reckless dashes beneath moving horses. Lucky is turning into one of those cats that follows one around the yard and fields; a nice, friendly habit that several of our cats display.

Keeping warm

We are in the midst of a run of cold weather. By that I mean -12C to -15C at night. I seem to spend a large proportion of my day moving firewood, stoking the fire, or poking at the fire when it doesn't burn well. The last load of firewood wasn't especially dry, and I am paying for this by suffering a high-maintenance fire for a few days. I shall not make this mistake again. Through the spring and summer, the staff and I will collect and store a large amount of firewood, which will have time to dry before next winter.

Summer guests will benefit through seeing real working horses in draught, even if the central heating is switched off. We rarely need central heating at all through July, August and September. That may sound bleak for readers in warmer climes. Summer is wonderful. Winter here can be character building. Probably I have done something earlier in life to deserve this fate.

The best Christmas present this year is an electric blanket from my mother. Danielle and I greatly appreciate the warmth given by this wonderful appliance.

Outside, a thick layer of mist has settled. It ought to be warmer than the preceding run of clear nights. However I am yet to be convinced. As the light failed, I went to check on the horses. All 23 who are turned out together were in a long line munching hay that had been thrown over the fence. At times like this, I am encouraged by running my hand across their flanks and feeling a thick coat and little in the way of ribs. They are all thriving.

Of course the fellow in the photo is unlikely to get too cold. He is well covered by his splendid mane and thick winter coat. I spotted him in the street outside.

Christmas visitors

The Belsugari are regular visitors on Christmas Night (which is 24th December here) or the following morning. Starting in the night and continuing until around mid-day, this ad-hoc troupe of masqued dancers and musicians makes its way through the village, performing at any house where they are admitted. Belsugari are common throughout rural Romania, and are a remaining vestige of ancient tradition that quite possibly go back to the Dacians who lived here in pre-Roman times.

The all-male troupe includes a leader, musicians, men with blackened faces and tattered yet gaudy costumes representing male and female gypsies, men disguised as peasant women, men with goat masks, and a man wearing furs representing a bear. It is a peculiar, energetic, raucous spectacle that embraces and legitimises - albeit temporarily - travel across social group, gender and species.

The leader and musicians enter a house when invited, followed at intervals by the "gypsies", the "bear", and the "goats". Each have their own dance, that of the "goats" being especially vigorous and involving much stamping of feet and banging of sticks on the floor. The "bear" enters on all fours and scuffles around before dancing with the "gypsies". There are places where these rituals are more developed, with additional characters. In more elaborate troupes women sometimes appear too, one being dressed as a bride (apparently this is not a cross-dressing roll) and accompanied by a young man.

After performing, the belsugari are refreshed with cakes, coffee and plum brandy, and given a payment too. For these young men, it has been a long but rewarding night. Very likely, the Belsugari will appear for New Year too, in this traditional rural place where old ties to the soil and the forest, concerns about exotic invaders, wild animals, and fertility, remain alive only just beneath the surface.

Be of good cheer.....

I wish you all good cheer on Christmas Day. Be inspired by my neighbour Nelu, whom I spotted yesterday returning home with a horse cart loaded with sweet-smelling drums containing plum brandy.

Some days earlier, he had taken drums of fermented plums to a rustic distillery, where an old man tends the ancient coppers used to manufacture this essential spirit. The liquid from these fermented plums has been distilled twice to create a strong spirit called tuica or, using a word adopted from Hungarian, palinca. It can be very strong, with an alcohol content up to 60%, and that after the fermented liquor has been diluted somewhat.

As you can see, the cart is loaded with rather a lot of this beverage. It will provide his family's annual supply for 2008. This was only one of several carts that passed yesterday loaded with steaming, fragrant barrels. My guess is that it will be a jolly festive season.

Merry Christmas to everyone

I'd like to wish all my regular readers and occasional visitors a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I hope that the year ahead is rewarding and happy for you all.

It has been a privilege having you as readers. I have also appreciated some interesting conversations with kind, thoughtful readers.

I hope that, over the next year, I can continue to bring words and pictures to describe this unique, fulfilling place where I am fortunate to live.

I hope, too, that over the year ahead I may be able to welcome some of you here. Each of you will be a very special visitor, having travelled over oceans and mountains to reach this far-flung place.

Do enjoy Christmas now with your families, friends and animals.

Last Sunday before Christmas

Life has a Marie Celeste quality. Preparations for Christmas are almost complete. It being a Sunday, no work is taking place. In the run-up to the holiday season, almost no-one is out on the roads. The horses are on the field, with plenty of hay to eat. Ice has been broken on the stream to allow them to drink. The atmosphere, with so little activity, such silence outside, is almost melancholic.

Last week I had an issue with lower back pain. A change in the weather, an unaccustomed movement: there are several possible causes. The village doctor, predisposed towards heroic cures, prescribed two medications to be used together. One was an opiate with known addictive qualities, the other a ketamin derivative. Neither medication is a controlled substance out here. They quickly eliminated lower back pain. However, abruptly terminating those two substances at the end of the course is causing an unexpectedly strong and unpleasant spell of cold turkey. The timing is unfortunate. I should like to be cheerful for Christmas, especially to give Danielle a happy time free from worries at the end of a stressful season. However, what I actually feel like doing is hiding away from other people in a silent place where no disturbance can reach me, where I won't need to think, act, or necessarily wake up.

I discovered Pintea wearing yet another variant of red. I believe that the superstitious yet ever cheerful Oprea was responsible. Misfortune seems to avoid him, so he may think that these red charms actually do something. Feeling as I do today, I can see why undiagnosed mental disturbances and depression (which is barely recognised as a condition in Romania even today) could be blamed on an impersonal evil that was thought to permeate society, residing in unknowing (and, therefore, blameless) hosts.

Lunch box

These two horses are enjoying a feed outside a sawmill. The box used to carry sawdust out of the mill has been filled with hay for the horses. It's cold out, and each horse is covered by a blanket. Horsemen out here generally are quick to blanket their working horses when stopped in cold weather. One reason is that the horses all have thick winter coats, which can become damp with sweat when they are working hard. So they need blanketing to avoid catching a chill. Their load comprises timber offcuts from the sawmill, which will be used for fencing materials or for firewood.

It's been cold these past days, down to -12C this morning. The snow squeaks beneath one's boots, a sure sign that the temperature has fallen. However, it's pleasantly warm out in the sun, and no hardship at all to work in the open air during daylight hours. Being out at night is a different matter though. In the early night, the sky is a splendid deep metallic blue beneath a crisp full moon, the starts glinting starkly from the icy firmament. The rolling hills stand a ghostly white, dotted here and there by house lights. It is nearly silent, just the occasional distant bark from some startled dog, a rare horse-cart returning home with the crunch of tyres on snow, occasional words from the driver and a trail of vapour from the animal's breath. It is a night to be indoors, near the fire.

Averting winter cold and the "evil eye"

Anne asked about the red head tassels. Made from strands of red wool, these adornments are added to the headcollars of driving horses. They are a relic of historic belief in the evil eye. This peculiar superstition maintained that a person or animal could carry the "evil eye", often unknowingly, inflicting ill fortune or disease simply by looking directly at the victim. Much like English horse brasses, red tassels were carried in historic times to ward off the supposed evil eye. Horse brasses are believed to have originated as a gypsy charm, and red tassels may have had a similar origin. I'm not certain when this particular superstition died out, however few give it much credence nowadays, at least not consciously. The Orthodox Church has long spoken out against pagan superstitions (such as the old beliefs in vampires), so the lack of any opposition to red tassels suggests that they no longer carry any appreciable spiritual association. One neighbour has tied a red thread into the mane of his foal. Some gypsy women braid a red thread into their hair. In general, though, the red tassels are purely decorative nowadays. For whatever reason, riding horses wear neither red tassels nor any vestigial relics such as a red thread.

Very occasionally, a variant appears, such as the small red tassel carried on a bell collar. Here Doru is wearing this collar, and is without a regular red tassel on his headcollar. These tassels are fitted by my staff so, clearly, someone decided to attach this small red item. I suspect that Oprea, the newest addition to my staff, was responsible. Of all my staff, he is the nearest to the traditional peasant who has changed but little through the centuries. The sort of person who knows how to survive comfortably, given a horse, a plot of land, and a piece of woodland. These are the people who have held this country together through good times and bad. If anyone amongst my staff were to feel the need for a medieval practice that some might call a superstition, others a folk practice, it would be him. Clearly he feels some need, whether consciously or otherwise, for this piece of red. The longer that one lives here, the more of this kind of subtle detail comes to be revealed. These remnants of old beliefs are one such detail that only slowly become clearer.

I've included a photo of my central heating boiler too. It's a 113kw wood-burning unit. On the back wall are the pumps that drive the four heating circuits around different parts of the house. The seven switches above are: electric water heater; central heating master switch; pump to recirculate water within the boiler; the three heating circuit pumps; and the pump that circulates central heating water around the heat exchanger as a supplementary heat source in the two domestic hot water tanks. In addition I can regulate (with separate thermostats) the temperature when the pumps start and the temperature below which a fan blows more air into the fire. The two large water heaters are out of sight on the right. A Honda petrol generator, which exists as a back-up to operate the lighting and central heating in the event of a power cut, is out of sight too. It seems quite a complex system, however it is fairly logical overall, and it works quite effectively as long as I have a good supply of dry firewood.