White Horse Pilgrim

Luminous day

The bright low sun combined with thin haze below a temperature inversion made for a luminous winter afternoon ride. Long shadows extended, enveloping dips in the rolling chalk. The valley beyond, lowland intrusion into the chalk hills, lay silent and mysterious. On a weekday we were almost alone up there, and felt almost hardy in the chill air that beckoned towards encroaching evening.

Washing feather

One trail near where the horses live crosses a river. The water is a little deeper at this time of year, but not deep enough to reach a rider's feet. Carys stands around 14.3 hands and the water comes between her knee and her belly. It's good for washing her extensive leg feather. Historically, this trail would have been used by farm horses, and would have provided a good place to let them drink. Now this is just a footpath (with footbridge just out of the photo to the left) and riding trail, and today's large and heavy farm vehicles use a more suitable track.

Back where I used to live in Transylvania, some of our rural cart roads went through rivers for this very reason, even if a bridge was provided adjacent for pedestrians and motor vehicles (and for spring when the frozen river ice was thawing). I remember a wise old mare who would tell me which way she wanted to go, depending on whether she was thirsty. With the others, I always took them via the river. Best to give them every opportunity to drink. In winter, that meant wells and buckets.

Our horses don't drink in this river, even if they sometimes play with their noses in the water. Perhaps they aren't thirsty, as we moved here after the hot weather, and they have free access to water in their field. But I did read in the news about concern that, even out here in quite a rural area, the water isn't all that clean. Some of the communities are (it is alleged) discharging improperly treated sewage into the river, and there's chemical run-off from farms too. On the way home, our horses always wait ten minutes to drink from their field trough. On longer summer rides, I look out for field troughs where the trail crosses pasture, as streams and rivers are few in the chalk hill counties.

Eating ...

... is most of what the horses do in the middle of winter. Here's a twilight view of Brena, Carys and their retired field companion Peaches below a bright moon. (My phone copes a lot better in low light conditions than my camera.) None of them are getting thin!

 

Autumn again

Fortunately, in these strange restricted times, exercise is still allowed including - in England anyway - exercising horses. We are, anyway, distanced from other people when riding, and taking care to ride without undue risk. (It's not like trail riding was hazardous in the first place.) Windy days have stripped most of the leaves, but there's a hint of rust and gold still. And it's quiet up on the chalk hills, far enough from villages and car parks that we have the trails to ourselves.

Despite many months of working from home and no foreign travel, this year seems to have flown by, strange as that seems. The horses have kept us busy, albeit locally, and we are grateful for that. As key workers, we have been busy in employment too: no furlough for us.

Reflection

Oddly enough, the picture below does contain a reflection. The sun had already set when I took the photo, leaving a reflected glow on cirrus cloud high above the horizon. In reality the glow appeared more like a pillar of light: an unusual spectacle. Distant dark cumulus were reminiscent of a distant mountain range.

In these strange times, when I am working from home, visiting the horses to give them water is 'essential travel'. Their field has no running water so I need to take 200 litre drums in a trailer between tap and trough. That works well enough: the tap is a minute's drive up a farm track, and manoeuvring a full drum is straightforward provided that care is taken.

Once at the stable, we take a gentle rider, as we are allowed daily exercise. The countryside is so quiet nowadays, just birdsong for company beneath a hazy pale blue sky. Hawthorn flowers almost unseen, bluebells carpet the woods, and the fragrance of wild garlic is emerging. Tranquillity amidst tragedy, the countryside like ceasefire from urban battle.

Boris and Nikolai locked down...

The two cats, Boris and Nikolai, found it comfortable to lock down with suitable distancing on top of the compost pile...

 

Brena and Carys are socially isolating...

Living amidst magical reality

The UK is entrenched in magical reality. No-one tried to sell Brexit as anything other than easy. "Just vote 'leave', your leaders will fix some trade deals (naturally with the foreigners falling into line), and you'll have more money in your pockets." Really?

When Britain was faced with an existential threat, Churchill told the population how hard life would become. "I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat". At the time, he was not popular. (Churchill believed that he only felt he had the full support of parliament after the French fleet was shelled on his orders at Mers-el-Kebir, which says something about the UK - then and probably now too.) Not popular, perhaps, but honest.

Now, in contract, a population - many of whom are unproductive, unthinking and entitled - have been told that the way ahead will be easy. Every party sold some version of this myth. Whoever they had elected, the population would be disappointed, if not succoured with a greater myth that deepens their deception.

Improving living standards is a complex problem (one which involves people, beliefs, relationships and the like) as well as complicated (which is a essentially technical issue). It isn't simple, and pulling a few economic levers won't achieve much. This is the core of the lie.

The UK's deplorable productivity needs to be addressed. What little manufacturing takes place needs to be protected and expanded. (Not much point stopping our instruments of economic production being sold abroad as most of them already have.) Where is the honesty today?

The climate emergency needs to be addressed. It's hard enough to get people to look after their own interests, let alone those of generations following, but we must try. Not just let the boomers keep on consuming at the expense of those who follow to pick up the pieces. Where is the honesty today?

And it needs to be realised that sustainability comprises three strands: personal; social; and climate. Personal sustainability means having enough to live on, and social sustainability means living in a pleasant community. When these two are addressed - and only then - will there be consensus to help save the planet. That's where things fall down in the UK: policies designed to maintain inequality, and minimise the 'cost' of the poor to those with more, leave people pitted against one-another without space to think beyond the end of the week. The climate change deniers love that. Where is the honesty today? 

After the words that I quoted above, Churchill said: "...with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us." Nowadays hardly anyone seems to believe in anything. Now an unspiritual generation seeks material gain for no more effort than placing a vote. They will be disappointed: for what good can come without effort? Without moral purpose? Indeed, without a moral revival? Without faith?

The other side to autumn riding

This is what I had to clean because Brena chose to role in the one muddy spot in her grassy field! At least she had dried out so I could brush out the mud. Somehow, despite the thin autumn grass, Brena has put on a bit of weight too - though we are not yet feeding hay. It's just a few degrees above freezing and our two horses are thriving.

Autumn riding

This is one of our favourite trails, close by the barn, in the height of autumn. It's a lovely time of year to be out.