White Horse Pilgrim

Happy New Year

Somewhere new to explore.

A new viewpoint. 

A bright fresh land. 

Trails to ride. 

The things that I dream of. Reality and metaphor hand in hand.

Physical and emotional. Conscious and unconscious. 

Much hangs upon 2013. Meeting the mother whom I last encountered forty-eight years ago. That's my great hope, the aspiration that has flown like a buzzard circling, mewing, vigilant....

Compared to that other hopes are small, necessarily so. The novel that I've been working on. Learning to sing and, in due course, to play an instrument. Performing for the first time at a friendly festival....

Hope, always hope. I've lived, despaired and flown into exile. Today I'm in exile from exile. If I've learned one thing, it's to be hopeful. Indeed that lesson is cemented. I have hope. 

The peculiar thing is that as I explore I find new viewpoints. The land seems bright and fresh, from time to time anyway. There are trails, and even familiar ways bring joy. 

Now after a few days sheltering indoors just because it's raining outside I reproach myself. It's time to be out there, on the road, exploring and experiencing. It's time to grab hold of hope and exercise it. 

It's time to take a good horse and ride....

Two hours to cross the freakin' desert?

This afternoon I went to see a rare showing of the new (2012) restored director's cut of the 1962 film Lawrence of Arabia.

Addition of sequences not previously included took the film to 3 hours 40 minutes, plus an intermission. It took quite some time to build up to the capture of Aqaba. Hence Danielle's comment - "two hours to cross the freakin' desert". 

This isn't the most historically accurate piece of cinema - it misrepresents Lawrence, Allenby, Feisal, Auda and others, and takes liberties with the timeline - however it makes fabulous viewing.

Restored, this fifty year-old film is visually as good as many far newer productions. It is superbly crafted, using the magnificent desert scenery to full effect. Of course there was no CGI back then, just the skill of director, actors and camera operators. 

Last week I saw the first part of The Hobbit. What can I say? There isn't nearly enough material in the book to make a film trilogy so plenty of padding has been added. Just because money can buy 3D and a lot of CGI doesn't mean that these things will enhance storyline or viewing experience. The much criticised 48 frames per second didn't make much difference however 3D definitely detracted whilst CGI sequences made the film look like a video game. 

For my money Lawrence of Arabia is the better piece of cinema. Neither film is accurate, Lawrence thanks to David Lean's liberal agenda, The Hobbit through greed and precociousness. Overall I'd vote for Lawrence. 

Taken away from this...

Today I moved Brena away from this mess.

The rain poured. In typical fashion at that barn cars were parked across the front of the trailers and needed to be moved. It took ages to drag the feed bin a hundred yards through the mud to the road. My gear had been pilfered, most likely by staff. I am so glad to see the back of that place. 

The first thing we did at the new barn was to hose off Brena's legs which were caked with mud. 

Now she has a nice dry stable and a well maintained hilltop field. 

Exposure

Grey. Wind. Drizzle. Another typical day. Today. 

Here's a picture of yesterday's sunshine. It's prettier. We like the picturesque. 

The farmer might not like all those molehills in the foreground. Damp has driven the moles uphill. 

We slipped and slithered. Gusts buffeted us. I led the way down onto the fringe of the plain, taking firmer tracks. We passed an overturned lorry that had slipped off the raised roadway spilling its cargo into the bordering field. The horses walked by without a second thought. 

I jumped down to remove a stone from Brena's left hind foot. It's the first time in two years riding that she's picked up a stone. No harm was done. 

On a firmer stretch we cantered. Brena needed to run and there was no stopping her for a quarter mile. Riding behind C was pelted with mud. Again no harm was done. 

We saw no other riders. A bit of wind, a little rain and they stay at home. There again I wouldn't want to be out in these conditions on a flighty horse. A worrying proportion of horses do seem to be flighty. I struggled to find a nice sensible trail horse and ended up importing Brena. 

It's a peculiar state of mind to rely on a horse. I trust Brena not to get the big things wrong. A bit of slipping, a couple of trot paces ahead because someone has bicycled up behind, a little keenness when she's fresh: these things are forgivable and not in themselves harmful. I don't allow myself to be alarmed by them. They are character traits more than flaws. A feedback loop within her damps them out after the initial stimulus. 

I trust Brena not to do anything seriously wrong without warning me. There are things that she doesn't like doing because they are uncomfortable physically or psychologically. Tight circling in the school isn't comfortable and will cause Brena to lash out after a while. Asking for canter when she needs the chiropractor to adjust her back invites a buck. Going in the trailer day after day builds up resistance: Brena tolerates the trailer (for food rather than doing me any favour) but does not love it. 

In a sense I ride as much for wisdom as for pleasure. By now I'm getting to know this one mare quite well. We've grown together, and that's as worthwhile as any passing enjoyment of the landscape. 

There again appreciation of the landscape takes place at a deep and continuing level too, and that's deeper and more meaningful that simply enjoying "the view". 

This is quite a journey in which to be immersed. 

Good news

A welcome visitor, the sun finally shone for a couple of hours this afternoon, illuminating the damp countryside with the crisp vibrancy of a painting.

It would have been nice to write "watercolour" to match the metaphor of dampness, but this was more of an oil painting, bright and sharply detailed. I was taken by surprise, expecting another grey afternoon, and was all the more delighted for it. 

On returning home I discovered more to cheer me. A farmer has agreed to take Brena from Saturday. The new location is drier and offers direct access to various trails. It's ten miles from home rather than three, however I'll be able to ride without trailering. That will make a huge difference in the summer as well as making weekend riding easier. 

I think that perhaps I have escaped a growing storm at the old barn. The consequences of poor management were building up, not just in mud everywhere but poor fences and horse-sick pastures too. In the midst of this the latest vanity project, an indoor riding arena, will need to be paid for. Almost without fail when a barn management puts up an indoor arena the prices go up for everyone, whether or not they use the arena. And this one is flooding even before it's finished, just like their outdoor arena that needed to be rebuilt from the ground up because it flooded. 

So the nice sunny view matched how I feel, relief that a grey spell is over and joy at the new enfolding view. Here is a typical downland view. It will be good to enjoy this without trailering Brena. 

There's a horizon beyond the briar. There's a wide world beyond the detail that transfixes the vision of one preoccupied. I've always been one to look afar. I'm from the hills and it is my way to seek the horizon. 

That's always been my way. Looking over the plains to the hills beyond. Gazing from one hill to its fellows.

Then there is the pleasure of discovering hidden valleys, and old roads now little used. If not plentiful these are sufficient for the casual explorer. 

The landscape around Brena's new home is like a manuscript, old and a little unclear, requiring deciphering and a little imagination. Riding around there one can create an inner narrative akin to those novels "based on a true story". One can imagine the farmers and travellers of old riding and tramping the trails just like they might have done. I can imagine the conversations that I might have had as I wandered like Turgenev's hunter, a man who walked hither and thither with license to do so and sufficient status to attract the right kind of attention. 

Come to think of it I was like Turgenev's hunter back in Transylvania too. Perhaps I was just a little short on status. However adventures and conversation came aplenty. And nor have they deserted me though I have changed sky and shire. 

Storms sweeping

Downpours swept across the sodden land. Sun and rain changed places and swapped again. A brisk wind swept the hills, 15mph gusting to 35mph according to the forecast, combining with rain to chill. 

Riding a horse that hasn't been out for ten days on ground so wet that a foot slips every few paces does keep ones attention. At least I have a horse that doesn't mess about because the weather is lively. Concerning the macro issues I could relax, but I did need to guide where she carried me. Brena wasn't brought up in a slippery place and doesn't automatically avoid those places where she might lose  her footing. 

We found one well drained slope.I thought that a canter would be nice, and it happened. I must have moved my body weight forward, and that was enough for a mare that was fresh - by draught horse standards anyway. The canter became a gallop which was fun. Brena and I needed that. 

The solstice has passed, academically speaking. Eventually daylight hours will lengthen. Warmth will return, and so will dry ground and green grass. For now tenuous glimpses of sunlit hills maintain the hope of that promise. That's something to hang onto. Unlike a crisp mountain winter this one isn't bright or clean. I'm a creature of the broad outdoors so the fresh fragrant turf of spring really means something. 

It's been a long year. A big difference between running a riding holiday centre and working in a more regular business is that the latter isn't seasonal. A regular job doesn't shut down between November and March, as my riding centre did. (Well, we used to fetch hay and firewood in winter, however that wasn't a full time job.) There was time to rest in winter, to sleep longer and generally to recover from summer's intensity. Now, doing office work (plus riding, writing and a few other things) catching up on sleep doesn't happen by default. That's a new discipline that I need to enforce. 

Small things make a difference to morale in the depths of a grey, wet winter. New curtains make my study look brighter and feel a little softer. A bit of clearing up has brought more order and a new sense of spaciousness. These will help tide me over until spring beckons. 

Oxfordshire's muddiest yard?

Here are a few shots to show just why I'm moving Brena to a new barn. 

The condition of the premises where she lives now has deteriorated to the point where it is a continual worry. It's downright depressing too. There is no evidence of any plan to make this into a smart, clean, well maintained facility. Nothing is attended to until it breaks. No forethough is applied. It's reached the point where I feel neglectful by allowing my horse to remain here. 

These fields and the access way were brought into use only this year. In a short period the barn staff have managed to turn the access into a swamp with their quad bike - all to save walking a hundred yards. Well that's what you get when teenage girls and foreign labourers are left virtually unsupervised. 

Owing to a complete lack of drainage most horses are now standing in mud. Hay is thrown into the mud whilst the manager complains about the price of hay. (That's rubbish too - the harvest was a good one, however she didn't bother to stock up for winter.) I supplied a plastic drum for Brena's hay (it's not in the photo) but more often than not hay is still thrown into the mud alongside. 

 

The main access through the pastures has been utterly trashed over the course of two years. Further down conditions are mcuh worse than those in the picture. Now the staff have started to drive around the woods to the right, wrecking another track. The summer before last this land was pristine. Now it's unsafe to lead a horse through here. And the manager wants to raise the prices. 

The tracks are supposed to have been surfaced with crushed stone. But, we're told, "it's too difficult to find materials" - complete rubbish, of course, but any excuse true or false is thrown at those who keep horses at this facility.

Now I'm waiting for an answer that, hopefully, will see Brena moved to a much better place within a week. Then she will be safer and healthier, and I will begin to feel like a responsible owner once more. 

Waiting for Christmas

The shopping is complete, cards have been posted and presents bought. Work is over for the year. There is nothing for it but to wait three more days. The cats have a relaxed approach to waiting. 

Today the rain fell all day long, to which we are by now quite accustomed. The cats should be grateful to be indoor creatures. In the park both dogs splashed about happily in broad puddles, warm in thick winter coats that once were sufficient for Transylvanian winters.

The barn is a sea of mud, in part due to procrastination about hard surfacing the access tracks which now only a tractor can negotiate. I'm talking to managers of other barns, however it seems as if none will take further horses until the spring as the ground is so wet. 

Tomorrow promises to be dry - in the sense of freedom from precipitation - so I shall see about getting a ride in. It will be slippery underfoot so we'll need to go slowly. But it will be a ride out in the open air. I need that. 

Yes, it will be much nicer riding than trying to go around the shops. The last few days all parking has been taken up through the day. (Fortunately I can walk to the shops which are just a mile away.) You'd think that everyone had waited just to make sure that the world didn't end before parting with cash.  

But the feed merchant was shut and I was the only customer in the tack shop. Evidently equestrians have already stocked up on supplies and bought their horse-related presents. I'm not surprised. We're a practical bunch on the whole. 

More greetings

I could not resist using this image, which uses a photograph that I took back in 2007.

I recorded a scene on the last forestry railway operating in Romania. Back then a single steam locomotive worked most days, in part because its weight enabled it to get through the snow. The journey was unforgettable not just because of the archaic quality of the whole experience. The scenery was beautiful too, and the forest was impressively deep and silent beyond the hiss and clank of the train. It was a privilege to be allowed to ride on what was, actually, a private freight train whose few 'passengers' were lumberjacks. 

A Merry Christmas to you all