Cosmic Canter . . .

Last night I saddled up Aria, and rode off, end of day. Powerful. Smooth. Gracious. Strong! I left this world, and entered the other (Cosmic) one :))

And I awoke with images of this . . .

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Cosmic Canter . . .

Last night I saddled up Aria, and rode off, end of day. Powerful. Smooth. Gracious. Strong! I left this world, and entered the other (Cosmic) one :))

And I awoke with images of this . . .

Cosmic girl on Cosmic mare,

Cantering, fast, without a care.

Cosmic Planet, twilight sky.

Canter, fast, before you die.

Round the globe you’ll hear her call:

“Maidens join me, one and all!”

Saddle your geldings, stallions, mares,

Canter fast, but beware!

Cosmic planet, time is fleet —

Now is not the time to sleep . . .

Cosmic planet, endless sky,

Canter fast, the time is nigh!

. . . Time to get on with whatever we’ve been put here to do . . . Saddle up! Make the most of our Lives here on sweet Planet Earth. Canter on!

And I realized the birthplace of my amazing Life with my awesome horses began on that Magical Carousel horse, so many years ago!

(Flashbacks to my Disneyland Childhood — And the Carousel Fantasy horses I rode there. My Dad’s music, Dawn’s Disneyland story: You Can Do ANYTHING!, and It’s OK to Scream! ) 

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Please visit my Life Blog, Journal of Dawn ,

for Strategies and Insights into the

Journey of Life

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Copyright 2017

 

 

 

 

 

Watching The Woman . . . Work

I watch her. A lot.

She’s very impressive.

Strong. Super-human!

She works through heat. Rain. Snow.

She works with her body. Physically. In labors usually done by a man.

But she’s found a way to coax her female body to endure. Invent new ways. Overcome obstacles . . .

She does her best, always.

I learn from her.

She runs late. She works late. But she gives it her all . . .

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She talks to strangers, all the time.

At the market. Post Office. Bank.

Small talk. Smiles. Little quips. Corny jokes.

She makes “friends”, at least she tries . . . she hands out her little cards . . . yet they seldom call.

She smiles and waves at bored little kids in the back seat of cars. (She remembers being bored, in the back seat of a car . . . )

Even her little beanie-monkey, Louie, waves and makes a bus full of camp kids laugh. (I’m sure they still remember :))

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She has a weird brain. Wired backwards, it would seem.

Spatially challenged — her messy car and cluttered world, her own personal haven. Damn the rules — creativity abound!

(All tidy and picked up, she feels lost . . . empty.)

She keeps her chin up. She talks herself up to the task in front of her. No matter how hard. How tired.

Some people love her. Others think she’s a kook :))

She’s a stranger in a strange land, for sure.

But over the years, I’ve come to respect her. Love her.

Trust her. Depend on her.

She does her best. Even when she blows it. Even when she fails.

She gets back up. Dusts off her knee. Tries, tries again.

She’s learning to curtail her anger.

She’s learning to curb her tongue.

She’s learning to appreciate and enjoy all that Life dishes her . . .

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She works hard. Physical.

She’s really, really good at what she does.

She puts her body at risk every time she works: Smashed feet; aching hands; kicked in the head; broken wrist . . .

But she heals. She learns. She carries on.

She puts a rogue horse (or horse owner) in its place with a snap, a snort, a big, loud posture.

She gets them to lick, to submit . . . and handles thousand-pound creatures like puppy dogs.

Lifts their hooves, supports their bodies, calms their distracted minds . . .

(A passer-by wouldn’t know how difficult her job!)

She sculpts. Rasps. Trims.

Sweats, shivers — yet persists.

Creates living, breathing artwork.

Mechanical magic.

She hammers steel.

Sews horseshoes onto hooves — with nails.

Hefts anvils and tools and heavy boxes of equipment . . . yet carries her own tiny broom set to sweep and clean as she goes . . .

(There’s order in her seeming chaos :))

Horse whisperer. Farrier. Wrangler. Business woman. Creative kook . . .

She is my favorite. She is my love.

She watches over me. I watch over her.

She works hard! And I appreciate her!!!!

I watch her age. I watch her grow.

I watch her appreciate Life more, even more, now . . .

We have come to a truce.

I no longer bash her.

I now support her.

Without her, I would be nowhere.

Because, she is me . . . Dawn.

Woman of steel!!!

And so I ask, who do you watch?

What work does your woman, or man, do?

Have you two come to a truce? Or do you still argue?

I hope you two can fall in love :))

Life is too short to argue with your Worker . . .

Make peace, not war. And let it start with you, and me :))

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Find out more about Dawn’s HoofCare Services

Join Dawn for a Soul Horse Ride!  Experience the thrill of becoming one with your horse . . . Join Dawn and her homegrown herd for a  Soul Horse Ride in the Frazier Park Outback!

Call to book your Life-Changing Adventure today:  (661) 703-6283

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Like what you’ve read here? Visit Dawn’s sister blog: Journal of Dawn

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Additional photo credits: H. Jenkins, T. Turner, S. Curry

Copyright 2017

In Defense of Horseshoes

Ever since the beginning of the Barefoot Movement, horseshoes have taken a bad wrap.

Nails — awful.

Steel — restrictive.

Damn farriers!

Ruining all our horses with outdated, medieval malevolence!

Yet — please!

Let’s don’t throw out the hoof with the bath water . . .

I’m primarily a Barefoot girl, no problem.

And barefoot is great, under the best circumstances.

I’ve ridden sound, barefoot horses on endless trails, for years.

But I shod my horses last week — and took them on one of the trails we’ve ridden, barefoot, for the past twenty years — and it enhanced the entire endeavor!!!

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Bright, springy steps replaced delicate plodding.

Heightened enjoyment, not just for my husband and I, but for the horses — as they didn’t have to bother avoiding sharp, crystalline rocks.

Freedom!

Steel, and pads, and hoof packing — actually saved the day!

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So what caused me to add the shoes?

We’ve had a very long, cold and drawn out winter here in the mountainous region of Southern California this year, 2017. In fact it filled our reservoirs, and broke our multi-year drought.

The ground was saturated for more than two months with snow, ice, mud.

Just when it began warming up, drying out — more rain, snow, mud.

It SNOWED 4″ in early MAY!!!!

And just when my horses hooves were developing their hard, dry soles (a kind of callus which acts like shoe protection for the internal structures and comfort of their hooves) the late snow, saturating the ground, caused those soles to slough — the equivalence losing your shoes on a hot day at the beach . . .

And caused those hooves to feel every pebble. Every rock.

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Shoes and Pads to the Rescue

Enter steel Natural Balance horseshoes, leather and Shock Tamer pads, and Sole Pack medicated packing material.

As a farrier, it’s something I’ve done for other people’s horses for years: Shoe. Pad. Protect.

But something I’ve rarely needed to do for my own homegrown, four-generation, hardy-hooved herd.

Why? Because my own healthy-hooved horses really didn’t need it. Barefoot worked fantastic for my horses (other than occasional shoes to help with gait issues or overreaching).

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So when we rode the top of our local high-elevation (8,000′-9,000′) Mt. Pinos trails the other evening and FELT the difference — same trails, same horses, we’ve ridden for twenty years — I knew I just had to write.

Because theory is one thing.

Reality is another.

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Enter Uncle Ink

I agree. Not all horseshoeing is made equal — that’s why I learned to shoe, from my farrier Uncle, Ink Knudson.

I learned to trim my own homebred herd of Arab-cross horses from Uncle Ink in Malibu in 1990.

Great. Wonderful. Sound. No problems.

But by 1996, I’d moved up here to the mountains, and got an Arab-Tennessee Walker, named Max, with less than ideal hooves.

An old barb wire injury to his coronet resulted in a large scar tissue bulb that he would overreach and tear with his hind hoof, causing him head-bobbing lameness.

The hoof that did grow, came in abnormal.

Abscesses.

Hoof soreness.

Poor Max!

The local farriers up here in our region weren’t able to keep him sound. Even with pads and packing and egg bar shoes.

That’s when I took him down to Uncle Ink .

And Uncle Ink’s shoes made Max sound.

That’s when I realized, the other farriers couldn’t, wouldn’t do what Uncle Ink did.

I had to learn how to nail on shoes — to help Max. To keep him sound.

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Bad Shoeing is Bad — Good Shoeing is Good!

But what was it about Ink’s shoes that worked?

Why couldn’t the local guys have fixed Max and made him comfortable?

What did Ink know that the local guys up here didn’t?

That’s the real secret — the real story.

Steel shoes, alone, aren’t the culprit.

It’s how the hoof is trimmed, and how those shoes are applied.

As my Uncle Ink taught me, “It’s art!”

And as with all art, it takes a good eye, a good feel, and a good understanding of why you’re doing what it is that you do . . .

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Uncle Ink was a metallurgist in the Navy in WWII. After the war, he went to Cal Poly,  San Luis Obispo to learn the art of horse shoeing, on the GI Bill.

Then he honed his craft apprenticing with the old Calvary shoers in the LA area.

He worked with famous veterinarians doing specialized therapeutics. He could made any shoe or support apparatus in his coal forge.

He shod every kind of horse for every kind of discipline. He shod for every kind of person, including a cadre of famous actors.

He shod Ronald Reagan’s horses, Roy Roger’s Trigger, Gene Autry’s Champion . . .

And he shod my scruffy first horse, Rebel.

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The majority of today’s farriers either studied with an elder, or attended one of the farrier schools.

Emphasis seems more on appearance than function.

How nice the low-nailed clinches appear.

How straight and level the hoof.

(The old question of balance!)

Problem is, high, angled nails hold better.

Heel nails, now out of fashion, hold the best.

Many hooves are, in themselves, not straight or level. The bones have de-mineralized in accordance to the horse’s conformation.

Shoeing those hooves “straight and level” is the same as shoeing a straight and level hoof out of balance.

But how do you teach this?

How do these guys learn what it took my Uncle sixty years under the anvil, the forge, the horse, to gain?

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So imagine my bliss in discovering, that the skills I originally learned to help Max with his old injury, actually improved my sound, “barefoot” horses on a real-life trail ride into my own local mountainous back country.

Solid hoofbeats. Solid horses.

Yahoo!!!!

We’ve got a great riding schedule planned for this season!!!

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Join Dawn for a Soul Horse Ride!  Experience the thrill of becoming one with your horse . . . Join Dawn and her homegrown herd for a  Soul Horse Ride in the Frazier Park Outback!

Call to book your Life-Changing Adventure today:  (661) 703-6283

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Like what you’ve read here? Visit Dawn’s sister blog: Journal of Dawn

Copyright 2017

 

 

Dancing in the Light

This time of year, long evening shadows grace our valley, our woods.

Drawing out the shapes, the colors, the motion of our end-of-day rides.

Dancing.

Fluttering.

Creating a certain nostalgia.

Projecting glimpses onto ground, grass, bark, leaves . . .

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Here, a tail wisping — just a glance — against a pinon.

Now, legs lurching — a brief peek — then gone.

Dancing.

Enchanting.

Highlighting our ride. Illuminating the periphery —

Calling my eye, my heart, to ponder.

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Feelings flood back — barren winter.

Reminding me of how long it’s been since the warm shadows last appeared.

Now, the shape of my horse’s head, ears, mane — glints from another pine tree.

All of it dancing, moving.

Creating the feeling of Spring.

Projecting light-art, the original motion picture — only seen quite like this, when the sun comes round the mountain, this time of year.

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As we leave the woods, off to the south — a long, golden shaft illuminates greenish-to-rust-toned foliage.

Warm.

Comforting.

As if it will never end.

Like Life. Like our Ride.

As if the green grasses will never wither — never fade.

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But this — illusory.

Day is done.

Sun setting, westward.

All seasons change.

Like the years. Like the moonlight.

Calling me to take comfort in the Dancing Light of my Ride — today.

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Aria, Ella and baby, Hokuleia.

Join Dawn for a Soul Horse Ride!  Experience the thrill of becoming one with your horse . . . Join Dawn and her homegrown herd for a  Soul Horse Ride in the Frazier Park Outback!

Call to book your Life-Changing Adventure today:  (661) 703-6283

~~~~

Like what you’ve read here? Visit Dawn’s sister blog: Journal of Dawn

Copyright 2017

Time Traveler

How many of us have the good fortune, throughout the span of our lives, to re-visit the best of our emotional childhood?

That passionate inner space that stirs your heart to overflowing . . .

Which touchstones open your vault of stored memories?

• The fluttering silhouette of leaves and light on a curtain?
• The beach? A hike? Petting a cat, or a dog?
• The smell and the sounds of the day shifting — from morning . . . to afternoon . . . to evening?

Throughout my life, my access point remains the same: Riding my horse into Nature!

I entered that portal yesterday, and I danced, once again, between worlds.

* * *

Laddie!

All my hopes and dreams for you have come true!

You are my Starboy’s next generation. Starboy, yet bigger, younger. (See My Horse is So Cute! as well as Search: Starboy on this blog for more :))

• Gliding gaits, smooth. Exuberant.
• Responsive. Sensible.
• Every horse-girl’s dream :))
  

You carried me into dreamland yesterday. And I loved every step . . .

Full. Rich. The emotions stirred deep inside.

Bubbling. Roiling.

Like the ocean waves that serenaded my early childhood years. Growing up on the sand, in Malibu, on then-pristine Trancas beach.

* * *

Maybe it seemed more poignant yesterday because of winter’s intervention.

(This being a snowy, wet and cold one up here in the mountains, I’ve only ridden once since November.)

So absence, indeed, made my heart throb fonder.

As I entered the forest gate, I entered my Time Traveling World.

* * *

All the forest seemed alive, calling back folders of stored emotions. Like a personal file cabinet, from which my entire life opened, and flowed . . .

Lacey shadows cascading across green spring grasses.

I’m riding Rebel, my childhood horse again.

Young. Strong. Filled with hope.

Cool breeze accompanied with warm sunshine, the perfect combination.

Malibu. Elementary School.

Easter time. Wind and warm.

All the world alive, fresh, new.

Yellow blossoms erupting along the Pacific Coast Highway: Clusters of Giant Coreopsis, fields of mustard and Oxalis, bush sunflowers, tidy tips, sticky monkey flowers.

Springtime’s fragrant scent.

Blue sky, fluffy clouds. Hovering, floating.

Teenage again!

Riding Rebel behind Will Rogers State Park in the Pacific Palisades.

Endless sky. Endless opportunities.

My life as endless as the horizon surrounding me . . .

Towering Ponderosa tree, here, just off the trail. Still healthy and full and alive. Handsome Granddaddy of our woods.

Motherhood  now. Two lovely daughters.

My girls would ride into the forest here when they were young, tie up the horses, climb into this tree — sing, and play their flutes.

One day, they reported to me: “Mamma! We watched a calf being born in the woods today. We were up in the tree. The cow was in the bushes, near the wash . . . ”

In my mind, I see that calf being born, each time I ride past. I see it again now, and I see and feel the amazement of new life, once again, in my daughters’ eyes.

Across the way, the spot where my daughter, Anna’s, hair was caught by a snag and pulled from her Shetland pony, Silver.

The pain — how she cried! How hard it was to console her. Pulled from her pony by her hair, by a low-hanging finger of a tree.

Up from the wash, into the meadow now. Yellow carpet of Gold Field flowers, tiny blossoms painting the ground in swirling, creamy hues.

I’m here again, the first time we discovered the meadow in full golden bloom, when Fae was young, green, her maiden voyage that Spring. Anna, teenage now, riding her bareback.

I had my camera that day and I photographed the gangly forms of horse, and rider.

I see it again now: Anna sliding off, picking a tuft of yellow florets, and placing them in both her own hair, and in the forelock and browband of Fae’s bridle. Her long legs hopping, stretching, leaping back on again, in acrobatic precision.

Our cantering spot. Our Toodle Canyon . . .

The pond, dried in the drought of the past several years, now full, heart-shaped, inviting wildlife to sip — and horses to spook at their smells.

I’m here again, with my girls — long-since moved away. With my horses — many now, passed to the other side. With my faraway Malibu childhood. Juxtaposed in emotional envelopes, side, by side, by side . . .

Alive again. Decades past.

Time travels. Flashes back.

      Re-living all the feelings. Again.

          Timeless. Alive. All without end . . .

Like an endless loop. Like “The Song That Never Ends”. Playing and re-playing over, and over, again . . .

And all along our ride: The Silent Sentinels (dead trees). Once majestic. Now sliver.  Aged. Wise.

My favorite one, still standing. Broken off at the top. Burned and hollowed below by some long-ago fire. Surrounded by fallen comrades. Twisted, faded.

Enter the longings of Grandmother and Mom, Grandfather and Dad.

Age and wisdom. Hope and loss.

Guideposts of Spirit and values. Philosophy and goodness.

Once here and viable. Now fading. Yet watching, still.

And right along side the bygone, the Old — sprouts the next generation: Fresh. New. Growing.

Encouraging, even in their decay. Our ancestors understand far more than us youngin’s Life’s endless cycles, and wherein we play. In. Out. Endless. Timeless.

All this to the music, the metronome, of my horse’s dancing mane. His flowing neck, swinging. Ticking off each stride.

Each hoofbeat, each memory, each emotion . . . connected through the stride and the dancing mane of my most amazing, time-traveling, doorway to another world: My horse!

* * *

* * *

Join Dawn for a Soul Horse Ride!  Experience the thrill of becoming one with your horse . . . Join Dawn and her homegrown herd for a  Soul Horse Ride in the Frazier Park Outback!

Call to book your Life-Changing Adventure today:  (661) 703-6283

* * *

Like what you’ve read here? Visit Dawn’s sister blog: Journal of Dawn

Copyright 2017

Praising Starboy

Yes, the day is balmy.

Yes, my horse is fresh.

And though we haven’t saddled up since November,

I’m riding Starboy, today, at his best!

* * *

He feels like we’ve never waited

For winter’s snow, mud, ice, to end.

We’ve picked up where we left off,

Starboy, my timeless friend.

* * *

Gliding in perfection,

Flowing with his every silken move —

All, with nuance, dance today

In horse and human groove :))

* * *

How the woodlands beckon,

Starboy’s pace abounds.

Praising precious Starboy,

Hoofbeats, smiles, resound :))

* * *

Awesome, wondrous, synchronized,

How best to describe the day?

Finding bliss on Starboy —

Then feeding his dinner hay :))

* * *

Join Dawn for a Soul Horse Ride!  Experience the thrill of becoming one with your horse . . . Join Dawn and her homegrown herd for a  Soul Horse Ride in the Frazier Park Outback!

Call to book your Life-Changing Adventure today:  (661) 703-6283

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Copyright 2017