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Monday, May 5, 2008
11:38:10 PM EDT
Feeling Mischievous
cow placentas, speeding tickets and snapping turtles: The adventures of the Hillbilly Jedi
The Hillbilly Jedi glances over at her padawan Mark doubtfully. "Are you sure the GPS says this is the right road?"
Padawan Mark, his trust in technology absolute, nods. "Turn here." He shows her the GPS. "It's a shortcut to the highway." The Jedi smiles tenderly at the fourteen year old. He is a Good Kid.
The Hillbilly Jedi turns onto a dirt road and continues maneuvering through ruts and over large bumps that rattle the muffler of the mini van. Eventually the road dead ends into an Amish farmyard. The shy Amish peek out of their barn at the embarrassed Jedi, who is backing her van up and turning around. She almost backs into a pig sty. The van requires more room to turn around than a horse and cart does.
She does not have the emotional courage to tell the Amish that a GPS has directed her to their farm. The irony of this amuses her. Even Jedi can be embarrassed. She decides that she can release her embarrassment into the Force later.
The Amish continue to peek at her. An entire row of straw hats are lined up at the barn door. A beardless young Amish teen bravely ventures out of the barn and asks her if she needs help. She rolls down the passenger window (her window was broken by the Padawans) and asks for directions After receiving complicated directions she did not understand, she gratefully flees.
The Padawan from Hell chortles in the back seat. "That was SO funny. You almost got stuck in that huge manure pile." The Hillbilly Jedi wonders again if this particular padawan is turning to the Dark Side. Surely it is unseemly to take such delight in her Master's predicament.
The Jedi Knight regales the teenagers with pithy statements of the wisdom of not over relying on technology.
A few miles down the road the younglings in the van squeal. A precious newborn calf is tangled up in rusty barbed wire. The mother cow is nearby, the placenta still hanging from her. The mother and calf are on opposite sides of the barbed wire fence.
As a Guardian of Peace and Justice and the Helpless, the Hillbilly Jedi leaps out of her minivan and trudges through the mud and muck to rescue the hapless calf. It is much larger than she can pick up, and she drags it out of the barbed wire and tries to consider how to pass it under the strands of wire to its mother, who is lowing pitifully at her. The Padawan from Hell and the Youngling climb into the field with her, although not up to their knees in the smelly mud. They offer encouragement to the Jedi, who is now wrestling with the calf. It is determined to get retangled up in the barbed wire loops.
The Hillbilly Jedi is wearing white pants. She is soon covered with mud and cow placenta.
Padawan Mark, while a stalwart and brave lad, has been raised in an urban environment and is afraid of large herbivores. He does not venture down into the field.
The calf is proving too heavy for the Hillbilly Jedi, who is still trying to pass it safely under the fence. The mother cow shakes her horns at her. The calf empties its bowels onto her leg and leather boots.
A pickup truck pulls up alongside the minivan. A man climbs out and looks at the Hillbilly Jedi, who is kneeling and holding a muddy calf in her arms. The Jedi asks him for help. The man points out helpfully, "That there cow has horns."
The Jedi fixes him with a stern stare. "I need to pass this calf under the fence. Can you lift the wire up for me?"
The man spits his chewing tobacco out and looks at her. "That old cow might git you with them horns."
"She is on the other side of the fence."
While the spirited debate continues, the Jedi bravely manages to shove the calf under the fence, but not without badly scratching her arm on the barbed wire. She is glad she has had inoculations for tetanus recently.
She sighs and climbs back into the van, covered with cow manure, mud, and cow placenta.
They continue down the road, where they encounter a very large snapping turtle migrating. He is in the middle of the road.
Once again, the Jedi leap from their vehicle to rescue this large, aggressive creature. While maneuvering the hissing biting turtle--which weighs about thirty pounds--into a laundry basket that has been sitting in the van for days, another helpful citizen offers to take the turtle off their hands. After all, "Them turtles are good eatin'. "
The Hillbilly Jedi is secretly appalled at the idea of eating an animal that is probably thirty years old, and she declines the offer. The turtle is an Elder. They release the turtle at a river. The Hillbilly Jedi seizes the moment to present a lecture on the Living Force to the younglings. They are, of course, spellbound and respectful of her insight into the Force. (Not.)
Finally arriving at their destination--a dairy goat farm--the Hillbilly Jedi is surprised to find the farmer is not waiting forher. She calls him on her cell phone for the third time that day, and he says that he thought she knew he did not get off work until about four hours later. She can, however, look at the dairy goats.
The Jedi carefully considers which dairy goat will be the best for her family when suddenly a hellish racket starts. Her loyal and faithful Greyhound has somehow exited the van and has been attacked by a Sith dog, who has the delicate hound by the throat. Looking unsuccessfully around for something to use as a weapon, the Jedi charges barehanded into battle and rescues her hound, only to find the dog's neck pouring blood.
The Sith dog cowardly slinks beneath its porch.
The Jedi sinks to the ground and pushes on the wound, praying to the Force that this Good and Noble Dog will not bleed to death there in her arms. The Jedi tells the crying Padawans to find something to wrap around the dog's neck, and just before she is about to have to tear off her shirt they find her tan cloak in the van and bring it to her. She binds the Greyhound's neck, stops the bleeding, and carries her to the van, when suddenly the Youngling shrieks. She has backed into the electric fence.
Now covered with mud, goat manure, cow manure, cow placenta and dog blood, the Jedi comforts the Youngling and lets her--for the second time in her life--ride in the back seat with the injured dog. She is not in her car seat.
It starts to rain. Hard.
The Hillbilly Jedi really, really wants to get home, so she is speeding along when she sees blue lights in the back window,
The Force really is not with her today, she decides.
The Hillbilly Jedi waits for the policeman to come up to her window. He is taking a long time about it. Finally, as he walks up to the van, she opens her van door. He leaps back and yells forcefully, "Stay in the vehicle, ma.am!"
Speaking soothingly to the officer, who looks about as wild eyed as the mother cow did, she tells him that she is staying in the van, but that her window is broken and she cannot roll it down to talk to him. He does not seem to understand, so she (ridiculously, she thinks later) offers to climb over to the passenger side and roll down THAT window.
The Padawans in the back seat are taking an unseemly amount of amusement at this situation. The Hillbilly Jedi does not find it funny. The Wee Youngling should probably be in her car seat, and she is having trouble finding her proof of insurance. She wishes she had the ability to use the Jedi Mind Trick on the Officer.
While the Jedi is wondering if the Police Officer will ask her why she is covered with blood, she is busy dragging out her driver's license. She admits she was not being Mindful and does not have the slightest idea of how fast she was going over the speed limit. She remains at all times polite and kind and well mannered. She was speeding, after all, and she got caught. Adults take responsibility for their actions. She does not offer explanations.
The Padawan from Hell snorts from the back seat as the police officer writes up the ticket that the Jedi Knight is too polite and nice.
Yet another time that day the Jedi wonders if this padawan is moving to the Dark Side.
Driving away with a hefty one hundred and sixty dollar fine, the Jedi sadly reflects that the fine will keep her from buying the dairy goat, and she wishes she had just stayed home.
Mysterious are the ways of the Force.
The Hillbilly Jedi is glad she does not have to face her own version of the Jedi Council, who is her husband. He will not be happy about the speeding ticket. She knows she has not provided a Good Example for the young ones. She really wants to cry, but she is too tired.
Arriving home, she binds the dog's neck, feeds the horses, sheep, goats, hedgehogs, rats, squirrel and pigs and mucks out the stalls, cooks a meal for the younglings, gets the youngest in the tub and puts them to bed.
She starts to gratefully relax into her Tai Chi form when the littlest youngling reappears and hangs on her leg.
"I need to talk to you about sumpin' important, " the five year old announces.
The Hillbilly Jedi opens her eyes wearily and looks at the youngling, "Yes?"
"How do birds mate? They don't have penises or vaginas. How do they do it?"
The Hillbilly Jedi explains bird anatomy to the youngling while tucking her back into bed. She stays until the little one is sound asleep, and then crawls into the bath tub to wash off the accumulated grime of the day. The Jedi turns off the light, so she can float in the bathtub and commune with the Force while washing her hair.
The Padawn from Hell comes into the bathroom and turns on the light. She is crying.
The Jedi sits up from her bath, and asks what is wrong. It seems the PFH has killed an ant in the kitchen, and she had to squash it twice to make it die, and she feels bad. The Jedi reflects that this particular child cannot be lost to the Dark Side if she can grieve over the death of an ant, and while is she happy that this child is not a Sith she still wishes she could bathe alone.
While other Jedi may be out saving the galaxy, this Jedi is not sure what she has accomplished on this very full day. She is too tired to meditate, and she collapses in bed.
A child crawls into bed with her. About an hour later, the goat kid the child had carried into bed along with her urinates on the Jedi, who reflects that Patience is surely a virtue, and she strips the bed, washes herself off yet again, and tucks the youngling and her goat into a corner with blankets.
It is now in the wee hours of the morning, and the Hillbilly Jedi reflects upon her place in the universe. The Ways of the Force are indeed mysterious.
Written by hestiahomeschool
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Friday, May 2, 2008
7:57:11 AM EDT
Feeling Ecstatic
Tabby wins three State Championships!
On Sunday, Tabitha won the gold metal in all three of her gymnastics events at the Kentucky State Championships. She is now the KY State Champion in Power Tumbling, in Trampoline, and on the Double-mini Trampoline. She also qualified for the national championships in Kansas City.
Since she just joined the team in September, we are proud of her and quietly flabbergasted. I feel rather like a chicken who hatched out a dragon.
She has shown a becoming amount of modesty, and hasn't told her friends, although it has been four days.
I am so proud of her. She trains so intensely and with such focus. She doesn't get upset before she competes, but does get mad at herself if she doesn't do perfectly...when I watch her flying across the mat, it is hard to believe this is the same baby who did somersaults in my womb.
My beautiful girl.
Written by hestiahomeschool
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Wednesday, April 30, 2008
5:14:06 PM EDT
Feeling Sad
Funeral for a Foal
Burying Snip Snip's stillborn foal was one of the saddest days in years. There were so many hopes and dreams wrapped up in that tiny filly, and to have our first baby horse be born dead seemed harsh and cruel to a family that has already lost so many babies.
Sometimes I wonder what God is thinking. I know that things just happen, but I get tired of them happening to our family. Then I remember how blessed I am, and sigh.
I do not know why she was born dead, or why my babies were lost. I hope that I will see them in heaven someday.
Written by hestiahomeschool
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Saturday, April 26, 2008
2:03:21 PM EDT
Feeling Quiet
earthquake!
Last week had an earthquake...in Kentucky...it was really pretty cool! The horses started neighing about fifteen minutes before it. I heard them and went out to the barn to see what was wrong. (It was about five in the morning). The dogs started barking, too. They knew something was going to happen, or they felt it before I could. I always pay attention to what the animals are saying, so I was attentive. I never guessed an earthquake, though. I thought it might be a coyote or puma or a black bear, since we have a few around here.
Nothing was hurt. It was 5.2, they said. Where we are we just got tremors. We had a tornado in February, and a drought all last year, and then the worst blizzard in my lifetime this spring.
Mother Earth reminds us we cannot control everything.
The tornado was much more frightening, since over thirty people were killed and this county is still a Federal Disaster Zone. Still, I found the storm to be very exciting and beautiful in its own way, but I was anxious about my animals that could not get into the storm cellar. The trees were almost horizontal in the 100 mile winds.
The earthquake was more a WTF is going on here sort of experience::::laughing:::although we are sitting on a major fault here, we never expect earthquakes here. We did add earthquake insurance on when we bought the farm, since they have been predicting The Big One all my life. Once a quake hit so hard in this area that the Mississippi River flowed backwards.
Actually feeling the Force of nature is exhilarating and humbling. There is nothing we can do but, as the old people say, "abide with it."
Written by hestiahomeschool
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Thursday, April 17, 2008
4:05:39 PM EDT
Feeling Quiet
Hearing Delialh barking to come indoors
guns in a Quaker home?
Those of you who do not live in the United States may not be as touchy about the subject of guns and gun control as Americans. Many of my friends and senseis have concealed weapon permits and carry firearms. Just as many of my friends hate guns and feel they are too available. I tend to side with them.
I do not own any guns, and I have been happily gun-free most of my life. We had weapons in my grandparent's home when I was growing up. My maternal grandfather was an Army lifer and a veteran of both Viet Nam and Korea. He kept hunting rifles in the house, although he was too soft hearted to hunt. He did have the sort of NRA attitude "You will take my guns from me when you pry it from my cold dead fingers." I think it might be in part because the Cherokees were defeated by white invaders, and then supported the Confederacy and were defeated then, too.
My other grandfather was on the beach at Normandy during D-day. He hated guns with a passion and we never had guns at his home.
My next door neighbor accidentally killed his little brother while playing with a loaded gun. I was a middle schooler when I saw them carry his dead body out of the house on a stretcher with the blood soaked sheet over his head. It made quite an impression on me.
Later, the son of one of my husband's coworkers also accidentally killed his brother...and inadvertently his mother, who committed suicide.
Now that we are in the rural country and far from town, my husband is wanting to get a gun for target practice and I suppose for self defense. Since we are much safer here than we were in the inner city, it does not make much sense to me.
He stopped at a local gun shop the other day.
He is wanting a handgun. Handguns are only made to kill other humans, so I am not in favor of this. If we have to have a firearm I would at least prefer it be a rifle, so that if a horse breaks a leg or a deer is hit by a car at least we can put the poor thing out of its misery.
What do you think about guns, if you have to tolerate one in your home?
I have already said it must be kept in a locked cabinet, with the ammunition stored in the garage. My kids are too curious and I would be afraid they would get hurt.
I also said that the kids would have to attend a hunter safety course if he brings a gun into the house.
There is a great Gun and Bow 4-H club that the children can join. My oldest girl, Mandy Mae, wants to learn a black powder weapon since she is involved in historical reenacting. The children and I have taken archery lessons on and off for years. (I suck, but they are pretty good.) Archery is very meditative. I like archery.
I need feedback on this...
love, Kas
Written by hestiahomeschool
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Sunday, April 13, 2008
10:56:18 PM EDT
Feeling Sad
death on the farm
Snip's beautiful foal was perfect and beautiful and stillborn.
It seems so sad and so unfair, but life is unfair. It was so heartbreaking to see her washing and nudging the baby and trying to get it to get up, and then looking at me like, "Do something!"
She had it by herself, and it was already cold when I found her in her stall. It was dead before it was born.
It has brought up lots of old sad feelings about losing my own babies.
Miniature horses have a lot more losses than big horses. Still, she had foaled three times before successfully. It is just heartbreaking to lose this baby. It was a little filly, and black with white stockings and a white spot on her face, just perfect, tiny and beautiful.
My children are learning some harsh realities of life on a farm. We have lost a pregnant hedgehog, ten rats, had the kitten drown, Atticus die, and now lost our first foal--all since December.
I am sad.
Written by hestiahomeschool
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Friday, April 4, 2008
4:09:11 AM EDT
Feeling Mischievous
Sex education down on the farm
Shelby was laying sleepily in my arms, nursing and drowsing, when she suddenly sat up and asked me, "How do cats mate?"
"Well, " I said, quietly amused, "They mate the same way all mammals mate. The boy cat puts his penis inside the female cat."
"So you saw One-eye mating with Oreo by the water trough?"
"Um, hmm, " I mumble, wishing she would just fall asleep.
""How does that make babies?" she asks.
"Well, sperm come from the boy cat and they swim to the girl cat's eggs and together they form the kittens. Do you know what sperm are?"
Shelby nods enthusiastically, "Yes! I saw them on Family Guy!"
Written by hestiahomeschool
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Wednesday, March 19, 2008
5:11:55 PM EDT
The Litany Against Fear
I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past me I will turn to see fear's path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
Frank Herbert, Dune
Over twenty years ago I took a remarkable class called Anthropology and Science Fiction, taught by a wonderful professor named Sharlotte Neely. The class changed my life. The core reading of the class was Dune, and since then I have used the Litany Against Fear as a sitting (running, crying, mumbling-madly-to- myself) mediatation to calm me.
I thought I would share it with you. Apparently there are two versions in the books. This is the one I memorized so many years ago.
love, Kas
Written by hestiahomeschool
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Monday, March 17, 2008
5:42:23 AM EDT
Feeling Quiet
Technicolor thigh
This is what my thigh looked like four days after Qui kicked me.
Modesty (what wee bit I have left) prevents me from showing all of my upper thigh to you...but the swelling has subsided and the bruises on my soul have subsided as well.
Qui has been responding very well to my sterner demeanor and strict discipline. I have not had to hit her outside of that one time, thank the Good Lord, because I would not have the heart to keep striking her. I think I would have the vet destroy her before I would sell her at auction, which is what my neighbor suggested. This is her fourth home and she is less than two years old. Someone has to teach her ground manners, or she will undoubtedly end up being slaughtered.
My heart breaks at the thought of her being passed from home to home before ending up at the killers.
After four nights out in the pasture, I let her into her stall today. She immediately swung her hind end towards me, but my very stern Mom voice, "Qui! Stop that RIGHT NOW, young one!" had her spin around and look at me. I had already closed the bottom of the Dutch door shut. I led her back out of the stall and tried again, and this time she behaved herself, her ears flopping back and forth to see what I would say. I gave her some grain and scratched her withers for her.
I have been lounging her on the long line for about a half hour twice every day. Since she is a Tennessee Walker, she can keep up her running walk much longer than most horses could trot, so it is not as harsh as it sounds. I always praise her when she behaves well. She is still not allowed any treats outside of training, and I keep her as far away from the children as I can on our limited nine acres.
I want to thank everyone who responded so thoughtfully to my plea for advice...and to those who advocated for Qui to have a second chance. It is important for a voiceless animal to have someone to speak on her behalf.
I did consult a few professional trainers, and their advice varied from " Beat the snot out of her " to selling her at auction. I did receive a very appropriate verbal spanking from an old horse mentor of mine who has known me since I was a young teen.
"Well, you were wearing a helmet, weren't you, Kas?"
(A long pause. She knew good and damned well I wasn't.)
I then submitted meekly to a half hour long lecture on why I should be wearing a helmet Every Single Time I Work With a Horse, winding up with her dragging out pictures of our mutual friend who was killed from a head injury when her Arabian stallion bolted.
I ordered a very nice helmet today.
This has been a lesson in hubris and a metaphysical kick in the butt, as well as a physical one. I do have a Gift with animals, and it has been years since an animal has deliberately tried to hurt me. In my arrogance, I had somehow assumed that even though Qui had a bad reputation as a kicker and biter that my love would be enough to make her into a Good Horse. I do not believe myself immortal in most situations in my life, so why was I so blind to danger when it comes to animals?
Another Life Lesson learned the physically painful way, which is the way I seem to learn best. Sigh.
love, Kas
Written by hestiahomeschool
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Friday, March 14, 2008
9:15:17 PM EDT
Feeling Sad
what to do with Tequila?
I am in a quandry as to what to do with Tequila, our Tennessee Walking Horse filly. She is a big girl, almost sixteen hands high, and she will not even be two years old for another month. She is very aggressive in the pasture. Within a few days of us buying the farm she charged at Shelby and deliberately knocked her to the ground. She will shove and muscle people in the pastures. When we first got her, she bit. Now she mouths us a great deal, but no longer bites.
At least, not family members. When Courtney was visiting the other day, the girls said she flattened her ears and snaked her head out, snapping at Courtney from her stall.
Two days ago I was out in the pasture with her. The whole family was out, playing with Snip Snip and her new intended mate Little Man, who lives across the street. Qui is in season and was prancing around, snorting and blowing and acting the hussy....poor Little Man. As a miniature stallion, he lacks the height to do anything about it. His spirit is willing but his height is too short.
I did not know she was in season when we let her out.
I lead her away from the crowd and was a couple of acres away, just leading her from her halter (my mistake #1) and carrying the grain bucket in the other hand that Mandy had brought out to help Halley catch Little Man (my mistake #2). Qui was snorting and tossing her head, and I was walking quickly by her side, in truth enjoying her high spirits...when she broke loose, wheeled and kicked me HARD in the upper thigh and ribs.
I went flying. Thank God for my Aikido training, since I went instinctively into a high fall roll, which saved my shoulder and head from hitting the plank fence. I also threw the damned grain bucket at her, since she had doubled back to get the grain.
Before the pain set in, my first instinctive thought was, "She is out of here."
It took a while to get up off the ground, her upper hoof knocked the wind out of me, and my thigh was agonizing.
I went into the house and checked out my injuries, when I could breath, and decided at that point that I didn't need to go the ER right away. There is nothing much they can do for cracked ribs (I learned this from the River Dojo) and the spectacular swelling and bruise on my thigh is soft tissue.
Two days later I have a large raised hemotoma that is the size of a dinner plate, purple and swollen to the touch. I gave in yesterday and took Vicadin for pain.
The night I got kicked, I said to the family that we were definitely going to get rid of Tequila, since she is too aggressive and unsafe for a family farm.
In over forty years of handling horses this was only the second time I have been kicked.
Thank God she kicked me and not someone else.
That same kick would have hit Shelby in the head.
She is a registered filly. I can give her back to the family who gave her to us, or find another home for her.
Since I was too injured the first night to go out to the pasture to bring her in--and I did not trust someone else in the family to get her--we left her out in the pasture all night .She could run into the side of the foaling shed for shelter.
Yesterday and today I limped out to the barn and lounged her on the long line until she was exhausted. I then left her outside again. I do not want to put her back in her stall, where she feels she must defend it.
The first time she turned her butt to me and flattened her tail, I flicked her hard across her butt with the lounge whip. This startled her to no end, she wheeled around and looked at me with such shock in her eyes.
It has been over twenty years since I have struck a horse with a whip.
I would rather she get smacked on the butt a few times than be sold to someone who will beat her senseless for kicking.
I carried the whip with me when I was lounging her, and she was wild eyed and nervous for the first ten minutes or so. After the first time, I talked firmly and soothingly to her, and she settled down eventually and did her best.
Today I limped out again and lounged her again, and she never offered at any time to kick. (This had become a huge concern before she ever kicked me, since she was threatening to kick in the pasture and the stall. I had thought it was just a reaction from being abused. Now I am wondering if she is just very dominant.)
I lounged her a good half hour, waiting until she was starting to chew her mouth ( a sign of submission). Then I brought her into the barn, tied her up for awhile and groomed her. She was quiet and well behaved, and somewhat affectionate. I scratched her withers and talked mildly to her.
I then lead her out to the other fields on our farm, with a chain under her chin for the first time. When she pushed or acted dominant--which wasn't much--I snapped it sharply. I worked on "whoa" and making her wait to eat grass until I said she could.
I am torn worrying that she will really hurt someone. Her dam (mother) was also very aggressive in the field, according to her breeder, and that is why they sold her. She learned as a baby to be aggressive.
I think I can make her a safer horse, but what if she really hurts one of my children?
Should I take the time to be stern and dominating with her--a lot less of the Horse Whisperer and a more of the Dominatrix--or should I get rid of her and protect my kids?
What do I owe this horse?
What do I owe my family and my own safety?
Qui is obviously sad and puzzled as to why her constant affectionate treatment and steady supply of treats has suddenly dried up. I have told the family to not give her any treats that she has not earned from me. Everyone is staying away from her.
Mares in season often act up...she probably did not intend to hurt me. She was treating me like she would any other horse. Unfortunately, I am not a horse.
I am torn between my knee jerk reaction to get her off the farm so I do not have to worry about anyone getting hurt, and between my own affectionate bond with her. I think I can tame her and make her behave. But one mistake can cost someone their life. I have personally known three people who were killed by horses. I've known two people with facial disfigurements from being kicked in the face by horses--one a child.
At this point, I have (1) said no treats (2) started working her hard every day, rain or shine (3) cut down on her grain (4) kept her well away from stallions (5) kept the family away from her (6) taken her out of her stall...
Sigh. My heart aches.
I had to quit reading the myriad reports online of deaths and injuries from horse kicks. I did order myself a good riding helmet, and from now on I will use it all the time--mounted or unmounted...
whmentors.org/saf/kick.html excellent article about dealing with kicking horses, why they kick, and mentioning a thirteen year old girl whose skull was shattered by a horse's kick
ezinearticles.com/?Why-Does-My-Horse-Kick?&id=816002 another good article about horse kicking
wyff4.com/news/15542889/detail.html three year old boy kicked in the head, with photos--had to have four metal plates put in his head
seventeen year old boy killed by horse kick
Written by hestiahomeschool
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