Hear The Whistle Blow 500 Miles

" If you miss the train I'm on , you will know that I am gone you can hear the whistle blow 500 miles." Even in the sad words of this old folk song there is a story. You have to catch the train and and it won't wait for anybody. Once it's left the station it is a haunting sound, the whistle as it blasts its way through the countryside growing fainter in its call with each mile.
There is something magical and mysterious about trains. Since their inception they have captivated all who live where the whistle can reach their ears. It is not surprising that the train became a symbol of escape in the " Underground Railroad" . Certainly some fugitives of slavery left families behind and they took their chance for freedom, the whistle and rumble of the train pulling away mile after mile brought sadness and hope in mixture we can't possibly comprehend.
When I was five we moved and since it was April and the town did not offer a kindergarten class I stayed home the rest of the year. It was an adventure after living on a cul de sac to move to the country with barns and hay lofts, a calf and new kittens, fields to roam, there was so much. September rolled around and I was to follow my older brother to the elementary school just up the road. That first day of school came and we boarded the bus and were gone. I came home telling grand adventures. If ever, the storyteller in me was born on that day. I told how we road the bus, about all the students standing on their chairs to see the train pass by the windows and the teacher yelling for us to be seated. I told about lunch under a willow tree and waving to a conductor as he slowed his train enough so we could see his smile and the stripes on his conductors hat. I can't imagine the concern my parents felt. How could one day of public school turn me into the world's greatest liar. How could I be so imaginative that I would make up such a far fetched tale. Behind closed doors I'm sure they discussed it, probably came from a story the teacher read. They must have shared a nervous laugh. The next two days were worse with the elaboration on the story growing. My brother was grilled, did he see me in school, was I OK on the bus. Of course he didn't he was an "upper class man" being a boy of the third grade he wouldn't see a baby sister, they went out to play separate. I saw nothing wrong with the inquisition, I didn't expect him to see me. I told of my friends and about work we did, but each day we stood on our chairs to see the train and the teacher yelled. My parents asked neighbors about the teacher but she had a very good reputation as a first grade teacher. Hmmmmm! My story continued, one of the class jobs I had been assigned was to go out on the front steps of the school and help carry in our milk. It was all out there for us each morning in a wood crate and we brought it in and put it in a refrigerator. My parents thought it funny the kitchen staff didn't do this task but chores are good for children this teacher must be old school. I told about going to the cellar to use the bathroom and how the stall doors a shade of apple green creaked and groaned and were creepy. I never wanted to go down there alone but since there were two we were sent in pairs. My parents sent a child to school and been so befuddled by the incredible change in me. From a very normal 5 year old I had instantly become a notorious liar and most every statement that week was followed by , are you sure, did that really happen, are you sure it was that way? The questions rolled off my back like water. I knew exactly what I was talking about.
The weekend came and I am sure the relief that I would be watched and no more inventive tales of a mysterious school with trains next door would surface. Oh, surely they had done one more circuit of the school, no train , no willow, no downstairs, it was all just to much, had the move been that disturbing, and otherwise I seemed perfectly normal. I was perfectly normal but basking in the glow of so much attention. I don't remember where we were going, I'm not sure we ever went any further the rest of the day is a blank in my memory. We climbed into Dad's company car, a Rambler and headed off, my brother and I in the backseat. There were no seat belts, I had a habit of sitting on the very edge to see out the window often choosing the middle where I could see between my parents as we drove along. We crossed the cement bridge into the next town and Dad signaled right. Down the tiny back road we went when I clearly shouted out, " There's my school" Just like a scene in the old movie "Miracle on 34th Street". I looked out the window and up on the rise was my school. The car had jerked to a halt. My parents sat there a long time in disbelief. We were not in Coventry anymore. In front of them was a two room brick school. The Reynold's School in Mansfield Depot. I was excitedly pointing out places, "There's the willow and see the empty milk crate on the steps, and maybe a train will come while we are here." It didn't , but it didn't need to, my parents could see the tracks running by, right next to the school yard. They would be running slow here to stop around the bend at the feed store in the depot.
It must have been long weekend of waiting. a mixture of relief and curiosity. The school was real enough, the tale about it and how I had seen it still was so strange. Monday morning my brother and I went off to school as usual. I think my mother was on the phone the next minute. Reaching the Office of the Grammar School she was informed I was in the group bused to the Reynold's School. The incoming class was so large, the last hurrah of the baby boom and there was no where near enough classroom space. An addition was in progress but it couldn't be done in time. Indeed from the very first day of school I had ridden to the grammar school with my brother. We stood in line by class until all the buses arrived and were dismissed to our rooms. He went down the long hallway to third grade and I back out the front doors to re board a bus and take the 15 minute ride to the Depot. The teachers were chosen based on the fact they thought they could handle the students well so far removed from the administration and school services.
First Grade was an amazing year. It was an adventure. I fell in love with the trains. The engineers always looked so happy to see us out playing. We thought they slowed to wave to us, what did we know about the loading docks at the Thompson's Feed Store www.gmthompson.net . I think I learned to count just so I could count how many cars were in the train. Today when I go to buy horse feed I still count the cars as they slowly rumble through the depot heading down to the sea or back toward Vermont. The milk that sat in crates each morning for our class was delivered by Mountain Dairy, how would I have ever guessed I would one day marry into that farm family and live so long in Mansfield. www.mountaindairy.com The Reynolds School was unused for many years after our season of waving to the conductors and playing under the willow. It then became a storage building for the school system.
Recently is was totally renovated and brought up to code. Gone were the creaky green stall doors and the old refrigerator. Inside and out the Reynold's School today is a beautiful new school. It houses a Big Picture School www.bigpicture.org . This program is gaining momentum in placement of students who don't thrive in the traditional school setting. Our Big Picture School is an off shoot of E.O.Smith High School www.eosmith.org It was a wonderful day for me when the newly opened program hosted me as storyteller and I unfolded the tale of the World's Greatest Liar and ended with .. "That's how my year in the Reynolds School went!"

Outstanding In Your Field

The award night, the glittering lights, anticipation, a heart pounding scenario. To be recognized among a group of peers for a performance of standout quality and dynamic proportion, yes Award Night is a momentous occasion. Just who will be filling the audience and what is their take on your big moment.

Around here it is really easy and there are many occasions to be outstanding in your field. I can recall each with such clarity that the years slip away and the moments of delight and anguish can be as fresh as yesterday. Let me share one of these momentous nights with you. No worry no red carpet here we aren't talking that big a moment, just a local opportunity to be outstanding in my field.

The phone rings in the middle of the night, it can never be anything good. I answer in the groggy voice and come full alert in seconds. "I'm on my way" Yes , of course I'm exhausted so the cows would have to be out tonight!" I pull on jeans and sneakers and a flannel shirt and head off. The Ct. State Police said the cows were on Brown's road right around the corner, we ( www.mountaindairy.com )pasture a large number over there, let's hope it is just a few not the whole herd. Before I even round the dangerous blind corner I see the whipping blue light of the police cruiser. An excited young officer is standing there as 30 or more beasties wander in the road. Relieved when he sees me get out of the car I call out a introduction from my end of the herd. It is only part of the group on this side of the hill, have to remember to check that the rest stayed in. I start talking to the cows and moving slow and deliberately toward them not wanting them to spook and go dashing off in the darkness. They begin to turn and work their way down the road. There is a large gate a ways down we can get it open and work them through. The policeman has never herded cows before, it is evident by the widely flailing arms and excited tone of his voice. Way more fun than robberies and speeding tickets this diversion will be a fun little exercise. I call to him my plan and point to where the neighbors porch light is just before the gate. We have to get it open but not let out the rest of the herd that maybe behind it. With all his yelling, they are sure to come and watch the excitement.

I didn't see anything to start the frenzy. There may have been nothing more than the will not to give up so easily the freedom they had gained that night, but all of sudden things were moving to fast. Cows began to spin and run and they were heading in multiple directions, none of which was toward the gate and subsequent capture. I raised my arms and rushed the group coming at me shouting heeya at them and turning them back. The policeman surprised at the ease this method affected change tried it too, he sent them flying back in my direction. I don't want the group to move up near the deadly curve in the road and again change their direction with a heeya and charge and the whole group wheels like an army in maneuvers. They are going down the road at a good clip and the policeman has jumped to the side. It is OK if they over-shoot the gate there is another and I will try to outrun them and turn them. It works if you can run wide of the group and come around. There is a dirt road up ahead may give me the room to get past the main body of the group. All of a sudden the policeman sees the opportunity to help. He jumps out joining the fray in the middle of the road and the whole group again pivots and heads into the night through an open bar-way to a hay field. He is sure his effective pursuit is doing the magic, but I really hoped they wouldn't go in the hayfield, but back where they belong. The hayfield is open to the top of the hill ,to the cornfield and in a half mile or so to the road on the far side of the hill and nothing to stop them! we could do this all over again with different scenery.

I see the policeman in full pursuit now to drive the group well into the field and as far as he is concerned the safety of not being in the street, well that would be a policeman's goal. It is at that moment that I remember coming down the road earlier in the day, when I had driven through I had seen the big manure spreader broke down there and they had to dump the whole load to lighten the truck to jack it up and repair the tire. NO!!!!!! I scream and the high piercing scream surely set the cops heart pounding. All his police training, murders, guns, fights, WHAT? He skids to a halt and looks up through the darkness to see what could possibly have made me scream so - he is on full alert ready to draw a weapon, I'm sure. I keep running toward him breathlessly yelling "stop don't move", he has, he is just looking. I catch a breath," don't follow them I shout" as I draw closer. " What is wrong" he demands as I run up. I catch a couple breaths, " You don't want to go in there, they had to dump a few tons of liquid manure there today when the truck broke down!" His eyes widened and he thanked me politely but something in the tone said he didn't think it was worth raising his blood pressure through the ceiling.

Game over for now, I am not about to chase them through there. I explain how there are no fences and they may show up on the other side of the hill later but if they had enough fun they may be content to eat grass and hang out all night, we will hope for that scenario. It is incredibly dark as he drives away. I stand on a knoll at the top of the field and try to count how many cows are out there. The stars are the only light and the moving shapes are hard to discern, the cows with a lot of white are easy but the all black ones disappear into the space. Before bed I just want to know how many we had so if they are out again I will know if we got them all.

This is my moment, no fanfare, just me, Out Standing In My Field!

The next morning the police officer stopped to thank me, he had driven by the pile of manure in daylight, he was most appreciative after seeing what he had almost run blindly into. A happy ending, the cows stayed in and were put back to the right pasture in the morning by the barn crew. Another moment of fleeting fame on a back road in farm country.

Dedication and Insanity Meet pt. 4 Daybreak's Story

We had nothing left to do but load the horse and drive back, except....Daybreak hates horse trailers has a history and a no I won't load, game on his agenda. Here on this back road on the Mass. New Hampshire border I do not want to be part of a 3 hour loading event. Our trailer is new to us by just a week, not long enough to paint the black interior white. It is a gaping black hole I know our horse won't have any inclination to step into. The farm owners, my brother and the police are having quite a time talking about the events of the night as I ponder getting this horse back into the trailer and back to the host farm. Tim indicates that his Cowboy Mounted Shooting pistols ( http://www.cowboymountedshooting.com/ ) are securely locked in the truck cab and the trailer is ready for a horse. I ask an officer to move a cruiser and use a spotlight mounted on the door to light up the interior of the trailer as Daybreak is not likely to step into the dark hole. He smiles and obliges happy to see us taking steps to move the horse out of the street. I am envisioning the long effort to get him on. Don't think we haven't tried all the training techniques, natural horsemanship skills and equipment on a given day all have worked or not worked because it is not a fear issue it's a chess game and Daybreak is the equine equivalent of Bobby Fischer!

With the police lights still flashing their split second rotations and the night amazingly lit by them and all the headlights it is a rather festive aura over the street with the happy reunion of horse and rider. Daybreak knows when he has an audience, it is a valuable tool in his arsenal of make the owner look foolish any chance you get. Tim leads him to the trailer and he loads in a split second. I leap forward and close the butt bar to secure him and then the ramp and upper door we are set to go. My relief is huge as I climb into my truck cab with Cindy the owner of Bridge Meadow Brook Farm, our hosts. Tim and his uncle pull away with trailer and again as we drive I marvel at how far our crazy horse went to party. Cindy is graciously playing down her part in this adventure of lost sleep and worry. I am incredibly grateful to everyone and we talk a little about the night. It is here that she tells me the police clocked Daybreak on the radar gun down the yellow lines of the road at 42 miles per hour. He is a hot rod, cruising speed until the police come along side and then gunning his engine to sprint ahead hooves pounding pavement like a racing heart in the night. He came out to play his top game and found worthy opponents in those brightly lit cruisers. Cindy reported the awe with which they spoke of Daybreak and how in disbelief they heard his age and could not believe this was an old horse. Of course 25 in a Morgan Horse isn't old, it is seasoned to perfection. It is experience to bank on and practiced flash and gamesmanship. Score one for the Morgan Horse and Zero for the Tyngsboro police. It was only by using cruisers to build a chute in the street and another to race him there that they effectively drove Daybreak up the road and into the field. They never would have been able to lay a hand on him, it wasn't in his game plan. I am grateful Daybreak didn't consider jumping the cruiser like the loose horse in the Disney classic "Horse in the Gray Flannel Suit" That movie horse and Daybreak would have been fast friends in more ways than one!

We roll up the long dirt road that leads back under the pines of Bridge Meadow Brook Farm. My brother parks the trailer and he and Tim go to unload Daybreak, NO! he stays in, we have had all the games we are going to play for one night. Remember Daybreak hates trailers, he shows his displeasure with this decision by having a 2 year old tantrum. He begins jumping up and down in the trailer rocking it and making it move. The emergency brake is set but I can just see it in my now vivid imagination the trailer and truck rolling back into the swamp and me getting wet feet, again. I open the front door, "knock it off!", and settle down I croon to him and shine a flashlight on his face. We give him hay nets and water buckets and I tell him, " Sorry old boy you are in for the night!" I send Tim to bed in the tent, you can't ride safe with no sleep, go now it is 3 a.m. I send my brother as well, he needs to drive the truck safely home after the days competition. I lower the truck tailgate and wait for Daybreak to settle down so I too can garner a couple hours of well earned rest. If the flashlight beam drops from Daybreak's face the jumping resumes, I can't believe he is carrying on so. Get over it, a few hours in the parked trailer won't kill you if a night racing the police hasn't. Still the bouncing continues and so I get comfortable figuring a few minutes he will give it up, I'm delusional!

At 6 a.m. the tent zipper made the long whine of opening, I didn't hear it. My brother stepped out into the gray of early morning and the cold nip of the frost that was settling. Mid October is sure to paint the pumpkins and anything else a laced coat of white in the night. What he sees makes him go back to the tent, retrieve his camera and take a picture. I am there on the truck tailgate flashlight in hand curled up asleep under frosty saddle pads. There is a point when you can sleep anywhere, I found it that night. There is not one thing to be said for sleeping on a corrugated metal tailgate that's good! I had a foam pad under my head and saddle pads over me. They are wool and sort of warm although short on coverage. I am allergic to horses, the hair can't be good but warmth was more important than a clear head. Daybreak is happily munching hay, he nods a greeting. Not long after we are all awake. Once Tim is functional we decide we have to see if Daybreak is lame, a run on tar at 42 mph would do that. No he is fine. down in the ring he is enjoying the rubber added surface and jigging and showing off. A story of police escapades and missed adventures is carried through the slowly waking camp. A couple hours later we are back at the field of competition at Bridge Meadow Brook Farm. More and more riders are hearing what went on in the night and come over to ask in disbelief. Soon the guns are shooting the balloons and the riders come and go from the field. It is Tim's turn, I stand in the announcers booth watching him come into the field, jigging still. I announce," Our next rider is Tim Stearns and his horse U.C. Jailbreak! The laughter ripples around the field. I assume that the tired pair will do the course in a slower than usual time and yesterdays gains would be history. A few seconds later they flash past the final rodeo timer and a new best time is posted for the pair. The whole day was like that, me announcing the rides of U.C. Jailbreak, the story floating about the field. Riders looking at the old horse through new eyes and evaluating, there is more there than meets the eye!

Dedication to the sport my son had fallen in love with and getting them to participate fully brought us to Bridge Meadow Brook Farm, Insanity helped me through the crazy night and still see that the day should go on, sleep or not.

Post Script: Daybreak is enjoying semi-retirement at home with a eye on the gate in case we forget to clip the second lock on it, could be a party tonight, your place or mine. This blog was written in response to his sires induction in the Ct. Morgan Horse Hall of Fame June 11, 2010.( http://www.ctmorgans.org/ ) At age 32 U.C.Ringmaster filled the ring at the Big E Fairgrounds ( http://www.thebige.com/ ) with the eternal energy and showmanship of a Morgan Horse. ( http://www.morganhorse.com/ )

Dear God, Let It Be A Horse! pt.3

Dear God, Let that sound of a snapping twig be from our horse Daybreak not a BEAR! The night is so dark I turn the little squeeze light in the direction of the sound, nothing. I walk more, "Daybreak", I call out softly, hoping if it's a bear he doesn't like voices and will leave. I see a house off over the treeline and barb wire topped wall that surrounds the fields. Do they hear us out in the night and wonder who is creeping through the field. The lights don't change within the house only a single front light glows a pin point in the distance. In there they can sleep, in dry warm beds, Daybreak where are you fella?" That is when I see him in the bitty ray of light, he nods some form of polite recognition. I run the beam up and down his body he looks fine and my heart floods with relief. "Tim!" I call out into the night but the field so large my voice trails off in the immense wet space and there is no response. " I got him!" , maybe it was for me but I shout the declaration out hoping it would drift to his ears. I walk to Daybreak and extend my arm to take his halter, Tim has the lead rope. My fingers come within and inch of the leather and the head swerves up and away playfully. Ugh! " Daybreak, come on it's late, we'll go back to he farm come on. " He dances away a bit, it's game time.

Daybreak is a Morgan, descended from the Government breeding program for cavalry replacements, he is a thinking horse. He is thinking, let's make a fool of Mom and have some fun. It is a sorry thing, that as my feet squish and my tired body robbed of sleep stumbles in the wet grass, BUT I AM NOT IN THE MOOD FOR GAMES! Daybreak is, he lets me sidle up a couple times and nearly grasp the halter only to lift the head out of reach or turn enough to evade capture. How can one shift from desperately loving a creature to this moment of hate in a split second. OK ,so I don't hate the horse just 2 a.m. games of tag in the northern woods with no sleep and WET feet. In frustration I stuff my hands in pockets and feign disinterest this is a ploy that often works. What my hand falls on in the hay chaff filled pocket is a peppermint wrapper.

This might just be what it feels like to win the lottery. Pure joy, ecstatic, triumphant all rolled in one and over a little inch square of peppermint wrapper! Check Mate, I crinkle the wrapper, " I have candy..." I call out coaxingly. Daybreak was born with the world's largest sweet tooth. Most horses would attempt to stand on an ear for a peppermint. It is a perfect treat and one that comes wrapped in the most enticing sound, crinkling cellophane. Daybreak freezes, he looks in the dark night like one of the statues that dot the landscape at the battlefield of Gettysburg. He is erect and proud, ears are pricked forward intent on the goal, candy!

I grab and my fingers wrap around the leather face piece, GOT YOU! At the moment I realize I plan to have the arm ripped from me before I would ever let go of this halter, he was my prisoner and my salvation. For in a few moments a reunion with my son and the glow of finding a best friend nearly lost will warm me to the bugger once more. Right now we have to get to Tim. I turn and see the long field rolling away in front of me. We are in a top corner, Tim had headed to a bottom corner. I know which way to head as the police cruiser has several companions now and so many headlights and twirling blue and red lights pierce the night. It looks like a major crime scene up by the bar way an easy task to head back with the beacon as powerful as any lighthouse and then some. The uneven ground, my eyes having all the light come and go makes walking a bit more of a challenge. I almost fall but just spend a second swinging from the halter and Daybreak braces his weight to support my effort to regain footing. In that moment the look crosses his face, she isn't letting go, he thinks. He breathes out a long sigh and admits, game over.

I call out a couple times to Tim and finally see the beam of a flashlight bobbing through the field toward me, I see the glow of his smile before we are close. Daybreak sees his boy and picks up the pace. Once he has Tim and the rope is securely on his halter I become a useless accoutrement to the game. Daybreak knows there is an audience at the roadside and begins to prance in that direction. If you have never seen a Morgan horse do a park trot it is beautiful their fore arms coming level with the ground in an animated action of grace and style. Game over, was a reality but it had become showtime!

Like the mighty Niagara the adrenaline rushed from me in one huge swoosh and I was left with the tiny squeeze light in the middle of the field and boy and horse were off on the parade to the finish line. By now I'm nearly dragging my feet over each hummock of grass and look up to mark the police lights distance and back to the ground to watch my footing. I hear all the voices ahead Tim has arrived and everyone is happy to see him. His Uncle Steve had arrived with the trailer and we could get back to he farm. They all wait for me, the straggler to come up the field and then we all are getting ready to load Daybreak but Tim is anxious is eyes dart back to the trailer and me again, he is almost in a panic. " What?" I don't understand the glances. my mind is like sludge. " Mom, my guns are in the trailer, I was cleaning them before I slept, they're in there. " " Sooooo," I reply. " Mom, we're in Massachusetts!" Then it registers, toughest gun laws in the nation. He does know his laws and handling rules perfectly. Even though we only fire blanks a gun is a gun. I take the rope that's clipped on Daybreak. You just go quietly move them into the truck and lock it and I will talk to the officers and thank them for catching Daybreak. He scurries off and I pull the horse up effectively blocking the view. I am far to tired for a another chapter in our eve that includes explaining exactly why we have two pistols in a horse trailer with a boy and horse.

Dedication -Insane Part 2

Panic isnt pretty but there was no one to witness and if I lost it now we might lose Daybreak forever. A deep breath and I pulled the cell phone from my pocket. I called the farms owners we needed help and they needed to know where all the little logging roads and inlets went. Roused the said they were on the way to help. Next I dialed 911 and waited, "State Police state your emergency" , "Our horse is missing and he was right near Rte 3, near the exit, can somebody get out there and help look for him before he gets hit and someone gets killed!" There is a pause, Ma'am Tyngsboro police reported a horse loose awhile ago, please hold while I patch you through......" I'm on hold for a police patch through as I walk up the dark dirt road back toward our camp, Im afraid I wont hear the police on the phone my heart is pounding so loud in my ears. "Tyngsboro Police, you're calling about a horse?" "Yes! have you seen him?" " Oh Yea we chased him....for quite a ways" I interrupt, where is he, is he safe?" The police are so calm and I cant stand that they talk slow and methodically, " He was put in a field on______ street, I've never remembered the name of the street, it meant nothing to me. I had never ventured past this farm at the exit from the highway. This I explained to the matter of fact voice slowly speaking on the other end of the line. "We can send a crusier over to show you where, meet them at the pizza place". " What pizza place I've never left the farm here!" Now Im even more anxious we are so close but to what good if I can't find the field. " Wait at the end of the driveway for the crusier to pass and follow him to he location Ma'am" , " I'm going, I have a black truck." I race up the dirt road now and find Tim and my brother and the farms owners. We've got to go now, the police can show us where he is, they caught him. We need to meet them at the end of the drive. My brother looked at me and then back at the horse trailer. It was blocked by another truck whose owners had left for a hotel for the night - great! He assured me they could jockey it out in a few minutes so Tim and I grabbed a lead rope and left in my truck, I spun the gravel in the farm road getting down the hill, I think my son was impressed!

There we sat in the truck at the end of the driveway with my heart pounding and racing and I saw the flashing lights coming. The cruiser flew past and pulled in a bit up the road - it was a pizza place. I pulled up next to his window, "Yes its our horse can you show us where you put him!" Could he hear the panic in my voice, could he see the strain on our faces in the night. Just who did he think pulled out of the farm driveway and followed on his bumper anyway. Away we went taking a couple turns I cant even remember, just thinking all the while, he's this far, he's this far and finally the cruiser pulled over and we right behind him onto the grassy verge of the back road. Thank God Daybreak headed in this direction not the highway. It was very rural, only one house in sight. We jumped out of the Chevy Silverado into the night and met the police officer who sized us up for a brief second, I could almost read his thoughts, middle aged Mom tends towards drama and panic and a big boy, crazy horse people. " So where is he?", I asked scanning the night and seeing nothing that resembled the outline of a horse.

The police officer let out a soft whistle like sound, "some horse he is," and looked inquiringly, "Stallion?" I laughed, "Noooo, it's my sons horse, he's old!" The officer shook his head, like he was thinking we weren't the right people or this wasn't the right horse. He pointed to a bar-way into a field. A farm bar-way with old ageing rails and barbed wire, The border a low stone wall with a strand of barb wire over the top. Typical fencing for dairy cattle, but it was obvious none had lived here this year the grass was waist high. Barb wire is a nightmare for horses if caught they fight, they get torn up in it, there is no end to the adrenaline pumping thoughts that enter my head. " How big is the field?" My inquiry is answered only by a shrug of the shoulders, he comments he will stay there at the roadside and watch the vehicles, I tell him our other truck and trailer will be coming, the farms owner knew where the road was she was to help my brother get the trailer out and come along with him. Tim has a flashlight, I have a squeeze light, one of those little things on the key ring, we are off to find Daybreak. The first thing I notice is a foundation hole from an old barn, it's big. I feel my heart sink, did he come running into the strange field and run right off the edge and plummet to death in the bottom... breathe and look , I send Tim to start off in the other direction so if its bad he doesn't see. Empty, the October air rushes back into my lungs, it's cold. I head off into the dark field as my eyes adjust, now away from the flashing cruiser lights I see how huge the field is 20 acres, maybe more, maybe 40 it slopes down and away in the direction where Tim headed following a path trod down in the tall grass. Could have been deer, could have been horse, could have been bear, Oh God! "Daybreak, here boy, are you out here, come on fellow", I call out, somehow my voice in the night air is reassuring , probably only to me.

I'm getting soaked. This night air is damp and the dew so heavy on the grass it was like it had rained. My feet are already soaked and squishy, I hate wet feet. "Daybreak where are you boy." My mind flip flops between finding Daybreak and how I hate wet feet and being wet in general and I'm pretty much soaked. Thats when I wondered, how many squeezes does a squeeze light have, they are like tootie pops, does anybody really know. As my exhausted mind played out the scenario of the bitty ray of light dieing on me my foot catches a clump of swamp grass and into the swamp I go, wetter now, nice! Daybreak, if I ever find you UGH! That's when I hear a snap, it was quick, was it my imagination? ( click follow to get Fridays installment in your in- box thanks, should be just one more chapter maybe 2 in this true tale)

Dedication, One Step From Insane

That lump, you see it on the tailgate? Well that's me, and I ended up sleeping there. I have to say it wasnt really sleep the body just stopped functioning. It had been a long day of announcing at our cowboy mounted shooting competition. I was also cheering on my son Tim and his horse U.C. Daybreak. They were really coming into their own and it was showing at this October 21,2007 competition. This sport requires great athleticism on the part of horse and rider, add a little excellent timing and precision aim, throw in some 1880 costumes and you have a good start. Riders shoot balloons with BLANKS out of real Colt 45 type guns. There are 10 balloons and 10 blanks provided by the competition for safety. There is a pattern you must follow or strict penalties are incurred. Then there is the clock ticking away, timing your every stride and breath. Tim and Daybreak did 4 patterns or courses that day and had made some significant improvement on time. We would wait and see what day two of the Border Wars competition would bring. ( http://www.ctrenegades.com/ http://www.masixshooters.com/ )

Night fell and the riders and horses got settled into camp. Picket lines and portable corrals were set up everywhere on the grounds of the beautiful Bridge Meadow Brook Farm Tyngsboro, Ma. and the night air, that crisp autumn air of October laced with a hint of woodsmoke and barbeque settled over us. Down by the pond and river riders began to gather and share in a trailside Barbeque to rival any westward expedition. The food was incredibly good and the company the best and the music began. Later into the evening I began to share stories having worked up some good spooky tales and horse stories to share with our cowboy friends. It was everything a night at the bon fire could be and then some, for the magic of that eve lingers with me now, several years later.

Finally we all drifted toward our camping or night arrangements. My brother had come along with us hauling the horse trailer and we had set up a nice tent. It had been 30 years since I had camped out with my brother, how fun! Tim opted to put his sleeping bag in the horse trailer to stay right next to his horse. Daybreak was secured to the side of the trailer with leads clipped to his halter a huge net full of hay and buckets of water. Just a couple feet away his partner layed out a sleeping bag where he could hear the munching of his horse and the busy day was quick to claim its reward of sleep. It was near midnight when I finally had finished prep for the morning and put away gear from the damp night air and run the long zipper of the tent and sleeping bag. I lay in the absolute darkness waiting for sleep to capture me and instead my eyes were wide and I realized just what a loud eater our Daybreak was. From the rip of a mouthful of hay from the bag to the minute or two of crunch and munch to the next rip. How incredibly annoying to be this tired and have to listen to that. My brother was long since stolen by sleep and his breath came quiet and slow. There were few sounds from camp an occasional stomp of a horse or the babble of the river passing through.

The next thing I know I was waking from a deep sleep almost drugged feeling. So incredibly tired my body felt heavy and pressed into the earth beneath my sleeping bag. Glow face on my watch said it was 1 a.m. I had only been asleep less than an hour and I had to use the bathroom. I tried to forget it and go back to sleep. The lovely green port-o-let was a long walk down the dirt road, I was to tired, no I had to go now. I noted there is no quiet way to unzip a sleeping bag or a tent but neither woke my brother, he always has been able to sleep through anything, at the moment envy stole over me! Outside the tent I look into the darkness toward the road and decide to look at Daybreak first. I step around the truck and trailer and back, then jump back toward the trailer and look again in the darkness of 1 a.m. HE'S GONE!

In utter darkness I ran around the trailer to where his friend Beau is tied, no not with him, and down the dark dirt road to the workout ring, no Daybreak here either. I am standing in panic near the port-o-let and hate to waste prescious seconds but have to step inside. The plastic door closes and there is not one spec of light, this is a new level of darkness I have never experienced. Finished I race up near the house where more horses are sleepily wondering who the madman is out running around in the night and they chew on, undisturbed, none report any sign of friend Daybreak. I race back up the road to the trailer and kick at my sons feet, " wake up Daybreaks gone, get Uncle Steve up while I go down to the competition field and see if he's there."

Down a long road over the bridge and on under such deep pines the stars are obliterested and I come to the path into the field where we spent the day competing. My eyes adjust to an increase in light, no horse, just the cars whizzing by so close on Rte 3 the State highway crossing from this northeast corner of Massachussets into New Hampshire, Oh God please no ! I could not envision our beautiful boy out on that highway and a panic rose up with acidic hands and clutched my pounding heart. (C) This ends part 1 I will be posting part 2 on Wed June 16 click on follow to be notified when the second half of my story is published.

Event Planner - That's Me

Among the items listed on my resume should be event planner extroidinaire! In the job description of "Mom" there is a whole section on planning, the usuals being birthday parties and sleepovers, vacations and family holidays. Each deserving the remembrance as either incredible or awful, and usually it was unforseen circumstances that brought on the awful.

I've taken those skills and developed them to new heights lately. It began with being a 4-H leader for so many years. Once you have planned an event where every child brings a cow or horse well the rest of the events look pretty tame. It was all good training my 33 years in the ranks as leader of the Cock-A-Doodle-Moo 4-H club. We had all kinds of livestock projects so juggling a day with children and multiple species became routine. They were some great events and the best days nothing got away and no one got hurt! Do over? of course I dont think any of us would trade a moment of those wonderful days.

The most challenging event was probably the Oxen drive across Eastern Connecticut. That was a planning and logistics exercise on the level of the Boston Marathon. Five days on the trail with two boys and two teams of oxen , what would we eat, how much could we carry, what if the oxen decided not to take aother step 50 miles from home? In the end we made it home with no major glitches. A tree across the trail provided a few moments of panic its massive trunk and branches to much work for my portable folding saw I was carrying. In the end we made them jump through the branches and they did it. A lot of prayer went into that moment but I was not turning around and the steep embankements on either side of the old railbed there were nightmares themselves. Some places I carried a bucket to lower off bridges to water the oxen but on one leg of the trip we stopped at a resevoir for them to drink. The oxen had never seen a lake before or even a pond. One thing I didnt count on, they dove in. Still yoked together the pair Scooby and Shaggy dove straight into the water and began swimming. So did I, one water rescue with oxen accomplished and onto the resume. The stop by the old graveyard to lay flowers on the grave of the ancester who made the walk in 1772 was a lifelong memory and incredible time warp moment. Then the last day we made the last couple miles all up hill to the home farm and they knew, they wanted to run in celebration. Those oxen were amazing stepping off from the front of the church we went on our way picking up speed the whole distance. Yes, after that event, they are all easy. I still remember the feeling of incredible accomplishment when we sat at the picnic table eating pizza and cake ( ordered by the boys age 8 & 13) All that was an event for the towns 300 th birthday, we started it off on the right foot literally!

Now I'm in the midst of planning many small events and one big Heritage Sunday for our church which is now celebrating its 300th anniversary. I have been planning some of the events and some are done by other committees. My latest was the building of a mini church. A small replica of our beautiful New England white church. It's purpose is to help inform the town and neighboring areas of our church birthday and be a symbol of our community outreach and desire to let people know we are 300 years of Faith in Action...and counting! First Church of Christ Congregational ( http://pages.cthome.net/FCCMansfield/ ) There are 3 parades in the area annually, Memorial Day, July 4th the infamous Boom Box Parade, and a newer one the Festival on the Green Parade in the Fall. What better way to inform people of our anniversary than a float in the parades I thought. I was able to get a carpenter in the congregation ( http://www.funkandlittle.com/ ) to scale down the church dimensions and draw us some plans to go by. From there we began gathering supplies and the construction over several days and evenings until the very final hours and minutes before Memorial Day when in the line up for the start of the parade I drew the front window in with a marker! The little church did its job and was a great hit. We all had lots of fun at the parade and now everyone sees what my vision was for this event. The 4 th of July parade will be easier as everyone is excited about making it happen again , bigger and better. So here we go more event planning.

I'm also planning the A-MAZE-ING Story Slam for Sept 4, 2010 at Fort Hill Farms ( http://www.forthillfarms.com/ )in Thompson, Ct. ( http://www.a-maze-ingstoryslam.ning.com/ ) this will be patterend after story slams ( competitions) in cities like New York and Boston. We have a great location, a big tent, a backup location, we are working on judges and prizes and signs and websites and camping and food for people who choose to spend the weekend in the area. A lot of little pieces, but I dont have to pack any food for cows, there are no lakes that need lifegaurding, there is no trail to watch over and nothing to build, so a Story Slam while it is a event for the public it's really .... a piece of cake!

Saddled by: Susan Richards - Book Review

I just finished a great read! Saddled by: Susan Richards (isbn 978-0-547-24172-2 ) What a good way to kick off summer, by reading a book that keeps you enthralled until the last page. You understand that it was the title and the absolutley elegant horse head on the cover that made me pick it up. I pick up every horse book, but it is the story unfolded on the inside that made me read with such interest. A life to bear in unbelieveable personal battles is revealed here in Susan's words so carefully crafted into story. It could be a study in the effects of Alcoholism, its pervasive damage across generations and that would sound like a hard read. Susan found the life jacket she needed to pull herself out of that swirl wrapped in the chestnut coat and mane of her dear Morgan horse Georgia. It is the relationship of Susan and Georgia that makes this healing story a must read. http://www.susan-richards.com/ Follow the weblink to learn more about Susan's books, I am! Now pull out the library card and settle back in the hammock for a great read - enjoy. Next up for me, her book, Chosen By A Horse.

Who'd Think

Where do personal stories come from but our lives! Well since mine looks like a whirlwind that went through a farmers market it has a lot of interesting daily happenings. Some get a little carried away and become stories I can share. This weeks adventures in building a mini of our church as a parade float became good material as we worked down to the last second to get the thing finished enough to take into the parade. - like drawing on the front windows while we sat in the line up at the start of the parade. SQUEAK! that was a tight deadline.

Then we had the thunderstorms that took the power just as I was emailing a last piece of a proposal to Timpanagos Storytelling Festival AHHHHH! As Charlie Brown says. It was a long time until it was back and that last email percolated through space to Utah and left the feeling of great relief with me. Today's forcast is for thunderstorms...great so I got here early to write a little before the barn and then I won't miss it so much!

The cows are on their way to summer pastures now, which is great for them, they get the 60 day vacation. On the other hand I now drive by stop the car and try to count them and make sure they are all there. Other family members have added counting cows to the daily regimen as well. If one is sick or calves early she wont be in the group and a search party will ensue and traipse through the tall wet grass seeking an answer. The field nearest my house has a rainbow in it. Not over it, but the colors of the cows and patterns are so varied its a living, cud chewing rainbow. There are a couple of the doe eyed brown Jerseys, quite a few Holsteins in their stark black and white patterns, there is a red Holstein a personal favorite, they have red heads show up about as often as we human families do. Then there are a couple of Dutch Belted, they are a rare breed, only 1000 purebreds left in the world and these girls are 50% or 75%. Either way they are giant walking Oreo's. Not the Belted beef breed, but a dairy version originally from Holland. Holy Cow!

Counting the days now to the end of the school year. My sons release from text books and teachers to herald in a full time place in the hay fields and loft of the barn. My schedule shifts to summer mode as well and hoping to gain a little time spent on school things that can be converted to home things. The barn needs cleaning and sweeping out of the webs, the house needs cleaning, well that can wait, cause the gardens need weeding too. I have several stories Im working on that I want to finish and some music to learn and some craft projects to finish and...well you get it my list is as long as yours and summer is beckoning.