I Don't Even Know How to Write This...

This post will be a mishmash of things. I already know that because I've started it while we're waiting on the vet and I'm sure that I'll have to save it and come back later. Not just because the vet will arrive and I'll need to be there, but because this is probably my last chance to go out and meet the vet to deal with one of Castalia's horses.

The last time.

I've had so many last times recently, it seems, and not nearly enough first times to make up for it.

At least, that's how it feels at the moment.

When I first got a job at the farm, I couldn't imagine working somewhere every day. Thirteen years later, I can't imagine not driving down the driveway every morning. It's not even like moving away because once the property is sold, it will belong to someone else, someone who doesn't want strange teary-eyed women driving up their driveway just to reminisce. Then I'll have nothing but photographs and my own memories, which will fade in time, to look back on.

But I was here. And it was wonderful. And it has changed me forever. And will keep changing me throughout my life, the way things do.

But that doesn't help much right now. When everything is so new. So hurtful. Even knowing it was going to come to this.

And at this precise moment (I know, because I just checked my email) I don't even have a request for a full - a request for ANYTHING to make me feel better about the void of empty space that is me-without-the-farm that I'm moving into. I mean, obviously I'm going to write until they pry the pen from my cold dead fingers. But it's nice to tell myself that some day, I'll write as my job, and not around the other job that I have. That even if I still do have another job, my writing will be the center of my world, instead of an orbiting planet. But I'm a realist, if an optimistic realist, and I'm going to have to look at the possibility that GMG is not going to be 'the one'... which means shelving it and going back to the drawing board. Which I can't handle at the moment. So for now I'm going to crank 'Holding Out For A Hero' on my iPhone and pretend like something awesome might still show up in my inbox.

But back to the farm, and all of that. Realistically, I could write for pages and pages about the farm. About all of the things that went on, the experiences and the growing I did while here. I could tell you hysterical stories (some of which could, maybe, show up in some format, some day, possibly, is all I'm saying) and tragic stories. Tales of cranky old lady ponies and spry babies who tried to stand before they even cleared their mommas womb.

But I won't do that. Instead, I'll bow out before I start to ramble. Which, technically I've already been rambling because it's taken me several days to write this post. This next week will be an interesting mix of straightening up around the house and acclimating to things, so I'll have time to post again, and I fully intend to start getting that done on a weekly basis rather than letting it lag, as I have been the last few months.

The Strangeness of Life...

I'm typing this on my iphone, wasting battery life. We've been three days without power. The lines are down in the field and the equines are not amused, as they've been locked up in a teensy dry lit the entire time. I've been hauling water to them by hand. Horses drink a lot. But at least they appreciate me. And really, I'd give anything to be heaving water for four hooved ones, not just three. Still having sobby moments over that matter. Probably will for a while yet.

The cats think this is the best sleepover ever. All but SealCat, who's shown us that she maintains an unholy hatred for the sound of the bedroom phone ringing. With no power, that's the only phone that works. It rings. SealCat growls. It rings. SealCat growls. This goes on until the phone is either answered or the call is swallowed by whatever strange ether exists to consume phone calls that ring through to answering machines that can't function. Perhaps that phone has taken possession of a little girl named Carol-Ann and SealCat is the only one who can hear her asking about the light.

Really, that's what all of us want to know. When will we have light? Power? Running water??? Yeah, no idea. The latest news suggests maybe Sunday, or Monday. *sigh* So much technology, and they're thrown totally off when they can't use it. Not that I really blame the linemen. I know precisely how hard it is to lug stuff by hand over this kind of terrain. I'm doing it daily for my horses.

But I CAN tell you this: Scarlet (The Lunar Chronicles) is an AMAZING read!!! I'm tucked into When We Wake, and might end up reading it cover to cover. And it's kinda fun to write by lamplight. As long as you don't have to do it for a week...

Also, apparently it is impossible to 'tag' this post using my phone. Poop on you, technology.

Beauty in Darkness...

I stood within a swirling maelstrom of snowflakes, their gossamer flickering a brilliant contrast to the depthless black of the surrounding night. Di remained unmoving, her head pressed into the length of my side, ardent breaths seeping into my coveralls and warming my hip.

Those moments of unity remain  wielded to my heart. Stretching back to the beginning of time, and out into all the days of the future, even beyond my own small existence in the world. Because life is ephemeral but love is infinite.

Within an hour Di would be dead.

The snow waned. The halcyon moment faded. The pain returned. Di left my side, once more pacing back and forth, me trailing along on the end of the shank. When she lay down, I let her, intervening only when she tried to roll. No drugs I had could alleviate her discomfort. The situation was beyond that.

The vet was already on his way, but I knew what the end result would be even before he confirmed it. A section of Di's small intestine had twisted, the tissue dying. Sometimes surgery is an option, but under even the best circumstances, the success rate hovers around just 50%. For my sweet Di, even getting to the clinic was an insurmountable obstacle. She couldn't bear to stand for more than a few minutes at a time.

Once the vet arrived, we dosed her heavily with the strongest painkilling narcotics available to medical personnel. They gave her only minutes of relief. Just long enough for us to confirm diagnostically that Di's intestines had twisted, and would soon rupture, causing even greater pain (inconceivable, considering what I knew she was already going through) then septicemia, shock and, eventually, death.

Our course of action was clear. Di deserved the kind of mercy that comes from letting go, rather than hanging on. So we set her free.

My sister Rachel, and close friend and coworker Bekah were already there. They'd come for Di, as much as for me. Because that's what you do when you love horses. You rush toward the impossible. Brace steadfastly against the unbearable. You endure the unendurable.

And then you go on.

With, or without the horse you loved, depending on which way fate decided to swing, but always with the memories of those moments of unity when you and the horse were one creation. One being in two bodies.

It is so with all of life. We occupy these bodies and this place for only the briefest of spans. Some even briefer than others. But the moments of connection between our souls and the souls of others, human and animal both, cannot be confined within a paltry lifetime. Those connections exist infinitely. And as painful as everyday life can sometimes be, we always have those moments to fall back on and remember.

No matter how dark the world around us gets, there is always beauty within it, always the speckled light of the souls we've already met, and the glimmer of those we have yet to meet.