The Christmas Card

Winter has come to the Abbey. The fields are white and the trees are covered with crystal icing. The dawn comes up on a winter wonderland. Temperatures have been brutal up until now with wind chills of 25 below zero. Today is going to be warm; I think we actually will hit 18 F, which is a heat wave when you think about it. It is actually 43 degrees warmer. The funny thing about really cold is it’s just cold! There is no degree. It’s simply just cold. The snow crunches under foot and it’s difficult to breathe without a scarf around your nose. You dress in layers. Pajamas first, so that when you are back in the house you can shed the remainder of EVERYTHING YOU OWN and crawl back in bed. By the way, this applies for both morning and evening.

Once the temperature drops below zero all the animals are brought in each night. The alpaca only need to be out of the wind. Their fleece will keep them warm. The horses on the other hand need the insulated barn. Our barn has a low ceiling so their body heat keeps the barn a little bit warmer.

Thinking about Christmas, I had a wonderful idea. Let’s put Santa hats on all the horses and take a picture for our Christmas card! The horses will line up by the fence, which they do all the time, and it will make a great picture.

I was off to Elmer’s Feed Emporium. The Feed Emporium had become one of my favorite places to shop, and frankly the only place I go lately. Elmer has everything, feed and feeders for all animals, Carharts and their look alike, lots of machinery parts, everything the modern farmer needs. The days of Ann Taylor, Brooks Bros, and Nordstrom’s are gone. I figure if they don’t have it at Elmer’s, I don’t need it! Imagine that coming from my mouth. I bought seven hats and phoned Sarah and Jesse.

That weekend we went to the barn with the hats and Sarah’s good camera. We cut a slit in the hats to place them over their ears, which would look cute hanging down. We put the horses in the stalls. First off, the hats just would not stay on, so Jesse used some twine to tie the hat on each horses head. Bob and Blu were really good about it, but Griffin put up a stink. We finally got it on. Little Ellie was probably the worst shaking her head. We were ready!

We had all hat in place and we let the horses out. Griffin bit Althea on the way out and she started running. Sarah, while heading out the door with her camera, slipped on the hillside and fell face first into the questionable snow. I had the pail of feed to entice everyone to come to the fence for photos, but now they were chasing me around trying to get into the pail. My boot stuck in the mud, I couldn’t free it, and decided to pull my foot out rather than fall over. I was hopping around with a boot on one foot, and the other with stocking foot, which by now was freezing and covered in muck. Buy the time Jesse got Althea quieted down, most of the other hats were on the ground or under their necks. At this point we were ready to kill each other. Sarah was storming back to the house covered with muck and worried about her “GOOD” camera. Jess was trying to capture each horse to cut the hat of their necks. I was madly looking for my boot, which had disappeared somewhere in the mud. I had long past given up the pail of food to Hennessey. Defeated and dirty we left the horses -- hat free, closed the barn doors and walked, or for me, hopped, back to the house in total silence.

We had some pictures of this chaos. Half a horse here and half there, some ground snow where the horses use to be, a nice shot of the rear end on Elle, and one where I slipped a Santa hat over a chicken, but all you could see was chicken feet. Oh well! I suggested that we do a collection of these pictures and entitle it “Have a Happy Fricken Christmas,” needless to say no one laughed.

We finally did get the Santa hat photos, doing it one horse at a time. We place them in cameo‘s on the card and wished everyone a wonderful Christmas and Joyous New Year.

As in all things, from the ashes comes inspiration, my Christmas present for my family this year are heavy weight alpaca socks for everyone. As for the Santa hats they are hanging alongside the stockings on each stall door, waiting to be filled with apples, snacks and candy canes on Christmas eve. Inside it is warm, the smell of hot apple cider comes in from the kitchen, the Christmas tree stands in the living room twinkling with lights, gifts lay under its bows and as always, it’s just another day at the Abbey.

The Radio

It’s 9 p.m. at the Abbey and it’s been dark now for four and a half hours. Yuck! And when I refer to dark, it’s really dark, not like city-dark, hand-in-front-of-your-face dark. There is nothing to reflect light except the moon (which is not shinning) and the stars. Walking is difficult because you cannot see the ground. Now that’s dark.

I turned on the 9 p.m. news simply because I can’t keep awake for the 10 p.m. news. I am a real live wire! I should come with a warning: Anything said after 10 p.m. is not credible. Early rising has to do with the terrible curse handed down from my father, and his father before him. We were up before six in the morning … every morning! Dad would say, “Any one sleeping past seven was a sleeping Jesus.” I heard that quote all my life. I have no idea what it means.

The weatherman blinks on the television set and says a front is coming in; it should be here around midnight. Swell! The temperatures will drop below zero and probably stay there … UNTIL SPRING! Well actually he didn’t say “until spring,” but I read it in his face.

A bit of a shiver runs through me. I began to take inventory. First, did I have enough groceries? I think this is always the first question everyone asks at any weather change. Do I need to get out and buy groceries before it hits? Next, is the car winterized? Is there enough diesel for the bobcat? And last, are the animals water heaters plugged in? The water heaters … hum? I think so -- pretty sure-- not positive – and absolutely not positive. That being said, I put on the hat, coat and gloves to go check if the water is plugged in. Now, if you were familiar with The Abbey, the only way to get to either barn is down hill, and going down on frozen ground is always an adventure. You never know how you will end up. Well that’s not exactly the truth. You will always end up at the bottom of the hill. It’s the journey that can be thrilling. Reaching the bottom and shinning the flashlight on the waterer, I was relieved to see the heater was on. All is well and I am ready for sleep.

The morning started out with a bang – 5:50 a.m. and both dogs suddenly went into a barking frenzy. I am sound asleep and want to stay that way. “Lay down,” I croak at the dogs hoping they will just go back to sleep. I am teetering on that unconscious state where everything is perfect. But the barking continues. Even a pillow won’t silence this. Finally I stagger to the back door and let them out. Back in the kitchen I look out towards the barn; it is still dark and I can’t see anything. I need coffee! Letting the dogs back in, the frigid wind hits me. It’s cold -- the weather man was right.

Have you ever wrapped your hands around your coffee cup; it’s great. The cup is warm, it makes your hands warm, it makes you warm, and it smells wonderful, I love coffee.

Sitting in the kitchen, hunched over the coffee cup, I wait for the sun to peek over the horizon. It’s 6:30, and the sky is beginning to lighten. Looking out towards the barn, I can see the fencing … fence, fence, fence, hole, fence, fence. HOLE! There’s a hole in the fence. WHERE ARE THE HORSES? They are still in the pasture, but the fence is broken, really busted broken. Something went on, probably at the time the dogs were carrying on. My peaceful morning is shot, my coffee goes down in two gulps and I grab my coat, hat and gloves; out I go into the cold crisp morning. Something happened here and it’s vital that I get to the fence and fix it before the horses get out and decide to run in the fields.

I called Sarah on my cell phone to let her know what is going on, while talking, I approaching the paddock. The horses are milling around, nervous and rather on edge. That should have been my first clue. But no, grabbing some twine in one hand and the telephone in the other, I walked right in. The horses are at the feeder and I am about ten feet away. As I cross the over to the ground towards the broken fence, I can see foot prints … footprints … coyote footprints! They were here, in with the horses. SUDDENLY, there’s a noise from the woods on the other side of the feeder. Instantly the horses are off, spooked and on a dead run, all seven, AT ME! Now I think I have written in other notes, that it’s been said that stampeding horses will not step on you if they can help it. This is true! I know this now, I have first-hand knowledge of this; however, as they pass by they will kick back and forth and throw you to the ground. The cell phone flew out of my hand in one direction and the rope in the other; lying there I can see the dust of their hooves as they head to the other side of the paddock. I can hear the phone ringing about 25 feet away, staggering to my feet I pick it up. I’ve just manage to give my daughter a heart attack. She is freaked. Calm down, I’m OK! I am just a little shook up. They really did not have a chance to build up speed when they passed me. It will hit me later, but for now all is well.

Why is it that hind sight is always 20/20? Coyotes! I knew they were out there. Rethinking the morning, and this whole mess, it only makes sense. The break in the fence had to be done by something very powerful -- i.e.: a horse. The horses were spooky!! There were footprints all over the ground. Duh! I should have called everyone into the barn before I entered the paddock. The fence is fixed; I am a little stiff from hitting the ground, but basically none the worse for wear.

Vern, the clerk at Jemsky’s assures me that a radio will keep the coyotes away. Home I went with a small plug in radio for the horse barn. There has been some dissension as to what station horses like, for now, in the wee hours of the morning, you will hear the sound of Christmas carols coming from the horse barn, joyfully announcing, the holiday season and just another day at The Abbey.

God said : ”Hello Moto”


Halloween is over and Thanksgiving will soon be upon us here at the Abbey. We have much to be thankful for: the alpaca are all healthy, our girls are pregnant, and their fleece is growing thicker each day. The horses are gaining weight due to a constant diet of hay and grain now that the pasture grass is gone. They will need the extra fat when the winter temperatures drop to simply COLD. If it gets too cold everyone comes into the barn.

The fog has begun to roll over the fields at sundown … God is a magician, slowly fading everything from sight … trees, barns, fencing and animals all disappear behind the faint gray curtain that hangs just outside the windows. I need to go out to throw hay for the horses. They are somewhere in the pasture. Our barn is just a short walk, but in the fog it’s easy to lose your direction. I ended up at the paddock fence. At first I thought I would just throw the hay over the fence but being 5’1, and the fence at 5 foot it poses many problems, the worst being hay down your shirt. I hate that! So I drag bales into the paddock and break them up into little piles for each horse.

Calling them, I can feel the ground start to quake and hear the sound of their thundering hooves coming closer and closer. Then it hits me, here they come, and here I am. I’ll never make it to the barn…RUN! No, they’re coming … where? I can’t see anything! Here they come … OH SHIT; they’ll be here before I can get to the gate. Grabbing the barn overhang post I cling to it like a drowning person clings to floating debris, my only thought: “Stupid, really, really stupid.” These guys are gentle giants but giants all the same, and I just called them BEFORE I got out of the paddock. They say that if found in front of stampeding horses they will try to avoid stepping on you. I don’t know who “they” are and frankly, I don’t want to challenge this saying. Before I can blink they are all around me. It’s okay, it’s over. I really love these guys!

My friends, including the kids, tell me I am crazy to be in with these animals. I am beginning to wonder myself. Standing there, my next fear is the sounds of the coyotes. Their barking, yipping and howls are very disturbing and sounds quite close. One of our two chickens has disappeared and we suspect the coyotes, but don’t really know. I didn’t think they were brave enough to come into the yard until a few nights ago; when returning from the barn, I walked around the house to find two coyotes standing about 100 yards in front of me. There we stood for what seemed about an hour. They, looking at me, and me looking at them. A Mexican Standoff. No one moved. What to do, what to do? Turn and run? Stand there and yell? Then it came to me, the old football adage “the best defense is a good offense. “ Attack! Off I went straight at the enemy, a mad woman leaping up and down, flailing my arms and yelling like a banshee. They instantly disappeared, and I with knees trembling and heart pounding walked back to the house. I really need a cup of coffee!

Morning comes clear and frost free. The cat lies on the patio apparently asleep except for a slight twitch of her tail now and again. The chicken and the cat have bonded. They are special friends. Susie the cat usually naps basking in the sunshine on the patio and Moto, the chicken, likes to sneak up though the bushes, alongside the house and patio, until she is within striking range. Then suddenly she’ll burst out through the bushes, wings back and neck outstretched to grab the cats tail. Then the game is on. The cat leaps up and is off after the chicken until the chicken, suddenly stops. Then the roles are reversed, off goes the cat with the chicken in tow. Later you can find them, chicken and cat, laying together on the patio basking in the sunshine.

The cat is allowed in the house now, and Moto sits by the door and waits. Jesse tells me that if that chicken is coming in the house, he will have me committed. I know he secretly likes the chicken though. If we are eating out on the patio, he is the first to give Moto bits of food from his plate. Moto will jump in the air and grab the food from his fingers. Several times I have found Jesse, chicken in lap, napping on the chase under the awning.

Moto is old, she was an old chicken when she came to us, and just before Thanksgiving she left us for that big hen house in the sky. We buried her alongside the house, in the sun shine, where she loved to make holes. I know Susie misses her, I sure do; Jess, well, not so much, but then again it’s just another day at The Abbey.