Living the Life Historical

 

The other day, while out gleaning the field of horse poop, it dawned on me that I could be a peasant from any time in history. Essentially my activity- and even my garb- could have been from two, three, four (or more) hundred years ago. I asked Bob to document me in all my earthy glory. And it confirmed what I feared: I make a pretty good peasant.

A case in point. Same pitchfork (well, mine is plastic and came from tractor Supply. She probably made hers!), same basic stance, similar head gear (but her ground length skirt is fetching!)... you get the idea. I probably staggered off to lunch on the same moldy potatoes as her!

This is a painting by Kazimir Malevich entitled something like "Peasant Out in the Field" I don't know where his pitchfork went, but he's got that same attitude as me and the romanticized peasant in the above painting or even this woman with a wheelbarrow by Millet. Notice how our "technology" hasn't changed!

(She's probably praying that she smells better than I do when I'm done collecting manure!) I rest my case. I could be whisked back in time in some accident created by a tesseract! Why, I'd fit right in! Further oddball illustration is the below picture sent to me by my sister Cathy (Hi Cathy!). It purports to be a photo promoting vacationing in Estonia- one 1/2 of our family background. I'd look at home among these fine folks, too!

Piles

Oh no! Sort of deja vu all over again... I think I'm seeing piles of sand and gravel. It must be last year and we're only starting my studio project! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
But wait; could it be that we're finally embarking on the famous "Blue Plate Special" Walkway Project? Bob and I spent yesterday morning (which you will remember as being incredibly hot and sweaty) procuring- and then unloading- an impressive pile of gravel and sand. This took two trips to our local sand and gravel emporium; that's quite an exciting field trip! Towering heaps of all sizes of gravel and dirt and sand and giant trucks (which dwarfed our full sized pick up!) and large hoppers and conveyor belts delivering tons of processed rock. Altogether lunar and very dramatic! They load you up with a huge scooper bucket loader that appeared bigger than the truck.
All I can say is that I was altogether exhausted and on my third tee shirt by the time I had unloaded and then completed excavating the remaining dirt on the soon to be walkway. Another pile was created:

This may not look that big but what with heat and humidity, I was too exhausted to even spread the gravel out into the walkway. And that would have been very satisfying and impressive. Instead I made the mistake of taking a break and visiting my horse, who had thoughtfully provided me with several "piles" in her stall. This was to remind me to clean the pasture.

A woman's work is never done!
But here's a shot of the completely dug out walkway, awaiting Fourth of July gravel:

I made it with a unique and swishy lopsided sway, that I thought referenced those "Stella Doro Breakfast Treats". (Kind of an expanded S). I get my inspirations every where!

It's Not Easy Being Clean

Gee, I do get to air our worst moments on this blog, don't I? I have no shame!
If you remember my previous blog, I was opining about the state of our house and how it was singing out for a good cleaning. An unfortunate chain of events forced me to have to wash the bathroom floor. And no, that picture above isn't BEFORE; this picture was taken AFTER I washed the bathroom floor... But I'm getting ahead of myself.
I went out this miserable cold, windy, icy morning to feed and water our beloved mare Maggie. With her looking on, I raked out and re-bedded the barn. In all this winter awfulness, she's taken to pissing mightily in her stall. It smells like an accident at the ammonia factory and there are plenty of forkfuls of piss soaked bedding to contend with. (I am seriously considering getting a hundred or so of those little trees that people dangle from their car mirrors and festooning her stall!) I am piling this debris sky-high onto an
emergency manure pile. In all the ice and snow, it has been nigh on impossible to transport the manure offerings to the official pile, so by the gate it resides. It really is hard to be as tidy as we usually are- our horse pasture typically looks pretty spic-and-span. Now it looks like one of those farms condemned for
unsanitary conditions.
So I went back in the house to prepare for my morning walk with Jules. Instead of shedding my boots and carrying them to the other door, I left them on. And then I went upstairs. It hadn't occurred to me that my boots would thaw out and all this lovely horse piss scented snow would dribble behind me, up the stairs and pool in an odoriferous brown slurry beneath my hooves at the bathroom sink. Until I was brushing my teeth and this really bad smell hits me and I realize that it's me.

(Where else on the Internet are you going to see piles of horse shit?)
Anyway, while on my walk, Bob cleaned up the stairs and I when I got back, I vacuumed and then Pine Sol-led the floor. And it gleamed and I felt very righteous. So happy was I that I thought as a finishing touch I would empty the waste basket and all would be fresh and nice. Instead, the above accident occurred and the garbage bag didn't open all the way and all those nasty Q-tips and kleenexes and used dental floss strands stuck together with bits of yesterday's spinach came spilling forth. What is the story of no good deed going unpunished? More shit!

At Play in the Fields of the Horse

So Crispin may be going through a tough few days, but he excels in manure production! We obtain at least a wheelbarrow full every day. I have been joking that Bob and I fight about who's going to clean up the pasture every morning; it's actually a very pleasant way to spend a quiet 15 or 20 minutes with Crispin. Most mornings Bob beats me to the task while I'm away on my walk with Jules.
And we truly mean this: anyone who wants some manure...C'mon down! It's easy to get as we truck it up to the vegetable garden which is right next to the driveway. Take it home and compost it or layer it directly onto your garden beds and by spring it will be all broken down and good to go. Your garden will thank you!

Manure and Me

Here I am with our first deposit for the compost pile. The horse farm where Crisco the Stallion* lives has manure heaps to rival the mighty Himalayas. Trust me, I was told that horses produce something on the order of fifty pounds of manure a day so there's plenty to go around. (The horse farm has somewhere around fifty horse. Do the math!)

This pile is located directly next to where the vegetable garden is going. We've gotten smarter: we used to place things like wood piles and then move them eight or nine times. When the horse comes home to live (after we put up a fence) the manure situation will be that much easier. Shoveling shit is hard work and composting is a fine art.

*No, Crisco is not a stallion (he's a gelding) and his name is actually Crispin. But my mother (aka Mommy) couldn't remember his name but knew he was white (like shortening, I guess!) and told her neighbor that his name was Crisco. The neighbor inquired as to whether he was a stallion, so the name fit!