THE DAY TONKA CAME HOME

It was my 23rd birthday, my second borns 1st birthday and one week after I had met Tonka for the first time. 

The full size pick up truck pulled a trailer big enough for the thoroughbreds that Fast Tonka had been sharing a life with. 

His mini whinny echoed in the trailer as the rig rolled into the yard. 

Cody and Mounty called out in response to the new arrival. The drumming of 8 tiny hooves kept the beat as the chorus of mini whinnies filled the air. 

Tonka called back from the tailer in excitement as I opened the side door and made my way in to visit the new addition to the herd. 

Tears were running down his cheeks. I could tell he he was unsure about leaving the home that he had known for years. 

He was handed to me with a stud chain woven into his halter and a warning that I might need it. A warning that I disregarded as I unloaded the 300 pound copper coloured pony.

My one year old baby waited patiently in the stroller for me as I escorted our birthday present off the trailer and brought him over for the two of them to meet. 
There is something to be said about the lifespan of a pony and raising a child. 

That day as the two of them met I couldn’t imagine the life we had in front of us. Nor did I imagine that when that child was grown and gone that this little pony would still be there going strong by my side. A rock during every hardship in our 20 years together. 

I took the lead and looked at the tiny pony. Tears still rolling down his cheek as he whinnied in confusion looking for the friends he had left behind. 

He jumped out of the trailer and pulled me towards the paddock where his new friends were waiting. 

He was strong, maybe a little stronger than I had anticipated. The stud chain I was warned to use suddenly made sense. 

He met Cody and Mounty at the fence of the mini paddock where the 3 geldings met for the first time. 

This was the only time in my life that I would have a herd of tiny horses and they did not disappoint. 

THE WINDS OF SPETEMBER HAVE STARTED

 

The Winds of September Have Started

The winds of September were upon us and with them the thick moisture that clings heavily to air from now until we see another summer.



We have been blessed with 2 summers in a row these past 2 years. That was more summer than I have seen since we moved here. It made me wonder about the changing of the planet and how my it will affect my fortress of solitude in the years to come.



These past few days I have been home sick, as I normally am this time of year. Finding myself longing for the crisp apples that hang on the wild fruit trees scattering the ditches of the West Kootneys, and the cold crunch of the frosty mornings that sweeten them.



Realizing however, that I am homesick for a land that no longer exists, at least not like it does in my mind. The earth is now scorched in many of the places I used to call home, and the land has begun to dry up as it slowly becomes more barren with each passing summer.

Our Farm, on Haida Gwaii is tucked away in a little pocket of land near the end of the pavement in a quaint little town called Port Clements. Nestled near the center of the big island that makes up the archipelago.

My days however are mostly spent in Masset, a village 45 minutes North of Port Clements. 45 minutes might seem like a short time distance to travel, but on Haida Gwaii it's a world apart.

The winds of September have begun their decent on the Northern tip of Haida Gwaii, making me wonder what was happening at home. The winds blew softly as I walked and enjoyed the few moments I got to enjoy in my day, ever aware of the presence of time walking behind me watching my every move.



Dandelions left behind in the tailings of summer clung to their seeds as the gentle wind breeze teased their commitment. I watched for a moment as their descendants held strong to their place of birth, not yet ready to fly into the future and start lives as their own plants.



The ravens were active this afternoon with lots of opinions. The rest of the summer berries clung to the bushes in clumps of dried up regret. I wish I could have had more time and energy to devote to harvesting wild foods. My thoughts slid into a slurry of would of could of's as I looked at the berries shriveling up on the bushes.

What as waste, I thought to myself, thinking about all the berries I will end up buying this year.

The Next day the wind blew harder, but in all respects to the winds of September, it was still fairly gentle.



The grass wiped and bent under the pressure of the turbulent breeze. The trees rustled and readied for the season ahead. The summer had been restful for them and they we’re going need to need the new strength they had built to overcome the challenges of winter winds.



Winter is a dangerous time of year for trees on Haida Gwaii. Many strong trees have lost their battles with the hurricane force winds that visit our misty islands every winter often taking power lines with them and leaving us in dark to listen the howling winds.

The whispering winds of September were a far cry from the wild howling winds of winter. Right now they were civil, civil enough to walk with during my few private moments in the best part of the day.

This story is from my book Strength And Flexibility if you would like to know more about this book as it progresses Click Here

MEETING TONKA

 

Meeting Tonka

"You have to buy my pony", she said to me.

"I can't afford to buy another pony." I told her.

"You can trade me for dog grooming", she replied dismissing my most recent rejection. It wasn't the first time she had asked me to buy her pony, and it wasn't the first time I said no.

There were two Tonka's on her farm. Old Tonka and Fast Tonka. Fast Tonka, was a 9 year old Shetland pony crossed with a mini. He was fast, strong, and needed a home that would him to work. I loved working small ponies so I was a good fit for him, but was he a good fit for me?

Finally I agreed to go meet him, and drove out to her farm on sunny afternoon the week before my 23rd birthday.

The boards of paddock fence ran parallel to the long driveway. It was easy to see how he could crawl between boards and help himself to what ever side of the fence he felt the grass was greener.

Standing a whole 10 hands high, his copper colored coat glistened in the sunshine, his flaxen main was thick and full. He looked very much like a Shetland pony on smaller.

I already had a Shetland pony I thought to myself as a looked the little pony up and down. There was no way I was going to be able to drive him in a team with either the ponies. That would leave me with 3 different sized small ponies and no team.

Deciding to test the little pony's temperament anyway, I caught him and put brought out the harness. It was the small black nylon harness I had been using on my mini Cody, and the first harness I ever bought.

Fast Tonka hadn't been handled much but he was easy enough for me to catch. I slid the halter onto his nose, bending over to accommodate his short stature. Then I did up the the buckle behind his ear.

Dropping the rope on the ground I simply expected him to ground tie despite knowing he had never been ground tied before. He took to it well and stood, mostly I think out of confusion and curiosity.

He allowed me to continue putting on the pieces of the harness. There was no fussing or flinching when I did up the cinch only a little tail clamping when the shock of a cold crupper brushed against the sensitive skin under his tail.

Pressing my thumb and forefinger into the corners of his mouth I asked him to take the bit, he did so without hesitation, and allowed me slip on the rest of the bridle.

Nothing seemed to phase him, not even the blinders.

He had exceeded my expectations. There was no fussing or objection, just curiosity.

Attaching the lines to the bit I decided to see how far curiosity would take us. This little pony had never experienced anything like this before. Little did we know that 20 years later we would still be playing with curiosity together.

 

This story is from the book Horses of My Life and How They Shaped Me. Want to learn more about this book? Click Here 

MIND GAMES AND A RIGID BACK

 

MIND GAMES AND A RIGID BACK

How I tricked myself into getting back to the gym after a 2 month hiatus. 

The tin man syndrome, I call it. 

Motion is lotion, one of my favourite phrases and one you may have heard me say recently. I have been moving; I thought to myself with hopes that if I told myself this often enough, it would make the need for more targeted fitness go away. 

It is true. I move a lot, and for all basic purposes, I’m fit enough to do what life requires of me. 

The missing disc between T10-T11 started to radiate a thick band of stiff pain across the mid of back. My ability to move forward was still okay, backwards was a bit of a challenge, but once again I bend like a fence rail. 

The lack of undulation in my spine was a sure sign that the tin man syndrome was setting in. If experience serves me right, my next fibromyalgia flare up will be sneaking in right behind that tin man, sealing the fate of the next few weeks in a cycle of pain and misery.  

I knew what I had to do and how to do it. I knew that the energy would come if I showed up and started out slow. What I didn’t know was how I was going to continue to pursue a new career, work full time, ride my horse, drive my pony, look after my farm AND workout. 

Pain radiated through me and I was reminded that if I didn’t figure it out soon then there would be no more horses or farm. My dreams are hung on the ability to use my body and in order to use my body I have to keep it well moisturized, and the moisturization of tissues was going to have to start at the spine. 

Pumping the body’s good juices into the spaces between my horribly abused vertebrae can only be done by hula hoop as I discovered years ago. I suppose some people have luck with yoga or Pilates when it comes to keeping the intricate joints of the spine limber but I find the rocking of the hula hoop and constant desire to see what I can learn next  much more mentally engaging than traditional fitness.

The first problem I was going to have to solve was how to rearrange my schedule. Knowing from decades of fitness practice that I have to workout first thing in the morning or not at all gives me the foundation to start building my new plan. 

Luckily I am already up that early and wouldn’t have to teach myself to wake up earlier. I had done that part a few years ago, the space in time is one of my writing spaces which I am not willing to give up but I am will to move to another place in the schedule. Far too often, I have sacrificed my horse time. Making sure that adding one more thing to the schedule doesn’t tip the rest:activity ratio that undoubtedly cost me Horse O'clock is of utmost importance. 

Time is a solid constraint. As a rule time can not be not bent. To do another thing in the day, I have to give up something else. I could try to write and workout in the mornings, but the reality of it all the minutes in my life are full,  no matter how hard I try to pack more into them. 

I’m going to have to give something up now, so I don’t have to give up my horses and farm in the near future. 

I wish it was easy to quit one thing but I seem to be out of things worth quitting. So instead I decided to quit pieces of things that weren’t working out the way I had hoped. I’m still unsure if this means I’m working smarter not harder but I like to believe that it’s a step in the right direction. 

With the schedule tuned to allow for the return of my morning fitness routine it was time to get my mind on board. I love my workouts. I hate starting them and I had grown accustomed to the cozy mornings curled up on the couch in the quiet of the early moring to write. The thought of dragging my backside out of bed and down the stairs to the fitness space is almost torture. 

My phone holds a playlist I like to call a fit list. This is a special list of music that I listen to only when I workout. It’s fun and fast and mainly disco. 

When my workouts are going well I often wake up with those songs stuck in my head and they motivate me to get my butt on the dance floor and workout my back. The music helps me have fun and the more fun I have the more I get out of the workout. 

I chose a few new songs to help get me in the mood to move my behind at 4am. Then I chose not to soak the horses mash the night before. This was a cunning and manipulative move on my behalf. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with manipulating yourself into doing something that you know you really want to do. 

The feed room is in the basement. A wall of compressed hay bales separates the dance floor/workout space from the feed room. To soak the mash in the morning, I would have to cross the dance floor and pass the hula hoops.

The mind games I played with myself had done their job. The alarm went off at 4:00am and I headed downstairs to find my cat waiting on the floor next to the pile of hoops. After soaking the mash, I picked up my favourite hoop and pressed play, Stayin Alive was the first song up.

Taking care of your body is an important part of getting the most out of life. If we allow ourselves to get trapped in a lifestyle of only working the muscles we use daily, we risk getting hurt when new opportunities arise. Taking a small chunk of time even 3 days a week can help improve your odds of not getting hurt doing something new. 

Want to become the hero of your own story? Click here to learn more. 

A Horseback Wedding

 

A Horseback Wedding

We had decided to get married on the September long weekend. This way we could have a long weekend every year for our anniversary.



I wore a beautiful strapless white gown that was simple with elegant silver embroidery on the front. My head adorned with the veil my mother wore on her wedding day.



I was about to marry a man that wasn't particularly interested in horses and that I had never ridden with.



We had been together nearly two years by this point and I was certain that I was making the right choice despite his uncertainty of my equine obsession.



It was hot. A little too hot to be September but there we were on the sandy banks of the Eagle River dressed to the nines, in the neighbors horse pasture.



Our guests were all standing. Chairs weren’t something I thought about. My mind was more preoccupied with the idea of riding my horse in a wedding gown and that was as extravagant as I wanted to get. The wedding was so simple that we didn't even hire a photographer.



So our guests stood and watched as my dad rode Angel, a white quarter horse cross who was indeed an Angel, alongside my Norwegian Fjord cross and I.



My brother and my best friend had spent the morning decorating the horses manes. The beautiful double maned bay gelding had never seen so many tiny bows in his life but he wore them proudly as he carried me towards the isle.



We met Brent and the rest of the wedding party at the edge of the sand. My father helped me down off the back of my my beloved horse and led me down the isle.



The sand was hot on my bare feet but I didn’t care. I was just happy that no one made me wear shoes, despite the fact that I insisted on riding my horse.



Passing me off to Brent my father told him “She’s your problem now”.



My soon to be husband happily took me as we clasped hands. There was an overwhelming moment of quiet before the ceremony began and I could feel the birth of the rest of my life as it became real.



"Is there anyone here that has any objections?" said the Justice of the Peace. He wore a delicate white long sleeved cotton shirt and his wife had spent the morning carefully French braiding his long silver hair. The whole scene looked like something out of a fairytale.



NEIIIGHHHH!! Ranger whinnied.



"Your horse is objecting" he said to me. Unsure what my response might be.



I could feel my soon to be husband suspended in a moment of terror as he wondered how I would respond to Rangers objection.



"He'll live" I told the Justice of the Peace.



Relief and joy washed over my husband.



17 years later today, we're still madly in love, he still hasn't ridden with me but we find ways to stay involved in each others worlds even though our interests are so far apart.

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AN ANNUAL HONEYMOON, A CANOE AND SOME TAPE

 AN ANNUAL HONEYMOON, A CANOE AND SOME TAPE 

It was hot. A little too hot to be September but there we were on the sandy banks of the Eagle River dressed to the nines, in the neighbors horse pasture. 

Chairs for our guests weren’t something I thought about. My mind was more preoccupied with the idea of riding my horse in a wedding gown. So our guests stood and watched as my dad rode Angel, a white quarter horse cross who was indeed an Angel, alongside my Norwegian Fjord cross and I.

We met Brent and the rest of the wedding party at the edge of the sand. My father helped me down off the back of my horse and led me down the isle. The sand was hot on my bare feet but I didn’t care. I was just happy that no one made me wear shoes, despite the fact that I insisted on riding my horse. 

Passing me off to Brent my father told him “She’s your problem now”. 

We had decided to get married on the September long weekend. This way we could have a long weekend every year for our anniversary. That long weekend turned into our annual honeymoon. 

Every year we would pack and head out camping. We didn’t go very far at first and in the beginning it was always in search of hot springs. Over the years we started to expand our travel area and eventually even our travel vehicle. 

One year we set out to the East Kootneys and stopped to visit my parents and the property they were looking after.

My dad has always had a knack for salvaging. This particular visit he had a selection of canoes that needed news homes. 

It was dark and choosing a canoe by the light of the stars with the assistance of a small flashlight is no easy task. I chose the one he said was in better shape and we worked together to strap it onto the quad we had on a small trailer behind the motor home. 

That night we enjoyed the company of my parents then set out before the sunrise the next morning. 

We drove for about an hour further into the remote areas of the mountains, searching for the perfect place to be alone and see no one but each other. As soon as it was light enough we pulled over to get a look at the new canoe. 

“It’s full of holes!” Brent yelled from behind the RV before I could even get there. 

“What do you mean it’s full of holes?” I asked him. 

“It’s all cracked and it’s going to leak! There’s no way that this is going to float!” He said discouraged. 

I went back and took a look at the faded green canoe. It was cracked alright. It probably wouldn't float but I’m not much of a quitter. In my work as an equine sport therapist I had recently discovered Gorilla tape and had a lot of success using it to adjust the fit of saddles. It hadn’t let me down yet and I was willing to bet that it would patch the canoe too. 

We decided to take a detour into a town and purchased a roll of the super sticky wonder tape. 

Once we had found a camping spot and got settled in I started to patch the canoe, while Brent proceeded to joke about my sanity and bet me that it would never work. 

With nearly a whole roll used to cover all the cracks, holes and discolored spots we set out to find a lake that would be safe to set sail in a sinking canoe. It took two days but we found a tiny lake that wasn’t too deep or too wide. 

We unloaded the canoe, put on some life jackets and launched the Gorilla taped contraption into the tiny lake. 

The sky was a deep blue and the chill of autumn tinted the leftover warm air of summer. It was warm enough that we wouldn’t freeze when we sank, thank goodness. 

I gripped the homemade paddle that Brent made when we realized we had lost one along the way. It was rough and awkward but did its job to propel us along the surface of the small mountain lake. 

I wasn't concerned about the paddle. I was more concerned about how soon we were going to go under. I watched for leaks. Nothing. We paddled out a little further, as I freaked out not so quietly. 

“We’re fine,” Brent said from the seat behind me. “It’s not going to sink very fast if it hasn't already started to leak.” 

We paddled to the far side of the lake. I thought about whether or not I could swim that far, convinced that Brent was probably right and we should be starting to sink any time now. 

We were now on the far side of the lake, and halfway around. Still no leak. I finally loosened up and started to enjoy gliding over the wood that had sunk below the surface of the cool mountain water. There were little fish swimming in and out of the algae covered wood. 

I soaked up the sun on my face, took in a big breath of fresh mountain air then looked down. I couldn't help but laugh! The Transport Canada Approved and Certified sticker was still in great shape on our beat up old canoe patched with gorilla tape.

Little did I know that Brent would soon be leaving to go work in Kitimat and he would call me one day and ask if I wanted to visit Haida Gwaii for our annual honeymoon. 

Little did I know that Brent would soon be leaving to go work in Kitimat and he would call me one day and ask if I wanted to visit Haida Gwaii for our annual honeymoon

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