Breaking Point

  " I have to confess that I'm getting cranky, Cold Snap. The first day and half that you were here was like a challenge, or endurance test, like Surviver.  I was all, YES and fist pumping every ten minutes, like I was stoked to see you. I'm not going to lie to you though. After you've been here for an entire week, I really think you're rude. I'll go so far as to call you an A-hole. That's right, I said it! You my friend, are a total A-hole! And your little buddy, Single Digit? He's a F'ing liar. He was only supposed to be here at night and that sneaky little shit has been lounging around until noon this past week. I keep checking to see if he's gone, but Noooooo, he's still here just lurking around like some kind of creep. WTF? And what's up with his smirk? I'd like to slap it right off his face! I haven't gotten any work done this week, because  I can't be outside for more than five minutes at a time, or that dickhead Frostbite shows up and gets all up in my grill."

"Okay, so maybe I have been drinking, and I'm being a little harsh, but the jig is up, Cold Snap. I want you to pack up your shit, gather up your idiot group of friends and shove off back to the f'ing arctic circle, or Greenland, or wherever else you freaks hang out all year. Five days is ENOUGH of you."

"Hey, truth hurts sometimes, C.S. I don't think I'm being insensitive to your needs! What about MY needs, huh?  I'm going broke buying vodka, eating like a hog, and I've lost my sense of humor! I already told you that having you around for a couple of days is fine, but you're pushing it, pal. I seriously can't take much more of you. If I had to live where you are year round, I'd be a full on, raging, foaming at the mouth alcoholic. I'm this close to the edge, C.S.! This close!!!"


"C'mon, man...you know I don't hate you! Well, alright I do hate you a little, but I can let that hate go if you would just take off! You made your point here! The ground is frozen as hard as a rock, the driveway has been a skating rink for days, taking a deep breath is akin to swallowing a thousand tiny pieces of glass into your lungs, my business has ground to a halt, what more do you want?"


"That's it. I have nothing else to give. I'm done. It's you, or me C.S. Too bad if you don't like ultimatums, because I'm done. I'm going to mix up a little morning cocktail and when I'm finished with it I expect you and your friends to be packed and ready to go. I want my life back and in order for that to happen, you must go. And tell that liar Single Digit if he smirks at me one more time, I'm not responsible for my actions. I will cut him."

A Little Arctic Sarcasm

  "Hello Cold Snap! Welcome to Millbrook! We've been waiting for you for some time, so glad you could finally join us and spend some quality time hanging around the area!!"

"What's that you say?"

"OHHH! You invited your pal Gusty Wind to join you!! How fabulous! Love, love, love Gusty Wind! Now I get it when the weather channel says it's 15 degrees out, but feels like -6!! Gusty Wind totally takes my breath away. For realz!!"

"Why don't you just make yourself comfortable and stay for the week? I'm totally cool with wearing ten layers of clothing every time I walk out the door. It's awesome! Our horses just love you, Cold Snap! Your being here along with Gusty Wind makes walking them from the barn to the indoor ring like a total adventure! I'm all, wheeeeee as I hang onto the reins and watch them scrambling on the icy driveway! Ha ha ha! LOL"

"I'm so stoked that Single Digit is going to swing by the area at night, too. That's awesome, cuz he'll make sure that it never warms up too much during the day. Sweet!! Let's high five on that!"

"No, I totally don't mind not really being able to do anything for an entire week. I love it when my business has to come to a complete halt! You just settle in and don't worry about it! Honestly, you're so selfless. It's January, and this is your time to shine! I see that Bright Sunshine is up there in the sky, but she's not able to do much this time of year. She sure does cheer me up, though! See my ear to ear smile?! I'm so happy that I could really be called giddy! Of course I haven't been drinking! Yet!! Ha ha, just kidding!!"

"Okay, if you guys need anything I'll be inside for the next five to six days! Cheers!!"

The Storm Zombies

       Here we are at the end of October already. Where did the summer go? How did September fly by so quickly? All pointless questions at this stage of the game. It's over. There will be no nice weather until possibly April, if we're lucky, but more likely it'll be May.  The sky is set in perma-grey mode, about as cheerless a color as one can find in nature. Sure the leaves are all beautiful shades of orange, yellow and rust, but their days are numbered, especially with the advent of the Frankenstorm looming on the horizon.  If you haven't heard about this storm you are either stupid, have no access to media of any kind, or you don't speak english. I've never seen so many giddy meteorologists struggle to hide their mirth as they describe what the east coast is about to endure next week.  Of course, they don't want to sound like they're happy about this storm since it has potential to destroy, destruct, maim and kill, but the magnitude of the weather system has them all freaking out, like toddlers jacked up on gummy bears and Red Bull.

  I'm not really sure how hard we'll get hit in Millbrook. By the looks of things thus far, we'll get a lot of rain and high winds. Power will most likely go out and trees will fall across roads. Jonathan made a prudent point this morning that we'd better stock up the vodka in case power goes out for more than a couple of days. He's super thoughtful like that. We just came back from the grocery store, and the place was a total mob scene. Actually, all the stores in Millbrook are teeming with people that we have nicknamed, "The Storm Zombies".

"Must buy milk, bread and water!''

"Flashlights, batteries and candles!"

"Propane, kerosene, gasoline!"

   The Storm Zombies clog the aisles, shuffling along on their big, slow feet, arms outstretched as they grab at items to fling in their shopping carts. Buzzing conversations can be heard all around the stores. "Are you ready for this?"  "It's going to be a devastating storm, are you prepared?" "They say it might last for days!!!"  "I hope it won't be as bad as is predicted!"

  With the timing of the storm landing directly on Halloween, the children are all teary eyed and whiny that Trick or Treat night will be cancelled for the second year in a row. Last year's massive blizzard obliterated Trick or Treat in many areas, and the kids are bitter and shaken that it might happen again. Some parents have ganged up on town officials and lobbied for Trick or Treat night to be moved to Sunday, pre-empting Armageddon.  Good thinking, there. The end of the world might be just around the corner, so let's give the kiddies a parting memory of childhood glee so when the house blows down around them they can shove a final tootsie roll in their mouths and say, "Well, at least we had one last Trick or Treat night!"  Good heavens.

  It's hard to not get caught up in the hype of a major weather event, but it is a curious phenomenon to witness. People are taking this one very seriously, much more so than an ordinary snow storm, or hurricane prediction. This storm appears to be a triple threat, a dangerous hybrid cocktail of every type of horrible storm ingredient all mixed into one. A young man even gave us a flyer on "Storm Preparation" as we left the grocery store. It didn't tell us anything that we didn't already know, but I read it just in case there was one key pearl of wisdom that might keep us from floating into the Hudson when the Frankenstorm hits.  I really hope everyone stays safe, especially my friends and family who live on the coastlines.  So, lets all brace ourselves for a wild ride and pray that it doesn't cause too much damage, or take any lives, but according the the weather men we don't have a snowman's chance in Hell for getting around this one.

Good luck peeps and may the force be with you.

Summer Entertainment

   This summer has been nothing short of Cambodia hot in the northeast. Steamy, sticky, sweaty days, followed by oppressive nights, full of buzzing, biting insects and the constant whir of the ceiling fan, clicking in an endless circle as it attempts to disperse a feeble breeze over our sweaty foreheads.  We've always shunned air conditioning in our house, but I'm beginning to regret my holier than thou attitude towards artificially cooled air.
"No, we don't have an a/c" I've stated with inane pride, to the mortification of my more progressively minded (read: much smarter) friends. "It never really gets that hot in our house."
Well, I'm rueing those words now.  There have been some brief reprieves of the steady dose of hot temperatures. Usually, predicated by a biblical thunderstorm that shakes the foundation of the house, lightening bolts criss cross the sky and rain blows sideways, threatening to unmoor my well tended pots of flowers from the front porch. We even had a bout of hail stones this past week. I've become a slave to the radar map on my iPhone.
"Look at all the yellow and red spots coming toward us!" I shout to Jonathan, my voice cracking with excitement as if I'm the Goddess of Thunder storms and have created them with my own callused hands.  Jonathan has since banned me from giving reports at any less than a half hour interval. I still check the radar like a woman possessed, but I keep the info to myself and content my nerves by jumping up every five minutes to check the skies for dark clouds approaching.

   Due to our day job, which involves riding/training horses, it's just not possible to work them later than noon on these wretched humid days. The horses get ridden early in the morning and spend their afternoons in their stalls munching hay, with their box fans blowing on them. Thus, Jonathan and I have embarked on a new trend, where we head to the movie theatre for a matinee and spend a couple of mindless hours in chilly air, eating popcorn and sipping soda. Last Tues. was absolutely miserable so we cleaned up after a ridiculously sweaty morning and drove to Millerton Moviehouse to watch "To Rome with Love", Woody Allen's latest flick.  Since Millerton isn't exactly the hub of the universe the matinees are sparsely attended, and we settled into our seats in the nearly empty theatre. One couple in their sixties sat in front of us, grey haired and somber, no pre-show conversation needed at this stage of their relationship. The movie began and we all settled in for the preamble of character's that only Woody can produce. It required some attention to sort out each set of actors and how they would knit together to form the story.  Woody's movies are quirky and delightful, but if you don't pay attention you can easily miss a key line, or well placed innuendo. I was startled to hear the door open about a third of the way thru the movie. Who could be coming in this late in the game? They've missed so much already! How will they possibly catch up with the story? A doddering couple of octogenarian's came into view, hobbled down the aisle and plopped themselves into the second row directly in front of the screen. Oh boy. Now I was worried that they wouldn't be able to enjoy the movie. The characters were all established and the meat of the story was getting underway. Would they enjoy themselves? Would they get it?? Should I scoot down and give them a Cliff Note's version of what had happened till they came in?  I hid my anxiety by stuffing mouthfuls of popcorn into my mouth, but I kept half an eye on the elderly latecomers.  The movie is set in Rome and some of the characters were Italian, so subtitles were a part of the show. As soon as the words appeared on the screen, the female octogenarian began to read them aloud to her partner...in a very audible voice. The man leaned in to catch every word. I initially bristled, thinking that it was going to be totally annoying to listen to this woman's raspy voice reading along. We all know that it's bad form to talk out loud during a movie. This couple proved to be almost as entertaining as the movie itself. As soon as the woman would read a line, the man would erupt in laughter, then she would laugh. It was like a Woody Allen movie IN a Woody Allen movie! They tittered and carried on like teenagers, especially at the more racy scenes. It was hilarious!! When one of the female character's described her first lesbian encounter and how thunderous her orgasms were with a woman I was tense, wondering how it would be received by this older couple. Would they be prudish? Would they recoil? Ha! They laughed louder than the rest of us! My only wish was that Woody Allen himself could've been present to see how much fun these folks had watching his movie. I truly think he would've gotten as big a kick out of it as Jonathan and I did that afternoon. What a fabulous escape that movie proved to be and it taught me a lesson which was no matter how old we are, no matter how much we can't see, or hear, you never have to lose your sense of humor, or sense of self and just because you're old doesn't mean you don't love a good orgasm joke!  As Jonathan and I left the theatre and walked out into the burning summer heat, I smiled and hoped that one day we could be that couple, too.  And maybe we'll have a/c in our house by that stage of our lives.

Summer Days on the Farm

     It's July 2nd and I want to put a stop/pause button on summer already.  We've been working on lots of projects here on the farm. One of my top projects has been monitoring the nest of barn swallows that sits atop what I believe is some sort of alarm box inside the entrance of the barn.  As the five babies grew it came to resemble a Keystone cop nest, with puffy chests and tail feathers brimming over the sides. I've taken such an interest in their progress that you'd think I'd hatched the little buggers myself. While doing chores I often take a moment to talk to the babies. At first they would shrink back at the sound of my voice (I don't think it was my breath), but eventually they got used to the crazy lady talking to them and just looked at me with solemn expressions.  Lately the babies have been flapping their tiny wings in preparation for the first flight. Yesterday marked the official fledgling launch day.  When I came down to feed there was one lone baby left in the nest.

 "What are you waiting for?" I asked the wee one. "Fly, already!"

 One of the parents swooped in and the lone baby opened its beak. He/She was rewarded with some fresh bugs and no competition from hungry siblings. Aha, smart kid! There is something to be said for being the last child.  As the afternoon wore on, one by one the babies returned to the nest, stuffing themselves into position. I congratulated them on their flying skills and they looked at me, with blank, solemn expressions. Baby birds aren't frivolous and goofy like other baby animals.  The barn swallow kids are a sober group. They don't cavort, or play with each other. They eat, they flap their wings, then one day...they take off. Still, despite their grave demeanors and lack of humor, I've really enjoyed this group, especially since none of them were nudged, or fell from the nest. Since they were so stuffed in ( the parents really scrimped on the size of this thing, talk about poor planning), I was sure one of them would crash to the concrete floor.  Chalk it up to good balance, or teamwork, these babies held fast and now they've graduated. This morning the nest was empty. I'm not sure if they'll be back this afternoon, but if not I'm a little sad the my baby bird reality show is over.  There is another nest at the opposing end of the barn, but the parental birds are total assholes. Unlike the first set of parents, who seemed to appreciate my attention to their kids, this set dive bombs anyone who comes near and if you try to look at the kids they buzz your face and give you a sense of what Tippi Hendren went through during the filming of "The Birds".  On Saturday afternoon while I was feeding the horses, my worst fears were realized.  I could hear intense yelling from the mother swallow, so I peered around the corner of the barn, full of trepidation.  There was a small form on the ground directly under the nest and it was moving a little.  Without taking any time to think, I upended a muck tub, scooped up the baby and in two seconds he was back in the nest.  Yay me!!! I saved a baby bird!!  I was rewarded by having the parent bird swoop past my nose, shrieking and flapping her wings like a deranged bat.  Staggering off the muck tub, I shook my fist at her and yelled, " You dumb bitch, I just saved your baby! You're not even a good mother, letting it fall out of the nest in the first place! I should report you! The other parents didn't let any of their kids have this kind of an accident! "

She responded by aggressively dive bombing me as I retreated down the barn aisle. Clearly, she has anger management issues and I pity those poor children.  If I don't get my eyes pecked out by this set of parents before this group makes their first flight it will be a miracle.

 What else have we been up to?

A.) Finishing projects. Jonathan had started 10 projects at once, leaving all of them unfinished and we were feeling defeated. So, we took the bull by the horns, spent a crapload of money at the hardware store and now we're checking them off the list, one by one. Very satisfying and the place is looking nicer by the day. We are sunburnt, covered in paint blotches and have blisters on our hands. It's a small sacrifice.

B.) Mowing and weed whacking. It rains, the grass grows, we mow, it looks nice for three-four days, then...it rains, the grass grows, we mow...  You get the cycle.

C.) Riding, teaching and horse showing. Our season is in full swing and our students are all keeping us busy. I find show prize lists in my tack trunk, subtle hints of which shows they'd like to attend.  My young horse has been coming along so well. He's only four, so he's not on the fast track, but each day we make more progress and that is far more fun than any competition for me. Yesterday, we went on our first proper trail ride, with a solid trail partner to accompany us. No sooner did we get into the big open field when twin spotted fauns leapt across our path. Whee!!!  The mother deer did what mother deer do. She frickin' froze like a dipshit and didn't follow her kids. I've made the mistake of thinking that the deer have brains before, so I knew if we tried to proceed she would wait until we were directly in line with her and then run like a maniac right in front of us.  A quick about face and we made a nice loop, sans deer. Dan seemed to enjoy our walkabout, despite the fact that walking downhill required more balancing skills than he originally anticipated. After a few wobbly, sideways steps, he upped his game and figured it out.

D.) Enjoying every day for what it brings! I know thats super cheesy, but it's true. Having a great ride, saying hi to the small bunny who nibbles grass in the lane between the paddocks each day, painting jump poles in the broiling hot sun (sweating off calories is the bonus to that job), admiring Jonathan's carpenter handiwork, watching our pets lounge on our front porch amidst large pots of colorful flowers,  all good things.  And at the end of the day, a cold martini and a sense that we're doing exactly what we want to each day and we like it, fills my soul with a mid-life kind of mellow happiness.  Maybe the booze has something to do with the mellowness, but whatever, I'll take it.

The Pigeon Chronicles Part Two

        Jonathan walked into the house with the sleek, black Remington air rifle casually resting on his right shoulder.  My first question was presented in a panicky, shaky voice, "Is it loaded?"
"Of course, not", my husband aka Clint replied. He proceeded to show me the pellets, how to cock the barrel and how to load it. We put the rifle in a corner for a while as we went about our evening routine, which is sip cocktails, prepare dinner and if you're me, chat on the phone. At some point Jonathan asked me if I wanted to fire the gun, just to see what its like, he added. Being the fools that we are, on the very first day of being gun owners we broke the first rule of gun use: Do not drink and use firearms.  But don't worry, the only thing we shot was a plastic bottle that we set in a tree for target practice. I guess I shouldn't say we shot it, because my shots never even came close to the damn thing. I tried to blame my lack of ability to connect with the target on my bad eyesight, or the fact that I'm left handed, but the real truth is that I just suck at shooting stuff. It's okay, I'm fine with that role. That being said Jonathan became the designated pigeon assassin for JEM Stables. Game on!

   The next morning dawned brightly, with joyous, June sunshine and alabaster clouds pasted against a sky so blue it looked artificial. After feeding the horses I headed down to the indoor ring to move the jumps, because we were borrowing our landlords tractor so we could drag the ring. The pigeons were perched on the roof, cocking their heads back and forth as I walked down the hill.

"Prepare to die, mofo's!" I said in a cheerful tone. "There's a new sheriff in town and your days are numbered!"

  I whistled as I heaved the rails into the middle of the ring, pausing only when I heard the tractor approaching. There was Jonathan, driving the glossy, orange Kubota, with the rifle at rest on his shoulder. Wow. I never thought I'd see Jonathan driving a tractor, with a rifle in his hands. The whole picture provided amusing appeal, but there wasn't time to take his photo. His steely gaze showed me that he meant business this morning.  There was killing to do and he was the man who had to do it.  Once the jumps were piled high in the middle of the ring, I excused myself to go find other chores to do. I admit that I wanted the pigeon problem to end, but I didn't need to witness the end with my own eyes.

  Jonathan returned from the ring roughly 45 min. later and here is his brief account of what ensued after I left:

  "I shot one dead from the rafters. And I nicked the other one, but it flew off and won't let me get a good shot at it again."

 "You GOT one!!" I gushed. Holy crap, he GOT one!! I was so proud of Jonathan's new found skill, but then at the same time I was sad for the remaining bird. It was now a widow, or a widower. I saw it fly off, soaring high over the trees, heading away from the farm, presumably to prepare some sort of memorial service for its mate. Our hope was the it would stay away from the scene of the crime, but two days later we had another sighting of the pigeon on the roof. That afternoon two of our boarders told us the bird was in the ring and up to its old tricks of fluttering around, flying from perch to perch and generally behaving like an asshole.

   {Here's where I'd cue the Good, the Bad and the Ugly whistle sequence}

   With the rifle at his side, Jonathan walked down the dirt driveway toward the ring, his footsteps causing small clouds of dust to trail his lone figure in the early, dusky light.  Again, I stayed up at the house, anxiously awaiting his return, full of hope that this miserable saga of carnage would be over this night.

    When he arrived back in the kitchen, his face was grim. He nodded slowly and I knew he'd done the dirty deed.  Apparently, the bird had flown towards him and hit him in the head after he shot it. Vindictive s.o.b.  It was like the Jason of pigeons, minus a tiny hockey mask. Relief flooded through me that the pigeon punks were gone. We had our ring back from those feathered menaces. Our kingdom was once again safe for all horses and riders.  And my man looks totally badass with a rifle.

The Pigeon Chronicles Part One

     Last week two very stubborn pigeons embarked on a quest to set up their home in our indoor arena. Whenever they were locked out of the ring, they would perch on the roof, waiting patiently for someone to open the doors so they could fly back in and roost.  If they had just sat quietly in the eaves, we might have been inclined to ignore them, but these two didn't want to share the space with horses and riders. They flew through the air, dive bombed the horses, and moaned excessively while up in the rafters. It was obnoxious,unacceptable behavior and despite our persistent efforts to shoo them out with longe whips the two birds kept coming back. We resorted to consulting several parties on the best method to remove them from the property.
  The first and easiest option was to buy a plastic bird of prey to "scare" the pigeons. Our local Tractor Supply had a rather handsome hawk, who struck my fancy, so $10 later I was a plastic hawk owner. Remy, our blue merle Aussie, really freaked when he saw the hawk.

"Look," I said to Jonathan. "Remy wants to get it!"

   I took that as an encouraging sign that this was a realistic replica and we might have a chance at scaring the pigeons off with his presence.  I perched him strategically on top of a jump standard in the middle of the doorway and walked back to the barn to watch the show. The show consisted of the two f'ing pigeons flying off the roof and zooming in directly over the hawk's enemy position. WTF?  I went down and moved the hawk to another threatening perch, but it was futile. The pigeons and the hawk were becoming friends, so we had to face plan b, which was; buy an air rifle.

  We'd seen some rifles at Tractor Supply so off we went again. Having zero experience with bb guns, pellet guns, real guns, etc. we really didn't know what we needed strength wise to knock off these birds. I picked up a Red Ryder model and some pellets and headed off to find a knowledgable employee who might be able to help. After a lengthy search, I found a female employee, with a full on mustache (she obviously shaved it, but had a five o'clock shadow and it was revolting and fascinating all at once) and when I told her of our pigeon plight she looked pensive for a moment, then regaled me with a totally nonsensical pigeon story of her own. I had a gentle smile affixed to my face while I pretended to listen to her, contemplating if she and her husband shared shaving products when suddenly a voice piped up from the neighboring aisle. Glancing over, I saw a slight, grubby man with a thick, bristly stubble over most of his face, wearing a dirty"Coors Light" baseball hat and he was missing his top front teeth and eye teeth, leaving him with a grungy jack o'lantern-esque expression.

"I kin tell you right now, that ain't a powerful enough gun to kill them pigeons, " he stated with the wise knowledge of a professional redneck.

 I shifted away from the useless mustachioed lady and walked over to 'ol Gappy, who seemed all too willing to weigh his opinion in our problem.

 "What size gun to you think we need?"

  He rattled off a bunch of numbers, psi, blah, blah, blah. I was more focused on his missing teeth and how it affected his speech than I was on the information, but the one thing I got from him was that the gun we needed wasn't available at Tractor Supply.

"You're gonna hafta go to Wal-Mart and they'll git you fixed up there," ol' Gappy said.

 I thanked him profusely and as I was walking away thought to myself, well, buying a gun at Wal-Mart certainly hasn't been an item on my bucket list.  Jonathan digested the information I'd gotten from my new friend and consulted his iPhone for information. He found the gun we needed was available at Dick's Sporting Goods, so after dropping me off at home he headed to Poughkeepsie, with one thing on his mind: the pigeons must die.