Monday, August 22, 2011
Horse Show Practice
Starting in early summer a text goes out to at least a dozen people on the High Plains. Horse show practice will start. Those that get the text realize that to answer the call is a unique opportunity for the coaching of our sons and daughters. A very selfless vet student, who has done the show circuit, helps out any who answer the call. All she asks is that you come to practice and have a good attitude. This is the third year we have answered the call. There are times I don't want to: I am tired, I can't borrow a trailer, I just went, it's too hot...But, most times we respond with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The only time we didn't have fun was when Shiloh refused to get in the trailer to go home and I had to ride him home (six plus miles, over active railroad tracks and across a four lane highway), but even then, we had fun until that happened. This year we have a supportive and fun group that worked on trail class one evening. The moms have figured it out and this night we had a potluck with pulled pork, chips and cupcakes that even the horses got into. Many thanks to all!
And how was your day?
Thursday, August 11, 2011
My first Hay Derby
Hay. Yes, hay. Who would have thought that hay could inspire people to send their day waiting, lifting, driving, unloading and sweating.
We have been low on hay. All summer, as a matter of fact. Hay has been in very short demand due to the exceptional drought. The news always says, the drought in Texas, well, New Mexico is surely just as dry. Sure, there are irrigaters to water the fields, but hay has to be the right humidity to bale. One day I drove 20 miles to find hay. Even the feed stores were out, because like us, they get their hay from the farmers!
My dad was getting nervous about hay. His fields have been fallow all year. He has a friend who farms his acreage and since it is a dry land crop, it never rained enough for him to even plow! Last year he had a gorgeous crop of winter wheat and summer hay grazer. This year = zero.
We tried to buy hay from a local farmer about two weeks ago. Nothing, every stick was purchased by the dairies (yeah, thanks for that and four dollar milk!). We were going to try again. We were supposed to pick it up on Wednesday....it rained Tuesday night. You'd think I would be grateful for that, but if you have hay that isn't baled, it can't dry out in the rain! ARG! So, we were told Thursday morning. Fine. I made a call and my Dad hired my friend's high school son and his buddy. Extra muscle. Let's face it, Dad walks with a cane and I am a 39 year old woman who's had four kids. Not exactly very good DIY material.
So I decide to place another call and a friend loaned me a stock trailer. YAY! He owns and runs Knight Construction (free plug) and is a heck of a guy. And I am not just saying that because he loaned me a trailer!
I swing back to Dad's in his truck with the trailer and I am feeling really good about this. Wyatt and Nate (footballers! WOOT, Go RAMS) hop in and Dad announces that he is driving. Okay, his truck, his rules, but I drive the truck with this trailer, almost weekly in the summer, and am used to it. HE'S DRIVING! Okay, I get in shot gun, because Wyatt and Nate are gentlemen.
We pull up to the farm house and I call Hal. He says, go a half mile east and a quarter mile north and you'll see us. They haven't started to bale yet. I ask if we should call back after lunch. He chuckles and says, that would be too late. I totally did not understand what he meant by that.
So we went east and then north and then holy dust balls, batman. There were about ten trucks and trailers lined up at the edge of a cut circle (irrigated fields here are in circle form) waiting on the baler. At first the baler wasn't baling. Older gentlemen and one seriously tall farmer (Hal has to be almost seven foot) were inspecting the hay.
I spotted someone I knew (don't ask a name, I can never remember) and I wandered over. Which bugged Dad, because he wanted me to wait in the car, but Hello! I can network and get information!
I walked over and asked why everyone was here for my hay. I got a laugh and a chuckle and was told I was still ornery, which I promptly said was my Dad's fault. I was informed that we were all waiting on hay, and that it wasn't quite ready to bale yet.
Three more trucks with trailers pulled in behind us.
I told Dad and he was astounded. We had never been part of a hay derby before! We had always just pulled into Hal's barn, loaded and left. Every now and then, Hal would have us drive to the field and pick some up, but never had we waited in line to pluck it from the field!
Two more trucks pulled up, one with a huge flatbed trailer and about four people.
We waited. The baler moved through the circle, the bale slid out the back. It was inspected. It was found worthy. Two balers started up.
The first truck in the Que pulled into the circle as the baler started going along the raked row. The second truck in line waited. Another baler pulled around us and set to work. There were now about 18 trucks with trailers in the lineup!
Our turn came. I bungeed the trailer door open and the two young men walked and heaved the bales into the trailer. I stacked hay inside, then called to Wyatt that I was pooped. So I walked the ring with Nate, grabbing bales that had been deposited by the baler and thumping them into the trailer.
Twelve bales, Dad has to slow the truck a bit. Twenty bales and I am red faced and can now only walk along the truck and motion when Dad should slow down so Nate could load easier.
Forty bales. We have to stop on occasion so Nate can help Wyatt wedge the bales tightly into the trailer.
Fifty bales and the trailer is racked, stacked and packed. We take a breather and shut the trailer gate. We open the tail gate of the truck. There are three tractors towing balers. There must be a half dozen trucks slowly going along the circle, men and women tossing bale after bale onto the trailers.
We begin to load the truck up, Nate throwing them, Wyatt stacking them and me explaining how to "weave" the bales so they hold each other onto the truck.
Sixty-Eight bales. We climbed into the cab and started trying to rehydrate. I guided Dad over a gully in the field left by the irrigater wheels that had to have been two feet deep. We pulled to the side of the field and there were still trucks, waiting patiently. We handed our checks to a woman who was family to Hal and a retired teacher that knew Wyatt and Nate.
We slowly made our way home, unloaded and the old people collapsed, while I am sure Wyatt and Nate went to hang out with other teens before football practice at seven.
Never doubt the strength and stamina of a farmer. There were men there well into their sixties, slinging bales with ease. There were teens there, like Wyatt and Nate, that hauled, lifted and stacked, working a man's job, no complaining.
This area of the world is frugal in its rain, generous in its storms and wrath and creates a strength in people that is uncommon in this world. We joked about line jumping, it never happened. Gloves were exchanged to those who had none. Opinions and suggestions, support and laughter were currency used in abundance.
We all came for hay, we all received memories and God's blessing of community at the same time.
And how was your day?
We have been low on hay. All summer, as a matter of fact. Hay has been in very short demand due to the exceptional drought. The news always says, the drought in Texas, well, New Mexico is surely just as dry. Sure, there are irrigaters to water the fields, but hay has to be the right humidity to bale. One day I drove 20 miles to find hay. Even the feed stores were out, because like us, they get their hay from the farmers!
My dad was getting nervous about hay. His fields have been fallow all year. He has a friend who farms his acreage and since it is a dry land crop, it never rained enough for him to even plow! Last year he had a gorgeous crop of winter wheat and summer hay grazer. This year = zero.
We tried to buy hay from a local farmer about two weeks ago. Nothing, every stick was purchased by the dairies (yeah, thanks for that and four dollar milk!). We were going to try again. We were supposed to pick it up on Wednesday....it rained Tuesday night. You'd think I would be grateful for that, but if you have hay that isn't baled, it can't dry out in the rain! ARG! So, we were told Thursday morning. Fine. I made a call and my Dad hired my friend's high school son and his buddy. Extra muscle. Let's face it, Dad walks with a cane and I am a 39 year old woman who's had four kids. Not exactly very good DIY material.
So I decide to place another call and a friend loaned me a stock trailer. YAY! He owns and runs Knight Construction (free plug) and is a heck of a guy. And I am not just saying that because he loaned me a trailer!
I swing back to Dad's in his truck with the trailer and I am feeling really good about this. Wyatt and Nate (footballers! WOOT, Go RAMS) hop in and Dad announces that he is driving. Okay, his truck, his rules, but I drive the truck with this trailer, almost weekly in the summer, and am used to it. HE'S DRIVING! Okay, I get in shot gun, because Wyatt and Nate are gentlemen.
We pull up to the farm house and I call Hal. He says, go a half mile east and a quarter mile north and you'll see us. They haven't started to bale yet. I ask if we should call back after lunch. He chuckles and says, that would be too late. I totally did not understand what he meant by that.
So we went east and then north and then holy dust balls, batman. There were about ten trucks and trailers lined up at the edge of a cut circle (irrigated fields here are in circle form) waiting on the baler. At first the baler wasn't baling. Older gentlemen and one seriously tall farmer (Hal has to be almost seven foot) were inspecting the hay.
I spotted someone I knew (don't ask a name, I can never remember) and I wandered over. Which bugged Dad, because he wanted me to wait in the car, but Hello! I can network and get information!
I walked over and asked why everyone was here for my hay. I got a laugh and a chuckle and was told I was still ornery, which I promptly said was my Dad's fault. I was informed that we were all waiting on hay, and that it wasn't quite ready to bale yet.
Three more trucks with trailers pulled in behind us.
I told Dad and he was astounded. We had never been part of a hay derby before! We had always just pulled into Hal's barn, loaded and left. Every now and then, Hal would have us drive to the field and pick some up, but never had we waited in line to pluck it from the field!
Two more trucks pulled up, one with a huge flatbed trailer and about four people.
We waited. The baler moved through the circle, the bale slid out the back. It was inspected. It was found worthy. Two balers started up.
The first truck in the Que pulled into the circle as the baler started going along the raked row. The second truck in line waited. Another baler pulled around us and set to work. There were now about 18 trucks with trailers in the lineup!
Our turn came. I bungeed the trailer door open and the two young men walked and heaved the bales into the trailer. I stacked hay inside, then called to Wyatt that I was pooped. So I walked the ring with Nate, grabbing bales that had been deposited by the baler and thumping them into the trailer.
Twelve bales, Dad has to slow the truck a bit. Twenty bales and I am red faced and can now only walk along the truck and motion when Dad should slow down so Nate could load easier.
Forty bales. We have to stop on occasion so Nate can help Wyatt wedge the bales tightly into the trailer.
Fifty bales and the trailer is racked, stacked and packed. We take a breather and shut the trailer gate. We open the tail gate of the truck. There are three tractors towing balers. There must be a half dozen trucks slowly going along the circle, men and women tossing bale after bale onto the trailers.
We begin to load the truck up, Nate throwing them, Wyatt stacking them and me explaining how to "weave" the bales so they hold each other onto the truck.
Sixty-Eight bales. We climbed into the cab and started trying to rehydrate. I guided Dad over a gully in the field left by the irrigater wheels that had to have been two feet deep. We pulled to the side of the field and there were still trucks, waiting patiently. We handed our checks to a woman who was family to Hal and a retired teacher that knew Wyatt and Nate.
We slowly made our way home, unloaded and the old people collapsed, while I am sure Wyatt and Nate went to hang out with other teens before football practice at seven.
Never doubt the strength and stamina of a farmer. There were men there well into their sixties, slinging bales with ease. There were teens there, like Wyatt and Nate, that hauled, lifted and stacked, working a man's job, no complaining.
This area of the world is frugal in its rain, generous in its storms and wrath and creates a strength in people that is uncommon in this world. We joked about line jumping, it never happened. Gloves were exchanged to those who had none. Opinions and suggestions, support and laughter were currency used in abundance.
We all came for hay, we all received memories and God's blessing of community at the same time.
Flying to the 'topes
We live in a relatively small town. We boast 18,000 people and I think that number is largely due to the families that are hear from Cannon Air Force Base. So, our population is, fluid, to say the least. Due to population and demographics, we lack certainly things that larger communities take for granted.
We lack a Denny's (okay, some might think that is a bonus, but I like them!), we lack a variation in eating establishments, and if we have a water main break (which we do with alarming consistency) then there is no place to eat out, because the whole town shares a water co-op!
We lack an airport, our nearest being a small commuter airport in Clovis, 20 miles away. We lack movie theaters (don't even get me started) and while we lack major shopping establishments, one has learned to find great joy in the more traditional, mom and pop owned store (may I suggest the Shabby Sheep Yarn Shoppe on 2nd.)
For all of that, I am not complaining. Sometimes it is irritating, having to drive further for something the rest of the world seems to have at their finger tips (hello, Ross and Target), but in the end, seeing someone ride their horse into town, or stopping to chat with someone know (because let's face it, you know almost everyone) the small town life is much to be enjoyed.
But.....we lack baseball.
There is Little League and co-ed softball, but not the stadium ballpark baseball that my husband loves. Not only does he love it, he understands it.
Why on earth would I say that? Because my dear husband was NOT born in America. He was born and raised in Ireland. You would think this would make him a huge fan of Man United or Newcastle, but no, he is a tied and dyed San Diego Padres fan. Wow, where did that come from? Working at a radio station that carried the Padres. He learned everything he could about it. He loves baseball.
Now, jump to this past spring. Our boys played in their first round of Little League. Steve could not have been a more involved Dad. He made almost every game (the ones he missed, I had to text play by play), he even coached first base, he was at practices and he worked with the boys at home.
Okay, I was delighted. The kids have played soccer, which I love. I have coached, assisted with and supported. Two kids show horses, I haul trailers, meet with the coach and push fluids in the heat of the summer. It was wonderful that Steve was so involved with baseball.
Then the talking started.
"I wish we could take the boys to a real game."
"Yup, but there aren't any nearby. I don't even think there are any major league teams in the state." Shows that I know very little.
"Well, there is Triple A in Albuquerque."
"Okay" Triple A? Double A, whatever, no meaning to me!
"What if I could get tickets?"
"And Albuquerque is only across the state, three and a half hours away." (insert sarcasm).
"What if I could get flight vouchers for the commuter plane?"
"You want to put our kids on a small plane? I get to sit next to James and Caitlyn!"
In the end, I sat next to Conner, who was nervous, but far better than William. William is not big on new things. Or things not on the schedule. Only the promise of a ball game got him on that plane.
He closed his eyes, gripped Steve's hand and proceeded to hate the entire flight. With his eyes closed.
Caitlyn and James kept putting their hands in the air, like on a roller coaster. And William had his eyes closed. They would point out structures on the ground and at first, Conner wouldn't look, but then his curiosity took over and he was soon exclaiming over the sight.
William still had his eyes closed.
We landed with mild turbulence, which is common in Albuquerque. William had his eyes closed. Caitlyn was giddy with excitement, claiming how much she loved landing. William opened his eyes and said that he liked landing, but for different reasons!
We hopped a shuttle to our hotel and cooled off with a plate of nachos before the game (it's all about the food). The kids swam a little and then it was off to the ball game.
We took the shuttle, complete with a fabulous driver, to the stadium. As far as Triple A action goes, the Albuquerque Isotopes have an incredible stadium. The boys were in awe. Even Caitlyn was impressed when we discovered we had clubhouse seats. We were almost directly behind home plate.
It was a fun game with the Isotopes loosing to the Tacoma Rainier's. The Isotopes really played poorly, except for their catcher. On the other hand, we witnessed; a double play, foul balls into the stands, several home runs, a stolen base, a broken bat and a fight between an umpire and a manager.
The only bad part was the next morning, our flight was canceled. The altimeter was busted, and gee, you mean you need to know what your altitude is? The air line was very apologetic, but we decided the best course of action would be to rent a car and take the long drive home. Which we did. And no one was happier about that than William.
And how was your day?
We lack a Denny's (okay, some might think that is a bonus, but I like them!), we lack a variation in eating establishments, and if we have a water main break (which we do with alarming consistency) then there is no place to eat out, because the whole town shares a water co-op!
We lack an airport, our nearest being a small commuter airport in Clovis, 20 miles away. We lack movie theaters (don't even get me started) and while we lack major shopping establishments, one has learned to find great joy in the more traditional, mom and pop owned store (may I suggest the Shabby Sheep Yarn Shoppe on 2nd.)
For all of that, I am not complaining. Sometimes it is irritating, having to drive further for something the rest of the world seems to have at their finger tips (hello, Ross and Target), but in the end, seeing someone ride their horse into town, or stopping to chat with someone know (because let's face it, you know almost everyone) the small town life is much to be enjoyed.
But.....we lack baseball.
There is Little League and co-ed softball, but not the stadium ballpark baseball that my husband loves. Not only does he love it, he understands it.
Why on earth would I say that? Because my dear husband was NOT born in America. He was born and raised in Ireland. You would think this would make him a huge fan of Man United or Newcastle, but no, he is a tied and dyed San Diego Padres fan. Wow, where did that come from? Working at a radio station that carried the Padres. He learned everything he could about it. He loves baseball.
Now, jump to this past spring. Our boys played in their first round of Little League. Steve could not have been a more involved Dad. He made almost every game (the ones he missed, I had to text play by play), he even coached first base, he was at practices and he worked with the boys at home.
Okay, I was delighted. The kids have played soccer, which I love. I have coached, assisted with and supported. Two kids show horses, I haul trailers, meet with the coach and push fluids in the heat of the summer. It was wonderful that Steve was so involved with baseball.
Then the talking started.
"I wish we could take the boys to a real game."
"Yup, but there aren't any nearby. I don't even think there are any major league teams in the state." Shows that I know very little.
"Well, there is Triple A in Albuquerque."
"Okay" Triple A? Double A, whatever, no meaning to me!
"What if I could get tickets?"
"And Albuquerque is only across the state, three and a half hours away." (insert sarcasm).
"What if I could get flight vouchers for the commuter plane?"
"You want to put our kids on a small plane? I get to sit next to James and Caitlyn!"
In the end, I sat next to Conner, who was nervous, but far better than William. William is not big on new things. Or things not on the schedule. Only the promise of a ball game got him on that plane.
He closed his eyes, gripped Steve's hand and proceeded to hate the entire flight. With his eyes closed.
Caitlyn and James kept putting their hands in the air, like on a roller coaster. And William had his eyes closed. They would point out structures on the ground and at first, Conner wouldn't look, but then his curiosity took over and he was soon exclaiming over the sight.
William still had his eyes closed.
We landed with mild turbulence, which is common in Albuquerque. William had his eyes closed. Caitlyn was giddy with excitement, claiming how much she loved landing. William opened his eyes and said that he liked landing, but for different reasons!
We hopped a shuttle to our hotel and cooled off with a plate of nachos before the game (it's all about the food). The kids swam a little and then it was off to the ball game.
We took the shuttle, complete with a fabulous driver, to the stadium. As far as Triple A action goes, the Albuquerque Isotopes have an incredible stadium. The boys were in awe. Even Caitlyn was impressed when we discovered we had clubhouse seats. We were almost directly behind home plate.
It was a fun game with the Isotopes loosing to the Tacoma Rainier's. The Isotopes really played poorly, except for their catcher. On the other hand, we witnessed; a double play, foul balls into the stands, several home runs, a stolen base, a broken bat and a fight between an umpire and a manager.
The only bad part was the next morning, our flight was canceled. The altimeter was busted, and gee, you mean you need to know what your altitude is? The air line was very apologetic, but we decided the best course of action would be to rent a car and take the long drive home. Which we did. And no one was happier about that than William.
And how was your day?
A Magical Birthday
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