This Little Life of Mine

February 21, 2008

Well, I’m trying to turn the page. But it often feels like a 16-foot log rather than a wafer-thin sheet of pressed fiber. You know the feeling. But I’m a lucky man, you know. Lucky enough, that is, to continue to bump into people who simply inspire me with all things that people should be inspired by in this crazy life.

I remain in awe, for example, of all the very moving and heartfelt comments I’ve received from folks in the last couple of weeks. I’ve been at general stores, schools, farms, co-ops and sidewalks and every other place it seems and been stopped and offered fine words of support and/or personal remembrances of the old horse that died, Big John. And to all I continue to say: Thanks, I needed that.

Thanks to the always-reliable Boots we got back to work last week with Big Jim. We still had the orders for firewood to fill and, with the price of oil, people can get pretty anxious over their wood supplies this winter. Jim did great, even pulling the old team sled back to the barn from deep in the woods where he and Big John had left it. And we got the wood pulled, cut, split, loaded and delivered. Nice work if you can get it.

I’ve also visited a couple of horse farms in a rather cursory attempt to find a new teammate for Jim. I keep telling myself not to rush into it but it’s hard – and slow — going in this deep snow with just one horse. Moreover, I got four calls for sleigh rides last week (my big sleigh requires a team). We shall see.

Visiting other horse farms is one of my favorite things to do. You get to witness the enthusiasm, the passion and the near-maniacal-like dream of doing things the old, slow and sustainable way. It seems like no matter whom you visit, they’re eager to show off their horses, their homemade equipment, their barns and the way they do things. And, more often than not, you’re greeted by a bevy of their family members who are seemingly in a competition to see who is more excited by the visit. I know the routine because I’m guilty of it whenever anyone shows up at our place to see our little horse world.

Too often – as you know – I get caught up in the ninny political side of Vermont. I get worked up over the charlatans who “represent” us and the excruciating lack of progress or even meaningful activism on the issues that remain near and dear to my heart. But what I don’t often show is my intense love for the people and the land of this state. Vermont’s been my home for nearly twenty years, half of that in the uniquely quirky Northeast Kingdom. From the day we unloaded the moving van at our first Vermont house — an off-the-grid abode in Walden — and encountered the “real” people of Vermont, I’ve been in love. You’ve just got to avoid the “professional” politicians and their starry-eyed sidekicks who are all too willing to see hope in a lie and progress in pure gimmicks. Yeah, you know the story.

And so it is. My little world. With my little family. In this little Vermont community — Worcester — that never ceases to teach me about the importance of such little communities. The kind of community whose school principal and secretary write notes of support to this blog over our loss of a horse. The kind of community where you get a hug or a thumb’s up sign of encouragement while pumping gas. The kind of community where a neighbor offers to weld my broken horse gear. Or another neighbor offers a horse to borrow. Or another neighbor who stops to ask, “how’s the revolution?” Not a bad life if you can get it.

We’ll see what tomorrow brings. Onward.

Posted by M. Colby | Filed Under blog, essays & columns 

Comments

7 Responses to “This Little Life of Mine”

  1. wes on February 22nd, 2008 3:09 am

    very nicely done….

  2. Truth Seeker on February 22nd, 2008 7:51 am

    Nice story, and I’m sorry for your loss - seriously.

    Nonetheless, the Truth Seeker feels compelled to point out that you DON’T live in the Northeast Kingdom.

  3. M. Colby on February 22nd, 2008 8:30 am

    Read it again. I said that the Northeast Kingdom was our first Vermont home. And I’m fully aware that we don’t still live there — physically, at least.

  4. Peter Buknatski on February 22nd, 2008 2:02 pm

    all I’ve got to say, Truth Seeker, is:

    I Accept Your Nomination
    (or: I Never Said That; Prove It)

    love to hope to change
    what will not be changed
    call me an asshole call me
    a candidate wanting your love
    your vote your money your house

    hope to love to change
    all around in a circle-jerk
    your wife your child your pet
    gimme some applause a hug
    when I’m elected they’re all fucked

    change to love to hope
    and see what you can find
    I’ll be on the top of the world
    with your wife your child fucking
    your hope out thank you very much

    now on to Iran

    Bruce Lesbian, Vt. PI…(& Dem. candidate for Gov.)

  5. Buster on February 22nd, 2008 5:58 pm

    Of the “suburbs” surrounding Montpelier, I’d say Worcester is probably the closest to a Northeast Kingdom town. But it is changing too, like all of Vermont. Progress seems to equal more houses and more people, in the eyes of Vermonters from both the left and right end of the political spectrum.

  6. NO CAPS? on February 24th, 2008 7:31 pm

    what the hell is a check rein and does the bank cancel it?

  7. M. Colby on February 24th, 2008 8:55 pm

    Oh no, Old Reliable is back. But I’ll consider your question a test. A check rein cannot be canceled by a bank but the advice that follows can be taken to the bank: A check rein is attached to the bit ring (above the driving line), run up through a ring at the top of the bridle and then attached to the harness. It’s meant to keep the horse’s head up. And, yes, you can borrow mine since I no longer need this kind of horse trickery….

    Go here for a photo: http://www.lexiqueducheval.net/images/attelages/check-rein.jpg

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