Horse Camp spring 2014
I am not a hot weather or desert person; I've had heat stroke several times, beginning when I was about nine. So it was with some trepidation that I set out with rachelmanija for Horse Camp last Friday.
It helped that SoCal was already in the grip of a withering heat wave, with dry winds brinking the stink of forest fire. The weather report promised it wouldn't be any worse in the desert of Arizona (which, by the way, gets about four times more rain than we do), and so off we went, timing our drive so we could stop at our favorite Chinese buffet.
On our arrival,the desert welcomed us with bloom, as if promising it wouldn't be so bad.
We went out to say hello to all the white horses, then came in for a delicious dinner, during and after which the household animals came to greet us--cats winding all around us, dogs sniffing nose to nose with the cats, then coming to us, tails flagging.
You can tell when animals are loved, because they advance to pay their respects without being afraid of the two-legs. The newest arrival was a dear puppy with a loving heart, ready to adore anyone and everyone. He'd been dumped in the desert to die at four months, but was rescued by Horse Trainer.
He has come to live at Dancing Horse Farm, where he is learning to help with the horses.
The next day we dived into writing, both on our own stuff and on our project together. Having no kitchen duties (pause and enjoy the delight of never having to think about cooking, serving, and cleaning up after meals, just write and eat) we got a ton of writing done--then when the sun began setting, we went out to look at the horses.
The desert was no hotter than L.A. but that was very, very hot. Out came the hose for a good spray. A couple of them played in the stream. I tried to catch this with the phone cam, and only got this shot:
After that cooling, they promptly ran off and danced and turned (not a single shot came out decently) and then, one after another, five of the horses dropped down to roll over and over in the mud, and within about ten minutes most of the herd of white horses was a herd of brown horses.
As the sun set, a sundog appeared in the sky, and as I shot it, the sinking sun caught a few of the horses in fiery silhouette.
We varied the program with horse yoga (which is not the strenuous yoga you do on your mat, but a kind of mindful easy body work among the horses, as they do what they like). Last year, the horses stayed at the far end of the corral, forming an audience as they watched the monkeys being weird.
This time, however, about half the herd was in among us, very close. Moving so softly and quietly that you would be startled to find a horse next, behind, or right in front of you. I had three horse faces come right up to me, and I scratched their polls.
On Monday, we had our lessons. rachelmanija went riding. I stayed with Horse Trainer, who does a great deal of body work rehabilitating horses that have been rescued from being mistreated, or given up on. One of the older horses in the herd had recently injured herself. She will never be a riding horse again, but she is retiring honorably, still with work to do as a teaching horse.
I spent an hour working closely, learning massage and release points on that huge, magnificent body, as I struggle to learn horse language. The horse folk and their friends all understand horse language, which is still pretty opaque to me. I want to learn it. I am fascinated by herd dynamics. These lippizaners are such curious, intelligent, aware creatures.
Our last night, we got together with a pair of local writers and talked writing the entire night, over a delicious meal.
But yesterday dawned. All too soon, our days were up, and we set out for home via the southern route, using the time driving through the bleak desert to do some brainstorming on our own books. We brushed the Mexican border at spots, and ran alongside the cemented and contained Colorado River.
At one point we drove through a dust storm, a rather frightening experience as the wind battered the car and slurries of golden-brown sand raced sideways across the road. At the right, sand poured off a sharply defined hill in a cataract.
Then, after we drove through the weird, rocky hills that mark the San Andreas fault and the jagged results of a zillion earthquakes (I confess I hold my breath over the widest bridges), we were in another microclimate altogether. It was cool, cloudy, even a bit moist.
I guess the weather is going to heat up again--well it's time for the long, long summer to begin--but it was nice to come back to coolth.
It helped that SoCal was already in the grip of a withering heat wave, with dry winds brinking the stink of forest fire. The weather report promised it wouldn't be any worse in the desert of Arizona (which, by the way, gets about four times more rain than we do), and so off we went, timing our drive so we could stop at our favorite Chinese buffet.
On our arrival,the desert welcomed us with bloom, as if promising it wouldn't be so bad.
We went out to say hello to all the white horses, then came in for a delicious dinner, during and after which the household animals came to greet us--cats winding all around us, dogs sniffing nose to nose with the cats, then coming to us, tails flagging.
You can tell when animals are loved, because they advance to pay their respects without being afraid of the two-legs. The newest arrival was a dear puppy with a loving heart, ready to adore anyone and everyone. He'd been dumped in the desert to die at four months, but was rescued by Horse Trainer.
He has come to live at Dancing Horse Farm, where he is learning to help with the horses.
The next day we dived into writing, both on our own stuff and on our project together. Having no kitchen duties (pause and enjoy the delight of never having to think about cooking, serving, and cleaning up after meals, just write and eat) we got a ton of writing done--then when the sun began setting, we went out to look at the horses.
The desert was no hotter than L.A. but that was very, very hot. Out came the hose for a good spray. A couple of them played in the stream. I tried to catch this with the phone cam, and only got this shot:
After that cooling, they promptly ran off and danced and turned (not a single shot came out decently) and then, one after another, five of the horses dropped down to roll over and over in the mud, and within about ten minutes most of the herd of white horses was a herd of brown horses.
As the sun set, a sundog appeared in the sky, and as I shot it, the sinking sun caught a few of the horses in fiery silhouette.
We varied the program with horse yoga (which is not the strenuous yoga you do on your mat, but a kind of mindful easy body work among the horses, as they do what they like). Last year, the horses stayed at the far end of the corral, forming an audience as they watched the monkeys being weird.
This time, however, about half the herd was in among us, very close. Moving so softly and quietly that you would be startled to find a horse next, behind, or right in front of you. I had three horse faces come right up to me, and I scratched their polls.
On Monday, we had our lessons. rachelmanija went riding. I stayed with Horse Trainer, who does a great deal of body work rehabilitating horses that have been rescued from being mistreated, or given up on. One of the older horses in the herd had recently injured herself. She will never be a riding horse again, but she is retiring honorably, still with work to do as a teaching horse.
I spent an hour working closely, learning massage and release points on that huge, magnificent body, as I struggle to learn horse language. The horse folk and their friends all understand horse language, which is still pretty opaque to me. I want to learn it. I am fascinated by herd dynamics. These lippizaners are such curious, intelligent, aware creatures.
Our last night, we got together with a pair of local writers and talked writing the entire night, over a delicious meal.
But yesterday dawned. All too soon, our days were up, and we set out for home via the southern route, using the time driving through the bleak desert to do some brainstorming on our own books. We brushed the Mexican border at spots, and ran alongside the cemented and contained Colorado River.
At one point we drove through a dust storm, a rather frightening experience as the wind battered the car and slurries of golden-brown sand raced sideways across the road. At the right, sand poured off a sharply defined hill in a cataract.
Then, after we drove through the weird, rocky hills that mark the San Andreas fault and the jagged results of a zillion earthquakes (I confess I hold my breath over the widest bridges), we were in another microclimate altogether. It was cool, cloudy, even a bit moist.
I guess the weather is going to heat up again--well it's time for the long, long summer to begin--but it was nice to come back to coolth.