Day 1 -- Just Like Budda, the Un-Blue, Balls or No Balls
The boss contemplating man on man violence
Day one of this year’s big horse trip around New England was a success. Oddly however, when I sat down to my laptop, I drew a blank. Now, those who know me, know I’m never lacking for something to say. And, the same is usually true about my writing. Lying in bed, three different themes wrestled in my mind, but none won out. Hence, the three-pronged title to this entry.
Just Like Budda – There used to be a skit on SNL called “Coffee Talk” where this woman with a voice like she’d smoked two packs of Marlboros a day since age 5 would talk enthusiastically about random things. When things were really good, she’d say, “Just like budda.” That phrase played on repeat in my mind as we knocked off all the trip prep which last year felt so daunting. I was in the office all day before our departure; but between calls, I fired off emails with arrival info and horse health certs. Colorado Springs taught me – this trip there’ll be no horses waiting in a hot trailer after a 6-hour drive while I’m looking through my emails for the link to a Coggins test result. Nor will there be a Pagosa Springs situ with horses in a lovely set up and us in an unfinished bunkhouse because the owner didn’t know the horses had people. Meanwhile, Kurt stayed home and prepped the trailer and truck – emergency vet kit, feed, emergency truck and trailer repair kit, water tank topped off. Yesterday morning, all we each had to do was pack our tack, which is like folding your own parachute. If the needed thing isn’t there and you have an epic fail, you only want to have yourself to blame. Tack packed, the horses walked into the trailer like it was no big deal. We were off, smooth – just like budda.
The Un-Blue – Our first stop on this trip North is a major must on the trail riding circuit, but one that we’d not actually done though it is less than 100 miles from our home— riding the Gettysburg Battlefield. Now, talking about the Civil War is a bit like talking about cancer – it’s hard to know what to say and it’s likely to make you and your audience sad. So, let’s start with a totally uncontroversial subject – uniforms. Today, uniforms are pretty much camo. There’s sandy camo for the desert, white and grey camo for polar fighting, and dark green camo for the jungle. But back in the old days, uniforms said – this is us and that’s you. That was important when you were fighting up close and personal with smoke and dust and gore flying. In the Revolutionary war, the Brits wore red, so I guess the America picked blue. And, since blue was taken, the Confederates went with the thrifty option – undyed wool which is grey. I’ve always thought that a bit ironic; that the side fighting to maintain the horrific institution of slavery so they could continue producing cotton and indigo sent their boys to the deaths in undyed, largely imported, drab grey wool.
Riding the battlefield, it’s easy to be distracted from contemplation of the staggering loss of life – this place is beautiful. Enjoy the rolling hills colored with wildflowers, the shady groves of old oaks, the charming stone farmhouses, but remember. In just three days of fighting, over 50,000 young men died or were gravely injured here.
Balls or No Balls –After our excellent but somber ride of the battlefield, we loaded up the boys and motored another two hours to Bethel PA where the horses were staying the night at a sporting horse breeding farm. In the front paddock is a magnificent stallion. He moves like he’s both floating on air and trying to punish the ground. But, he’s rail thin. All that natural testosterone has his muscles jacked and his mind fried. He’s three, which is like a human being 21. So, this is a college athlete but his sport is breeding. Walking by him, Juneau refused to acknowledge the other animal’s existence. Meanwhile, the contained, lonely stallion was climbing out of his own skin. He may have his balls, but damn, Juneau is still the boss.