Vacation? What Vacation?

I arrived at the Old Homestead to a lovely and relaxing Sunday afternoon, chilled with the FarmParents for a while, and went with Farmmom to ensure that moving the water tank where the horses are didn't cause what we here in Blowdirt County, Colorado like to call a "flash flood," before reminding myself that I get to ride the world's most neurotic horse this week. But first I have to call the Courthouse Coc... I mean our fine upstanding County Commissioners... and ensure that I won't be stepping on any toes by hauling him in and using the County Fairgrounds.

I wouldn't worry about it, really, since I can close the gate to the corral for a little while and have an enclosed space, but the fairgrounds has one overwhelming bonus... the track.

Yep, our tiny little town has it's very own race track, used for... well... nothing, anymore. They used to hold wild horse races on it but then some tree hugging fur-is-murder pansies had to spoil the fun for the rest of us.

I know what you're thinking, you're thinking "Farmgirl, you're not usually so mean!" It's true, I'm not. But, in this case, I feel it's justified, because around the same time the wild horse races went out, so did a good 90% of the fair attendance, and thus the revenues generated by it. It's all been downhill from there. Now we have butt-ugly scrap iron statues on Main Street, the local kook is debating one of the pastors in the Letters to the Editor section in the news paper and signing them "The Reverend Priestess," and you can't find a decent party to save your life. What really tweaked me off about the wild horse races though was the whole attitude that people had towards them:

"People could get hurt!"

... Kind of the point, I thought. Darwinism in action! Kinda like Nascar.

Well, I'm probably going to re-instate the tradition all by my lonesome, with Red. I plan to run that little sucker till he can't run anymore. See if he tries any crap then. Not to mention the old tried and true fact that if he's busy running forward, he can't get much vertical. I really have no desire to be all bruised up... and I don't have as much time as I would like to work him into behaving gently, for the sale, so, we'll take the faster (but less long-term) method of running off all the excess energy so that he might actually listen.

I'm not going to try to pass him off as broke, I just want him to not act like a completely neurotic little skeez in the sale ring.

And yes, I am building up my expectations of his performance already. I do expect him to be the worst horse I've ever ridden, that will take all of my skill and some velcro on my ass to stay on.

Ya know why?

Because that way, he won't surprise me unpleasantly. Unpleasant surprises with horses tend to be painful and I plan to be able to pig out this Thanksgiving.

What an embarrassment if I was too sore to lift my shovel..... er..... fork..... at the dinner table!

Not to mention my family would have enough leftovers to feed a small third world country if I didn't eat my fair share, which according to Farmmom is approximately equal to three times my body weight. (This instead of having enough leftovers to feed a platoon of Marines, which is the usual amount. When the FarmFamily does a holiday meal, we do it right!)

No one is really sure about that measurement, they haven't figured out how to tie me up well enough to keep me away from the food long enough to weigh it.

Although it is kind of priceless when the pizza delivery guy tries to flirt and ask me if I'm having company when I order a medium pizza and a double order of breadsticks, and I tell him no, but the smell of dinner in the oven was driving me nuts and I needed a snack.

(On re-reading this, I had a thought: Perhaps I should wait an hour after watching Jeff Dunham before writing a blog... like eating and swimming, except with snark instead of cramps...)

Monkey Vs Sparky, Rounds 2 & 3

And, why it sucks to be a know-it-all.


So, the day Monkey went home, Sparky got his second crack at riding him.

And got dumped... again. This time I got to watch.

Sparky saddled him up, got the bit in his mouth, led him to the arena, everything was fine. When Sparky went to mount up, Monkey started acting nervy, tensing up and backing. Sparky got into the saddle, and Monkey sidestepped.

Here's where things started to get hairy. See, Sparky hadn't gotten his right stirrup yet, and in his nerves, not wanting to cue the horse forward and set off a rodeo, he relaxed his legs just a wee bit much, and his right foot flopped against Monkey's side just a bit. Which made Monkey jump sideways. Which, since Spark was trying to be so careful about not setting him off, tossed Sparky to the side a little, which startled Monkey because, well, I don't do that, and he's not used to it.

These fairly minor errors were compounded by the fact that Sparky, being a nice guy, gave Monkey a lot of rein when he was mounting up, and since Monkey started going neurotic as soon as Sparky's posterior hit the saddle, well, Sparky didn't have a chance to gather the reins.

So, Monkey crow hopped a couple of times, and Sparky flopped around in the saddle looking a bit like a rag doll, and Monkey started to break in two. Sparky hung on until Monkey made the turn at the corner of the arena, where, apparently (I was at the wrong angle to see this) Sparky's foot got caught in the fence and he was pretty much dragged out of the saddle. Which sent Monkey hightailing it to the other end of the arena.

Well, I hopped off the fence and called Monkey, and he came trotting back over... until the kid that was there for an interview for the program decided to come "help," that is. New person, nervous about this horse that he'd just seen unload someone, Monkey wasn't coming anywhere near him. So I asked him to stay where he was, walked about ten feet away and called my horse. He came right up to me, (snicker) I grabbed the reins, and asked Sparky if he was ok. He kind of shook himself all over and said yeah, I checked Monkey's legs, cause it had looked like he was gimping, but it was just a bit of a muscle strain from getting so excited when he wasn't warmed up, so I asked Sparky if he wanted another shot right away, or if he wanted me to throw a leg over first.

He asked me to ride first, and I set the reins (a lot shorter than he'd had them, while explaining why you always have a short rein on a horse you don't know, especially if you know the horse might blow up on you.) Of course, Monkey was wound and decided to back away when I went for the stirrup, so I kept him backing until I was satisfied, and made it my idea. Then I mounted up, and Monkey went all nervy again. I didn't bother with my other stirrup, just told Monkey to quit his shit, his ears swiveled back and he realized who was on him, and he relaxed all over. (snicker)

We loped a couple of circles, he chilled out a little, and I rode back to let Sparky get on again.

Lets review. Sparky has been on Monkey a total of two times. Both times Monkey managed to get him off. Monkey is, at heart, a pain in the ass. You have to convince him that he's not going to intimidate you, or get you off, or even if he does, he's going to have to work twice as hard when you get back on.

Yep, Monkey tried him again, and in between laughing I called advice to Sparky.

"Bwahahahaha! Hey! Get his head up! Pull on them reins, boy! He's not gonna listen if you don't get mean about it, he thinks he's got your number! Snort! Chuckle! Stick with him! Don't let him do that shit! Kick his ribs in, make him run instead of bucking! That's it! Hahahahahaha! Hey, wait! Don't yank on his head when he's rearing! You'll haul him over on top of you! Good! Now kick hell out of him, make him flat out run for the other end of the arena! Pull him up now.... now trot.... now walk. Good."

Sparky won, finally, and we all got a good laugh.

Then I went to find Ed, since he'd said he'd ride Monkey to see if it was just Sparky, or all men. When he offered, he was fairly relaxed about the prospect, since he'd witnessed Monkey taking a cow up the rear hard enough to lift his back feet off the ground, and not blink an eye. Once I told him Sparky got dumped again, Ed was a little more nervous.

He made me hold my horse when he mounted up. He then proceeded to take Monkey around the arena a few times, tell me how hard mouthed he is (hey, he's better than he was!) and dismount, shaking his head that Sparky got thrown, and muttering about "this horse doesn't buck."

Then I rode Monkey some more, to give him a good work out, and got cautioned by one of the HTM sophomores "Don't run him to death!"

This is the same kid that told us, when we were working with Diablo on loading in S's tiny trailer, that we needed to push him in. Since we'd already established that when pushed from the rear or pulled from the front too vigorously, he simply refuses, and we were working on making him want to go in the trailer, we thanked him for his advice and sent him on his way.

On this occasion I simply stopped Monkey (A beautiful stop, if I do say so myself) turned him in a circle, sidepassed, stopped, looked at the kid and said "Take a look at this horse. Is he breathing hard? Is he sweaty? Does it look even remotely like he is getting tired, let alone being run to death?"

"Well, no."

"This horse moved cows for over eight hours, going a good fifteen, twenty miles, in the process. At the end of the day his main concern was that he was hungry. I've been riding this horse all semester, he's gotten at least a half hour more exercise than the rest of the horses in the class, and more often an hour more, and I do mean exercise, and he still wasn't tired at the end of it. I think I know more about what my horse is capable of than someone who has watched me ride two or three times."

Monkey helped me get my point across, since half way through the speech he decided to start dancing in place, eager to keep going. I don't let him flat out run much. It's a treat for him, even in the arena. We made about four more circuits and he started slowing down on his own, so I pulled him to a slow lope, and started cooling him out. The know-it-all in question was watching, so before I dismounted, I gave him a couple of nice, shiny roll backs, nice and snappy, to prove that Monkey wasn't dead, and we exited the arena with dignity.

Which I spoiled by giggling when I heard Mr. Know-it-all say to the other person in the arena "That horse wasn't even breathing hard, and she ran the shit out of him!"

Thank you, thank you. Someday, Monkey and I are going to enter an endurance race, and kick some ass.

Cleaning House Today!

Today I will be cleaning the apartment, and getting it ready for me to be gone for a week. Cleaning out the fridge, getting rid of trash, triple checking all the window locks, clearing out the DVR so that I don't run out of room, and all that stuff.

I've decided to be a typical college student and take my laundry with me to the Old Homestead, and do it there for free, rather than pay two fifty a load here (a dollar twenty five for the washer, a dollar twenty five for the dryer).

So, that eases up the amount of stuff I have to do, but I still have a kitchen full of dishes, and a carpet full of tracked in dirt and wood shavings from the barn. Plus I need to get ahold of my old boss today and find out exactly when she's planning on selling the mare she wants me to ride through the sale, and discuss the plan for that, because frankly I need the money.

I've done pretty well with my financial aid money, I think. I've made it most of the way through the semester on just what was left over after my classes, but, what with food, and rent, and food, I'm just running out of money. I'm probably going to spend part of my time over the break throwing the smackdown on Red, so that I can sell him when the mare goes through.

He's a challenge that I was happy to accept when I had the money to spare, and if I knew someone would be there that was capable of riding him next semester, I'd keep him and let the program use him, but Sparky has decided to switch tracks and abandon us, so I can't guarantee that anyone else would have the skill required. So, unless he undergoes a major personality change when I start working with him every day, he'll be going back to the sale, hopefully to net me more money than I paid for him, since I plan to make him show better than he did when I bought him.

In the mean time I'll be bringing Legs up for next semester, and getting her rode down some so that she's useful to work.

What with Ed training Etta, by mid-spring or so we should have three horses that are rideable, and won't give too much trouble. Although, I want to do some watching and some extra curricular training on Monkey before I pronounce him trained, since I've discovered that he simply doesn't like Sparky. More on that in another post, it's too entertaining to tag on the end of this one.

Ahhh

Thanksgiving vacation has officially started!

Well, ok, it actually officially started for me yesterday after we loaded our foals for their owners, but I went to the show today, so I count it as starting now.

A couple more weeks after Thanksgiving, and then semester break.

I'm really looking forward to next semester, my classes promise to be interesting, plus we lowly freshmen EBM-ers get to show next semester.

The show was good, everyone did really well, and the FarmFamily got official thanks over the PA system from the head of the Ag Program, for letting them use our calves to train on. Even though I was the only one there, lol, I got a mention too, as being in the program. Then, when they were actually showing the cutters, Del (the program head) told me we'd gotten them too gentle, and I had to explain to him that ours had gotten cut out, and left.

In other news, I finally won the battle with the DVD recorder, and I can record some of the movies off of my DVR, and get some space cleared out on it! I've nearly filled it up with movies, and I'm going to be gone for a week, which means I'll need the space to record the ER episodes I'm going to miss, and Scrubs. And House, and Heroes, and Supernatural.

I love my DVR!

Spring

Saw Del today (the head of the ag program as a whole, I love my small college!) about getting my schedule lined out for next semester.

As it stands I have nineteen credit hours for next semester, although I may wind up with only sixteen.

See, I have to have Eng 115- Technical English and Composition (memos, business letters, etc) except that I wheedled my way into an increase in my allowable credit hours so that I can take Creative Writing next semester. Once that was done, Del basically said "Whoops! You don't have to take 115, the other class will fulfill your English Requirement."

So I have a choice, take 115 (the name of the course is too much to keep typing out) and Creative Writing (which I really want) and have a class more than I did this semester, and in 115 we'd be doing the same kind of things that we did in "careers" class in high school, from what I can tell, or I can drop 115 and only have an early morning class on Monday and Wednesday.

If I keep it, one of the English classes counts as an elective towards my degree, and if I drop it I can take something else for an elective next year.

Regardless of what I decide on that, I've got Equine Evaluation, Equine Reproduction, Ag Finance (blech), the Creative Writing, and my barn classes.

I'm sure I could handle the course load with both English classes, but on the other hand, why push if I don't have to? Having a couple more days that I can take it easy in the mornings (spring semester morning classes start at 7:45) would be nice, I wouldn't have class on Tuesday and Thursday until eleven.

Also, Mondays and Wednesdays I have four classes in one day, it might be nice to have the time to do homework on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Things to ponder, anyway.

Lit Final

For those of you who are not inclined towards the literary arts, you may want to skip this post. For those of you who are, and who hold high standards for literary arguments, I beg you to be kind, since I had the misfortune to choose a book I hadn't read before for this paper, and one that has so many possibilities for argument that I was hard pressed to keep on subject. This is, of course, only the first draft, and it was written in it's entirety between 6:00 pm and 8:20 pm, but it's the best my poor fried brain can do tonight, especially considering that I will have the ability to revise it after a week of decompression. But, with no further ado, I give you: My Lit Paper.

The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood, is the story of one woman in the Republic of Gilead, a country created by a slow religious revolution in the United States. This woman, referred to as “Offred” when she names herself at all, tells of her own experiences in this new theocracy, which separates women into categories, Wives, Marthas, Handmaids, Econowives, and Unwomen. As a Handmaid, Offred’s duties are to get the groceries for the household, and to provide, through a monthly ceremonial copulation with the head of the household- the Commander, who by deduction is named Fred- and his wife, Serena Joy, a child. The Ceremony, as this ritual in which the Handmaid actually lays upon the Wife during copulation with the husband is called, comes from a biblical reference in which Rachel circumvents her own infertility.

And when Rachel saw that she bare Jacob no children, Rachel envied her sister; and said unto Jacob, Give me children, or else I die.

And Jacob’s anger was kindled against Rachel; and he said, Am I in God’s Stead, who hath withheld from thee the fruit of the womb?

And she aid, Behold my maid Bilhah, go in unto her; and she shall bear upon my knees, that I may also have children by her (Bible Genesis 30:1-3).

The book rambles and meanders through the thoughts and remembrances of Offred, giving little concrete background on the beginning of the war, or the progress so far. Only that which Offred has personally experienced is mentioned, but even the short forays into Offred’s memories are enough to paint a gory picture of a religious holocaust, and a state of slavery for women.

The religious uprising in New England begins with what appear at the time to be ordinary crimes of the time. Murders, bombings, protests. The slow takeover causes many people to shrug off the insidious changes. Women are no longer allowed to hold jobs, or money in their own names, businesses that cater to the more puerile interests, but which, in the society of the book, have become run of the mill, are shut down. Eventually Offred and her husband, Luke, a divorced man, realize the danger and attempt to escape to Canada with their daughter, who is never named. The escape attempt fails, Luke is likely killed, and their daughter is taken away from Offred, before she herself is placed in a Center, to be taught, and brainwashed into, her new position in society.

Many people have challenged this book in school libraries, due to what they call its anti-religious stand, and its bald-faced approach to sex and sexuality. However, The Handmaid’s Tale is not anti-religious, merely anti-fanatical. Nowhere in the text is the specific religion of Gilead mentioned; only that it is based on the Christian Bible. The Handmaid’s Tale sits at number thirty-seven on the American Library Association’s list of the 100 most challenged books (100 Most Frequently Challenged Books 1990-2000).

The controversial nature of the book is made apparent by a quote from the Houston Chronicle on the cover of the 1998 Anchor Books Edition, “Read it while it’s still allowed.”

The holocaust begins with isolated incidents, bodies found in ditches. By the current time in the book, which is fluid in itself, the killing of doctors who performed abortions, or irreversible contraceptive measures on women (and presumably men,) or men who seek sexual satisfaction from each other, are formalized. During a “particicution”, in which the Handmaids are encouraged and required to carry out the execution of a man accused of rape which resulted in the death of an unborn child, Offred describes her own perspective:

There’s a surge forward, like a crowd at a rock concert in the former time, when the doors opened, that urgency coming like a wave through us. The air is bright with adrenaline, we are permitted anything and this is freedom, in my body also, I’m reeling, red spreads everywhere, but before that tide of cloth and bodies hits him Ofglen is shoving through the women in front of us, propelling herself with her elbows, left, right, and running towards him. She pushes him down, sideways, then kicks his head viciously, one, two, three times, sharp painful jabs with the foot, well aimed. Now there are sounds, gasps, a low noise like growling, yells, and the red bodies tumble forward and I can no longer see, he’s obscured by arms, fists, feet. A high scream comes from somewhere, like a horse in terror (Atwood 279-280).

One might say that the so-called particicutions provide an outlet for the frustrations of the Handmaids, frustrations with their daily life and position in society, but the occasions are nothing more than organized murders, used to reinforce the government’s psychological hold over the Handmaids, and also to get rid of those whom the government feels need gotten rid of.

The Handmaids are forced to rely on their wombs, their ability to reproduce, to survive. If a woman is incapable of bearing a child and has no useful household skills, and is unmarried, she is forced to go to the colonies, to hard and often dangerous labor, and worse living conditions. To reproduce the Handmaids must endure daily the indignities of their position, and when the government wants to reinforce their hold over the women, they give them a man, tell the women that he caused one of their own to lose the safety provided by becoming pregnant in a brutal act, and not only allow but encourage them to beat him to death.

The dead, leaders of rival religions, former doctors, men accused of gender treachery- homosexuality- are hung upon a wall for the inhabitants of Gilead to see. Since women are forbidden to read, their crimes are told in pictures, on placards hung around their necks.

Some might say that the display of the executed is the government’s way of reassuring the citizens that they are making the world a better place, but in reality it is no better than the likes of Hitler having lampshades and shoes made of the skins of the Jewish murdered. His government insisted that it was doing the right thing, too.

The government in The Handmaid’s Tale makes a practice of enslaving women, both as Handmaids and Marthas, and in the case of the Unwomen, as menial labor. They kill off anyone that disagrees with them, most especially those who might use their own religious text to point out the fallacies in the framework they have built their tyranny upon. No, there is no balm in Gilead, but only degradation for women, and torture and death for those deemed enemies of the state.

I love this place

On my way home from class tonight (and after sending Monkey on his way home, *sniffle*) I had to stop down by the park, and turn on my hazards, because there was, well, a hazard.

The herd of whitetail deer that habitually visit the creek that runs through the golf course, behind the college, and eventually peters out through the city park were crossing the road, in a very stately and regal manner.

I swear one of them gave me the royal nod, giving me permission to go back to my commuting once they were past.

In other news, I'm about a quarter of the way into my final Lit paper, which means I'm knee deep in argument mode, and hip deep in MLA standards for citations. About to get deeper as I get back to it. This is only the first draft, I'll turn it in tomorrow, then have a conference on it the week after Thanksgiving (thank god, a week off... a week which I'll spend puttering around and putting together my business plan).

When I finish with it, I'll post it here for your enjoyment, so ya'll can see that I'm getting some value out of my higher edumacation. Plus, after I finish this my brain will be too fried to write anything intelligent for at least two days. All that there book learnin' has done got me plumb burnt out. Considering half of my classes have been pushing to finish everything important before Thanksgiving break so that we can take it easy and just study for finals afterwards, and the rest are pushing to be able to cover everything before it's time for finals, well, it's no surprise that I'm needing a week off.

Thank god my Lit teacher is fairly relaxed about things, or I'd be screwed.

Not to mention some of Farmmom's punkin pie. Remember, Farmmom, you promised to make an extra just for me to bring back with me!

Once more into the fray, dear friends. Wherever I fall, there shall I be buried.

Or some such nonsense, anyway.