It’s that legendary New England time of year. From our kitchen window, I watch the rising sunlight slice across Grappa and Otter’s field, onto this one particular band of crimson trees. The light almost sparkles, it’s so miraculously golden.
The horses are hairing up for cold weather. Some get shaggy and others, like Firefly, eg., grow this downy mouse-fuzz. Still, we keep the barn windows open for healthy airflow, and when you go there after dark, you find almost all the horses with their heads outside, enjoying the night.
The old boys have all kinds of energy again. I watched Grappa and Otter gallop across their field the other day, not looking too bad for a pair of octogenarians, in horsey-year terms.
The young horses have so far contained themselves admirably. On these unseasonably balmy days, I’ve ridden the trails and trotted the meadow hills. Trying to do as much of that as we can before heading south to the flatlands of Florida.
We keep our tea mugs going in the tack room. If the wind’s too strong, we batten down the hatches and I work the horses in the cozy indoor arena. But mostly it’s been sunny, crystalline, wool-sweater days of riding outside in the warm fall light, taking in the view over the fields. Good practice for the young horses, to work on their concentration skills.
Just as the leaves started to change, the view from Firefly’s back
Morning sun
Glasgow and Ray Ray in their fields
Our morning view: wood shop, and that light on the trees
Late afternoon
