Hell of a lot of Horse
Trip Start
Jan 31, 2010
1
40
141
Trip End
Jul 21, 2010
Brösarp, Skåne, Sweden
Monday, March 15, 2010
Being without a car we’re a bit far from everything, so Maria calls her nearby friend Anne (Anne2) to give me a lift to the supermarket in town as we’ve run low on a few basics. In the car is Anne’s dog (whose name escapes me, we could call him Scalder because that’s what it sounded like, but it’s most likely wrong) who takes up the boot and reaches over the back seat of a pet and to like hands and everything else he can each. His red scarf looks new, clean and ironed. Anne says he is her favourite companion, giving just enough love when it’s needed most. The drive to town is easy, I can probably walk it but not for little things. And the view from the top of the hill takes your breath away. The white hills meet the cloudy sky in arcs and curves, speckled with trees and fences. This is the reason Anne moved here, apparently my goal should be to find the sky at night - the stars feel closer here. For most of her life Anne2 has lived in the city (near Stockholm, like suburbia without using the word) but has always loved traveling through the countryside. The farm she found she visited twice before buying it, falling in love with the place almost immediately. Maria had the same experience about her home; perhaps the town is full of them.
The shop assistant assumes I speak Swedish, I smile and nod and make it out the door without too much fuss. I need to at least learn hello, and goodbye is Hai! which I can't get my head around. People saying hi then hanging up the phone. Mind Blowing.
When we get back we do coffee and more bread (Anne2 loves the cigarette, is not a fan of le coffee).
The rest of my day is spent with the horses. Not really with them, but with everything to do with where they live. There are five horses – three actual horses and two ponies
One mother horse – an ex racing horse, she is to be known for her bad temperament and inability to shit in the one place
One daughter of said racing horse – shares a similar inability to shit in the one place the most curious of them all. Dangerously curious
One small white horse – Pamela is Tilda’s horse, and she was handled badly by the previous owner’s, so doesn’t always like to be touched
The Ponies – one from a children’s farm that was no longer useful as she stated to bite and throw children from her saddle, and her unexpected child. Maria believes she is a little retarded, in a cute way, and always running away.
These five horses have been spending a lot of time in their boxes over winter due to the cold and the snow. This has made cleaning where they live and sleep and shit a little hard. For three and a half months the boxes have not be shoveled. This has proven good for the horses – once they get over the fact their conditions keep them warm, the crust formed on top keeps in the smell and toxins, and we know have wicked fertilizer for the garden. Until today.
I get through two of the boxes - the middle ones, the older horse’s looks higher and the ponies sharing doesn’t look that bad – before my back needs a rest. Maria talked a lot about how to lift and how to shovel, something I have done before but understand her concern.
I remembered back when I worked in factories where you get a call that morning if you can work and drive out and do whatever. This one place in Clayton had been delivered with two shipping containers of forklift forks. Unfortunately, they had been knocked around and had broken up inside, so a forklift was unable to get them out. This meant each fork had to be taken out by hand, some in pairs, some dragged between the three of us, some small enough to pick up and carry yourself. My back learnt from this. There was an older guy amongst us who felt quite prophetic while handling them – when faced with slipping hands and a fork "Just let it fall. Let go." After a while I thought this was quite poetic and could be used in some life lessons. Some things are out of our control and we need to let go. Let go of problems, let go of people. After a while he did get annoying though. But I digress.
The designated horse shit area is a short wheelbarrow walk around the back of the stables. Unfortunately, snow makes this journey a little longer. First task is to cut yourself a path wide enough for the barrow and about 20cm deep. Any deeper and you get ice, which is good to have a little of but bad and slippery to stay on for long.
Each box takes between ten and fifteen loads, emptied onto an ever-increasing pile that I end up re stacking so we can get to it easier later on.
Home made bread and soup for lunch - freaking wicked.
I haven’t had running water in my house for two days now, so after horse time I give that a go. Many hours later the hot water service has a taped up leak with a cup underneath and I get to shower in my own house. Washing of the smell of horse never felt so good. Chilli is done - and smells freaking amazing. The dog thinks so too and looks at me expectantly while I wait for coffee to boil. She's thirteen and had several operations, so now doesn't digest things too well. A lot of her diet is rice, and you can tell she's not happy about it.
The clouds roll in again as the sun goes down. I’m helping pack up the horses and look up to see no stars. Oh well, next time.
