Crying Oh The Dreadful Wind and Rain

I think that I am living through the wettest season in my adult life and it is beginning to tell and others around me. I hate muck and deep mud. I have a visceral feeling of frustration and resentment every time I slip in the mud and every time my boots are held in place by the suction of a pasture turned to bog.

I trace my feelings back to several years ago when it was too wet to get close to the horse lot even in a 4 wheel drive pick up. I had to carry each bale of hay, morning and night about 1/4 of a mile. Each time my foot would slip even the slightest bit pretty heavy pain shot through me because I was recovering from several broken ribs at the time. If I had not had a bit of help carrying those bales I am not sure that I could have accomplished a task as simple as feeding the horses.

My mind is my most insidious enemy. It is now December and moving ever closer to December 29. With the help of my wife, my riders and their families, and most of all my horses I have been plodding toward the end of this horrible month in at least a satisfactory manner.

However, earlier this week I was about to feed up in the darkness, in ankle deep mud and driving rain. For a fleeting moment it flashed through my mind that I needed to pick up Lido to help me feed up like he had done when it was so muddy and my ribs were broken. I had actually positioned my hand on the steering wheel to turn to go pick him up.

Of course, then I remembered that he was dead and had been so since December 29. I do not know why such pain is called heart ache. My heart felt fine but I instantly felt a blow to my midsection and a queasy feeling that has been around for a week now. Maybe because of that queasy feeling I was not paying enough attention to avoiding the holes and ruts and I hit a hole-rut combination too hard and too fast on the way out. My vehicle left the ground and slammed down hard on four wheels. Right beside the spot where Lido died.

Since that time two riders' vehicles have gotten stuck in the path only a few feet from there.

Of course, no repair work can be done on the path until it is dry. Riders will have to park at the Little House and walk up to the tack shed. They do not have to worry about jumping across the swamp to get there.

They can walk across the beautiful bridge constructed by Boy Scouts and my riders as Chaz Hornbaker's Eagle Scout project. As the plaque on the bridge states, the bridge is the Patrick Lido Edwards, "If I Can Do it Then Why Can't You?" bridge.

When the path dries I will begin to repair it. Until then we will all walk across Lido's bridge.