The Signs of Addiction

Today was a rainy day. I haven’t been here at Jerome Creek during the rainy season before—it’s always been clear. It’s maybe once drizzled, but nothing like the downpour for several hours today. I didn’t know what to do with myself—riding in a shower isn’t my idea of a good time. I ended up cleaning—well, why not—then knitting on the couch while I watched . . . all I can think of is As Good as it Gets, or the Portuguese title, Better is Impossible . . . which is not the movie, although the one I saw was also starring Jack Nicholson . . . oh well. The movie was pleasant enough, although about 45 minutes too long. Which doesn’t help you, my readers, at all, since I don’t know what movie it was. ANYway.

When the rain stopped, I went for a ramble with the dogs. We tried out a trail or two near the house, and got entirely soaked up to the thighs (me) or completely (the dogs) by the drenched grasses and trees. Didn’t see any bears; didn’t even see any cows.

I’m kind of in a holding pattern today—not starting anything new, not really accomplishing much, because two more characters join me tonight—my parents-in-law, Dan and Janet Taylor. I have somehow developed a reputation with them for excellent suggestions, planning, and execution of a variety of events from a trip to Hawaii to dinner at the Dahlia in Seattle (which I correctly predicted they would love) . . . and so I’m a little obsessed with having this visit to Jerome Creek work out just as well. To that end, I’ve been planning rides with a variety of loop options so that we can go home or go on from a variety of places based on seat soreness or any other factor. (an aside—I am beginning to feel the effects of my lovely glass of Cabernet, and, I imagine, you are all able to see them. No, the wine is not the addiction referred to in the title. Hold your horses (ha ha), it’ll come.)

In preparation for leading rides in the few days, yesterday I took The Sofa out for a solo journey along a trail Ian and I had traveled, to see if I could find a different loop. We had two adventures on the way to failing to find anything new, which I will recount here. The first is that Shadow, using her skills as a homing device, at one point set off up a track that gradually disappeared into nothing but deadfall and horse-leg-breaking traps. She forged ahead, though, me holding on with my legs and protecting my face with my arms, until I had a pair of realizations. One, I could get off. There is no law that says a rider may only touch the ground at home upon mounting and at home upon dismounting. And if I got off, we would be much shorter than with me on top, and could therefore flail about with less danger to my head. Two, home sense is not necessarily common sense, and so therefore I needed to supply some common sense. So, before I panicked completely and we lost ourselves in a darkening wood where bears live, far from home, I realized that we needed to go back the way we came. So we picked our way carefully down the hill, me leading this incredibly patient and sure-footed horse, and met our second adventure. We came upon a small herd of cows. Now, cows are not known for being particularly bright. The word “bovine,” a fancy name for “cow”, can also be used to describe someone, well, not too swift. Cows though, like most mothers, are protective, and this herd we stumbled upon comprised two cows and about a half dozen calves. We inadvertently chased several calves and one cow down the trail in front of us—we were just walking along, they were running away. The other cow, a beefy red Holstein with a white face, started chasing us. I could hear her breathing hard and trotting along behind us, and I would occasionally look back to gauge her approach. Every time I looked at her she would stop, but I could see she was still planning her attack. Shadow started to jog, and I didn’t really hold her back, because I know we could’ve outrun a cow attack. Of course, I’m assuming they would eventually attack . . . which is perhaps bovine of me. At any rate, calves, cows, horse and girl all went their ways separate or together as appropriate, and we made it home, albeit having retraced our steps, with, like, a whole hour and a half before sunset. We could totally have gotten lost for a lot longer.

Which brings me back to today—I—shock of the week—didn’t feel like riding. I wanted to feel like it, but it was wet and gray and it just didn’t seem fun, even though the rain had stopped. Until 5:30 this evening. At 5:30, I suddenly had to ride. I had to. The way I have to have coffee every morning. There was no way around it—I was usually out riding by then—clearly my body, my mind, my whole being needed to be on a horse. What could I do? I collected The Sofa and out we went, for a lovely, if wet ride. Even a-horseback I came home drenched to the waist.

Riding and writing seem to be symbiotic in me, because I hadn’t felt like writing anything at all, all day today, until I was out pushing through sodden brush on my favorite horse. Not bad for an addiction.