Just a walk

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

It has rained a bit of late, not much. I’ve noticed that when I walk down the hill from the cabin, the dry gravel slides out from under my feet. It is definitely wiser to walk in the browning grass. No need to skid and fall.

This morning, after chores, I decided to forgo that second cup of coffee, and walk down the hill to take the horses for a walk up the road. The dog ran eagerly ahead, and as soon as I opened pasture gate, she slid through my legs and sniffed out the perfect version of farm dog chocolate. She knew not to dine on just any pile of horse droppings. These delectable morsels need to be baked by the sun just so, not too hard on the outside, with a still chewy interior. As I shewed her back through the gate, I thought to myself, no doggish kisses today.

The little horses came running across the dry pasture towards me. I could hear the steady beat of their miniature hooves as they neared. The filly came up right up to me. She is my horse. I easily slid her halter up over her ears and smoothed out her forelocks so she would look her best. I placed the lead across her back and she knew to stand still while I corralled the gelding. I did not bother to care about his looks. I actually think he appears rather dashing, in a wild sort of way, when his forelocks stick up at odd angles. We headed out of the pasture and off on our walk. The dog had already disposed of her pasture treat and joined us.

The little horses pranced happily by my side, one to my right, the other to my left. We made our way up the middle of the road. Every now and then we’d pause, one horse nibbling on clump of grass by one side of the road, the other on the other. I stood still in the middle. With a gentle tug and we would resume our way. I fell into the rhythm of the clippity-clop of horse hooves on the road's pavement.

A surprising number of leaves had already fallen across the road. We passed through shallow drifts of dried pawpaw, buckeye, and walnut leaves. When I’d see a shiny brown buckeye nut, I’d stoop to pick it up and put it in my pocket. Buckeye nuts bring good luck, they say. I soon had pockets bulging with good luck.  

When I took my eyes off the road and looked overhead, I could see that many of the walnut tree branches were almost bare, and as my gaze followed the crest of the hills on either side of the creek, I couldn’t see any of the usual fall colors of red or gold, just a tough of dusty yellow dotting the darkening green of the hills. Perhaps it had been too dry for a colorful fall, or perhaps it is still too early for color. Maybe we simply need a good frost to bring on the reds, oranges, and golds that I love. 

I ran my hands along the dusty backs of the little horses by my side. Even though I had recently given them a good brushing, clouds still rose from between my fingers.

I looked down toward the creek. Water trickled across the sun-dried rocks. Some of our fishing holes still seemed quite deep, but there was no doubt about it. The creek was running dry.

Once we reached the big culvert at the end of our property, I turned to head back. The dog had made her way down to the water’s edge and was drinking out of a small pool at the bottom of the run. After a good long drink, she looked up at me, turned, and dove on in. The horses and I watched as she paddled about. She climbed out, shook off from nose to tail, and made her way back up to the road. Once again, we were off walking, the dog leading the way.

And then the filly slowed her usual slow pace to an almost nonexistent shuffle. At first, I was baffled. It occurred to me that perhaps she was ill, or maybe she was simply being stubborn, but then, as I walked slowly along beside her, holding the gelding back to match her pace, I realized how content she looked. She was clearly enjoying her very leisurely stroll along the creek valley road. Even the dog slowed. All of our paces slowed to mirror those of my little horse.

I listened to the gentle rustle of dry leaves in the valley breeze, the clippity-clop of the horses’ hooves on the road, and the faint trickle of water that flowed over the creek rocks. The filly was quite right and we all followed her lead, the four of us stepping gently together through the beautiful fall morning. We did not need colors. Fall was in the air. 

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.