It’s hard keeping one’s ladies in line. They’re independent thinkers, those girls, and though a stallion can mostly get them lined out in the “right” direction, they do like to dawdle here and there and everywhere.
Here, Storm was on the march to collect a couple of wayward grazers as they made their way (I think) toward and in the direction of – eventually – water. He was well aware of a band just leaving the water source, not too far away, and that might have lent a little urgency to his mission. I was with them until the sun did hit the horizon, and though they moved to the other side of a big arroyo, they didn’t seem in too big a hurry to challenge the other band on the path to evening water.
The Easter revelers are already out in Disappointment Valley in/on their buggies and wheeled vehicles that whine and growl and chug and make other noises that are annoying. (It’s worth acknowledging that the human(s) in control are largely responsible for the level of annoyance of such vehicles.)
Killian and his band had run from the road about an hour before I took this pic of him, far interior in the basin and away from any road. (And yes, they ran because the noise and annoyance level from two dirtbikes, a souped-up dirtbuggy and an ATV was excruciatingly high.) He was napping and watching one mare while his other mares grazed around him.
Shadow is another little old lady of the basin (though not nearly as old as Houdini) who’d rather not bother with two-legged interlopers, thank you very much. Just because the rest of the band doesn’t seem to be bothered, Shadow knows what she knows, and no one will convince her otherwise … even during lovely naps on lovely, sunny, not-quite-spring days. 🙂
Craziness: When you walk into the basin hoping to find a particular band, not expecting to see any other bands in the area in which you’ll be hiking … and find FOUR other bands … and still not the band you were *hoping* to find.
It happens. 🙂
Spirit looks fabulous against a backdrop of La Sal Mountains, still semi-snowy. With any beautiful luck, our world will be white in the morning.
In a switchup from yesterday’s post, nearly snow-white Kwana is the bright spot in this landscape, southish a few miles from the location where I found Hayden.
The thing is, I generally walk around, from waking to bedtime, with a heart full of grateful. So when to use that line to particularly highlight my gratitude for “all I’ve been given”?
The first day of a brand new year – after a really rather gnarly and ucky year – seems like a good time. 🙂
Looking back, it’s hard to find much about 2020 about which to feel grateful, but it IS a good lesson in finding joy in the little things … that maybe aren’t so little after all.
I am healthy. My family is healthy. A dear friend had a giant (!) health situation (unrelated to COVID) and came through, if not unscathed, relatively OK. I have a home and money for groceries and cat food. My horses – if a bit light on water – are thriving – and they have water. I am fortunate to have the support of a truly excellent BLM partner. I live in one of the most beautiful places on the planet, surrounded by mustangs (and for that, I am grateful to my employer), and probably I am one of the people least affected by the awfulness of the global coronavirus pandemic. On and on could I go. … Why wouldn’t I be grateful? How could I NOT be grateful?
And there it is: It’s relatively easy for me to be full-of-heart grateful. For (many, many) others, situations of life are not so fortunate or optimistic. I don’t want to gloss over or dismiss those struggles, even as I acknowledge my fortunes.
“Sometimes the world’s just right,” and at some point in time in the coming year, no matter how brief (and hopefully for much longer), I hope everyone can experience that feeling.
With hearts full, 2021, here we come. May it be blessed.
Spring Creek Basin Mustangs 