Archive for July, 2012

I had forgotten about living in the desert because I’d been away from SW Utah since the 1970s. I always felt that living in Iowa was a better idea. You stuck a seed in the ground. It grew. That’s all it took.

In Utah they dug ditches (they call them canals) and direct water to their gardens, fields, lawns, children, etc. Here in the midwest, it simply rains.

Well evidently I’ve moved back to the desert. My Sister Pam and her neighbors had torrential rains for 3 or 4 days last week out there in Hurricane, Utah. I’d imagine the desert flowers will be looking rather spectacular over the next few weeks. That is unless the flash floods (it is a desert after all) don’t wash away the seeds and landscape.

We had another hot day today. Something like the 49th day in a row above 121 degrees F. We are supposed to be in the 100s for the next several days. At least the mosquitos are minimal.

I believe Mars has a similar atmosphere. Ray Bradbury wrote several times about how similar Iowa was to the surface of Mars on a hot day. Or maybe that was the African plains stories I read in my youth. I’m having trouble remembering all of the details precisely. The heat seems to have affected my synapsis and memory.

Well needless to say, I think I may start digging ditches (canals) and hoping for a massive humidity drop. Because of course we all know… It’s not so much the heat… Yeah. Right!


Tiarra and Khluckee meandering about in the additional area added to their pen yesterday. The colt has decided that it’s big enough to use as a race track allowing for running in big circles. Poor mom’s been working up a sweat trying to keep up with the kid. The exercise is good for her. 🙂 It’s good for all of us.

When it’s extremely hot outside a person tends to relinquish common sense in terms of protective clothing/gear. Case in point: Mowing and weed whacking around the farmstead. Why wear boots and long pants when the heat index is over 100 degrees? Short ankled shoes and socks with a comfortable pair of shorts seems to be a much better idea.

I don’t know if it’s only me that has misfortunate luck with weed eaters. I have purchased several over the years (key word here “several”) and find that I can usually only get a year and a half to two years out of them before they wear out. The last one the string feeder wore off to the point of not being able to keep the string from dispensing way too long, which caused it to wrap around the string head to the point of killing the engine. Evidently the little knife on the shroud the keeps the string at a usable length decided to take a leave of absence.

A trip to the hardware store (Romano True Value) to find a fix took me towards replacing the string feed with a four blade after market attachment that would “cut through saplings up to 3/4” thick. The plastic blades were not intended for certain surfaces such as wire fences, cement walls, etc., but would handle most weeds/grass on our farmstead. The purchase was made. The attachment was securely put on the weed whacker. The devastation began.

Now when boots and long pants aren’t worn, the lower extremities of the body become susceptible to damage via flying debris. What possibly can weed/grass parts do to harm the human body…

The front porch of the man shed has a limestone floor. I became tired of pulling weeds so turned to the (you guessed it) the fore mentioned device of total weed mayhem. The weed whacker.

A small stone (less than a half inch in diameter) becomes quite the missile when launched from a four bladed attachment on a Toro weed whacker. A missile that should never come into contact with the bottom portion of the left leg’s tibia (interior ankle bone). This is due to a lack of padding/protection of the tibia, since there’s only a thin layer of skin and a short topped sock covering it.

Pain occurs. Bruising follows. Pain continues.

I don’t know about you, but I think steel ankled tennis shoes are a marketable item.

Emron Khe-Luckee - Bay colt

24 hours old and with a good mom. “Khluckee” was born on Friday the 13th so we figured he could use a name that denoted his birthday. My Sister suggested we name him Lucky. Emron Kheno is his sire. Emron Tiarra is his dam. All of our purebred arabians we’ve bred have the name Emron as a prefix. That allows us to use any name we decide in the Arabian Horse Registry of America. This will be the last horse to use Emron (unless we lose our minds) 🙂

The Edge of Darkness

The late day sun can light any situation better. The shadows in the creek were amazing.

It’s funny how life is. It’s funnier how the female brain works.

Last year our stallion Emron Kheno was turned out with one of our mares “to see if he’d quit pacing about so much.” Well he quit pacing for just long enough to procreate his last foal that was born this morning. Handsome little guy this new colt. His mom is doing quite well – and being a terrific first time mother.

When we had to have Kheno put down last winter it was tough on this particular horse guy. I met Kheno in the pasture almost 3 decades ago when I walked up to check on our expectant mares. I discovered a fine black bay colt standing in the early morning light next to his mother Rorbeck Rena. He came over and introduced himself when Rena was getting her neck scratched. Foals are an amazing addition to any farm. The idea that this 4-legged animal toddling about, making it’s mother slightly crazy while trying to be sure her new born is safe, was just plopped on the ground a few short minutes ago is almost not comprehendible. Nature is an amazing thing(s).

So my Wife has been lamenting for the past several months about having “another mouth to feed” in the pasture. On and on she would ramble on about the fact the “we should have never ran them together.” “What were we thinking?” she would ask. “Have you seen the price of hay?” “Sheeeesh! We don’t need another horse!”

Well this morning, the first thing I heard (while still asleep) was, “we have a baby” whispered softly in my ear. After realizing she was talking about our new foal, I got up and followed Jayna outside to see the new arrival. We made our way to the pen that the baby boy horse and his mother were in. Walking through the damp, dew covered grass. What a lovely morning.

The mare was eating her morning hay as we approached the fence. She looked up and nuzzled her colt and they both walked a short distance away from the new visitors. Jayna and I stood with our two dogs admiring this new project of Pony Creek Farm.

Using her sweet, little girl voice, Jayna was heard to say “isn’t he soooo cute” thus undoing several months of fretting over the price of hay…


Emron Kheno’s last foal

Posted: July 13, 2012 in Hershey's Life

Emron Kheno's last foal

Born this morning – Friday, July 13th. Bay. Boy. This is what happens as a result of trying to keep a 26 year old stallion happy. 🙂

Dealing with people…

It’s always interesting to interact with fellow human beings. Unlike critters and animals, humans tend to go against the powers of instinct and simply fool you by their reactions.

For instance. If you walk up to a horse and slowly, quietly extend your hand and scratch their neck, they may shy away a bit at first but will usually find appreciation in this nice gesture on your part. Unless, that is, it’s a mean, wild, nasty horse and it proceeds to kick, bite and stomp your butt into the ground as though you were a predator attacking their foal.

Hmmm. Maybe humans don’t react that differently from the critters and animals.

“How are you tonight sir?” the late 30ish man asked as I passed him in Hy-Vee (grocery store) tonight on my way to buy a couple of gallons of milk for my son Alec and me. The Dad had just hurried his young blonde daughter over to their right to make room for me and my cart in the narrow aisle. She jumped out of the way (although there was no danger of her being ran over by my cart. I was more or less moseying towards the dairy products.

I responded “swell.”

One of my co-workers in the advertising department always responds “swell,” a long lost word in the American english language. Swell. Denotes several types of good. Adjective: informal, dated. Excellent; very good. Adverb: informal, dated. Excellently; very well.

As the Dad and his daughter passed me I realized I had once again been addressed as “sir.”

I have used sir since my childhood. My Parents always tried to impress upon us to have respect for others. Sir shows that respect. My Dad deserved to be called sir. His peers deserved to be called sir. Any man older than I deserved to be called sir. Respect. That’s all.

I, not so much. I’m not old enough to be a sir. I still get up in the morning and think with the immature mind of a 20 something. Then I look in the mirror with my glasses on.

I’m a “sir” he sadly states resembling his Dad.

Moved a 1000 gallon poly livestock tank up the hill in to the horse pasture. I didn’t really want to drag it up the hill by hand so I enlisted the Branson tractor with the bush hog on it. Flipped the tank over. Set it over the mower. Tied it in place with orange baling twine. Drove it up the hill. 

Horses are an interesting bunch. They are a prey animal. Things eat them. They know this instinctively. Running away is always their first option. Ions later, they’re still around.

The three equines were standing by the old leaky tank as I drove up the hill. It wasn’t an immediate panic. It took a minute or so before they blew vast quantities of air from their nostrils, spun on their hocks, and headed up the hill much higher than I was. They were safe.

Proceeding up and in to the pasture, I dropped off the new bright blue tank, mowed some small trash trees down, and left mowing a new path down the hill to the back yard so Jayna could go for walks.

At the bottom of the hill I turned to look at the pretty new path only to see a large dark creature standing in the big bright blue tank. I believe he would have been the first one eaten in the herd.