My Half Broke Horse

This is Stan the Man.

 Four years ago I was gifted a horse on my birthday. I knew this horse, he'd been born fifteen years before on our farm.

His mother, Lady, had been a gift to my Grandmother from my Grandfather. Abused most of her life, she came pregnant, the sire being a well known Clydesdale to my Grandpa.  Shortly after he was born, I wanted to name him Ziggy, with the way he zigged and zagged on his gangly foal legs. But it was grandma's horse, so grandma's foal and she chose Stanley.  

Stan in his youth.

He grew nearly as big as the percheron in the stable and was eventually broken to draw, which he does with a bit of trepidation, but takes a bit, bridle and harnesses draped across him and hauling no trouble. Once this was done though, he received little use, due to the ready to go grey team we had already.

For a long time when I was young I wanted to do horseback riding, but a teacher when I was young put me off. English riding was too ridged for me, and her constant shouting and lack of actual teaching made it difficult for me to progress or really develop an enjoyment of riding as it used to be, not a show sport, but a way of life for everyone. So I quit.

In my final year of university, I was given the opportunity to study socioeconomic history. I chose horses. The study resurged my interested and when my birthday rolled around and my Grandma saw my interest in horses growing again after years of disinterest and gave me Stan.

With school done I returned home in the spring. When I'd left Uni and few friends took the time to maintain contact.  My heart had been broken. I found solace in the shoulder of this soft breathing gelding I put all my time into him. He was my refuge at the end of the day, my challange.

I was determined to ride him.

My grandpa, since he was 14 has worked with horses, usually draft, but our farm started as a riding stable and he was the instructor. While he now suffers from short term memory loss, he managed to still give me pieces of advice and commands authority when it comes to working with animals. He fixed my mistakes when I made them, teaching me.

Slowly, patience, exercise and lots of brushing, Stan warmed to me. After a month I was mounted and took slow walks around the farm yard. I even blogged our progress on another site! It was a lot of learning for the both of us, he was half broke and I'd never done anything like this before. Its one thing to train a dog, another to train 1500 pounds of muscle with a clumsy step. 

I'd been on short little horses before and narrow horses, but I enjoyed Stan's size, he inherited his Clyde bones and build. He was built like the white chargers knights would ride on. And yet he made me laugh with his very un nobleness.Your supposed to wear heeled boots when ever you ride. 1500 pounds of horse flesh made me opt for a pair of steel toed boots. A little clumsy, like he's off in his own dream and a ardent fear of puddles.

You should be able to ride in any foot wear in my opinion.

But my training pain wasn't just limited to my toes. Once I took a dive off his shoulder when he got spooked, I sprained my shoulder but it never scared me like before.

Another time I nearly fell off, but managed to hold it. We rode through the cow coral, which he wasn't used to, and I was watching the road when he bolted back towards the gate. Cantering anxiously, I tried to rein him into a walk, at the same time realizing my sunglasses were slipping from the top of my head. I gathered the reins in both hands, hauling as I slid the shades back in place.  To the cars slowly driving by we must have looked bad ass.He fumbled to a stop at the closed gate, both breathed ragged a sigh of relief.

Lunging Stan. I think this was the hardest thing for me to learn to do, and him. He kept getting dizzy,and so did I.

I rode him all summer, and into the winter.Through knee deep winters I rode along the road, covered in layers, riding a white horse over the fields, even stopping at my grandparents help.

Originally, I'd used that yellow rope for reins before actually buying him equipment. The saddle was borrowed from my best friend's Uncle, who'd been taught to ride (and now ranches in BC) by my grandfather. Photo courtesy of Nicole Vankoughnett

 I am not, and was not a great rider. But the difference between my ridged shouting lessons and this novice on novice journey was that I enjoyed what I was doing.  I enjoyed building his trust, and reaping the benefits of what trust truly is. I learned to hold myself better in the saddle, finally understanding what my riding instructor could never seem to sink in. It wasn't just the riding.

The bugger loved to roll in mud. Mind you all of our horses love the mud. But he seemed to specialize in filthy. Yet there was a great deal of satisfaction in sweeping the crusty clay from him. Every time I came home and blew my nose, it was as black as his fur had been.

My favourite thing to do was to bring him into the orchard, I would take all his tack off and let him wander free, eating the over grown grass. Yet, if I started to walk about, he would begin to follow my, ears pricked forwards in curiosity.

Stan in his orchard 

In the end, I developed depression. Not severe and nothing genetic, but enough to make it difficult to want to go outside, or even get out of bed. I was sad and no manner of horse shoulders could seem to shake me from it. I got over when I could and he still perked his ears when he heard my voice. But the place I was living was causing me a great deal of pain. Eventually I moved to Scotland, where I live now and have made a full recovery.

We had to sell him this summer. My parents are trying to make the farm a money making place and 3 horses chewing away, pooping a lot and taking up space created a lot of work for my father and brother. He and two others were sold. With me over in Scotland it makes me sad I might not ever see him again.

 For a long time, I thought I'd treated him ill by neglecting him during depressions.  Now that I sit and write this I find myself grateful. He taught me patience, perseverance, and how to build trust. I taught him how to be handled with less fuss. And perhaps I will see him again, find him happy on a farm somewhere.

He's a horse so I know he certainly can't read this, but if his new owners come across this, I hope they love him as much as I did. Thanks be to Stan the Man, my friend!

At the height of my depression, still couldn't keep his bottom clean! One of the times I made it over to barn. 

The Direction of my Day

An illustrated description my morning start.

Tits up.

I'm going to go shoot the bow.

Momma's Summer Pizza

Momma's summer Pizza in the frozen hills of Scotland.

Its freezing. My toes are cold, it hammered down raining last night and we all walked back from the pub to the hostel and then Will and I had to go on to his place from there. Everything was soaked and still damp the next day, which is when the snow came.

Like an unwanted family of mice, the damp cold has crawled into the walls of my body and decided to take up residence. Its damp Scotland cold. I thought I'd make a dish that would remind me of warm summers in Canada.

Prebaked pizza goodness 

This recipe is from my mother, and it is now a family favourite back home, trouncing the ever classic pepperoni. I blame all the cheese.

The back porch back home, one of the many awesome places to sit and eat fabulous asparagus and cheese pizza.

Its very Mediterranean, or to me it tastes that way.

Its a pretty easy thing to make, and good for those who want to do a nice pizza but just haven't got around to learning how to make those scratch pizza bases everyone goes on about.
Ingredients:

Pizza Base
Garlic Basil Pesto
Feta Cheese
Mozzarella Cheese
Asparagus

Partially cook your asparagus in a frying pan with a bit of extra virgin olive oil. Set it aside. Take your pizza base and evenly spread pesto over. Don't make it to thick, there's lots of tastes competing in this dish. Next add crumbled or sliced feta cheese then slices of mozzarella. Then place your asparagus over top and bake for 15 to 20 minutes.

Its thaaaat easy!

And the finish result should look something like this.....

Recipe does not come with candle, or drinks. 

Food victory tea. 

It Is Not Always Sunny Here

It is not always sunny here.

It isn't. It rains a lot in Scotland and the area I moved in gets some of the highest precipitation recordings in the country. A few years ago, there were 300 days of rain.

300. That's a shit load of rain.

That being said, right now its snowing. A lot! I've gotten a few days off and I've been keeping myself busy with some  hobbies. Firstly! I went skiing, something I've not done in well over 7 years. I went Skiing with Will, who does not ski but Snowboards and we had lots of fun.... at 800m elevation. The views were amazing. High above the clouds I felt like I was on the edge of the earth, the cold winds nipping my cheeks, the control in long abandoned muscles returning. And I got whiplash from falling on my first run down. Ouch.

Here's the view from on top of the world.

Outside of that, I have found a archery location. I think I got my form kind of right. It doesn't matter though. I was having so much fun trying to practice and get it right. I shared it with a few of the staff and we did it in a place where no one could really see us and we weren't going to lose arrows or hurt any one!

Winter In the West Coast of Scotland

Glenfinnan

Its been a busy last few weeks.

Arrow Art

Yellow - This one I Penned in to give it more contrast. It made me want to buy propper/more propper inking pens

The Original Arrow

Blue Wind - 1st painted

Green - The effect of tape and un-inked arrows was interesting

Red - Needed one bloody looking one!

Frost In Scotland

The Camper Van Chronicles: Cup o' Tea

I love Tea.

While I appreciate the smell of coffee, I never acquired a love for the taste. Tea, like reading and writing, has my heart.

So I've always enjoyed mugs. Tea cups are pretty, but they just don't satisfy like a warm mug, a blanket and a book.

Recently though, with the prospect of buying a Camper van, I've become more particular and my sense of style and desire making things somewhat mine have come into their own. This is my thought process for every Camper we've looked for one;

Carpet on walls, WHY?? Who puts carpet in a shower? Why? Its everywhere else? Did the shower cry out for warmth? Did you  And WOOD. Wood everywhere. Like some horrid foresty gore porn.

So I've been looking into redesigning/decorating an interior of a camper van, and getting really excited about it. And I always get one fixation or another when I reeeeally get into something, and

I've been admiring Enamel Kettles! Enamel seems so sturdy, and I know with a kettle, I wouldn't like the ever destructible electric plug-in.

They're colourful and I feel like it would last so much longer then the plastic ones.

There's always been a metal kettle in the house back home. I just can't think of me not having one, especially on such an adventure, on something that will be home.

I've had fun rummaging around and have a look see at my Etsy finds!

From Right to Left, top to bottom. 1. Tall, Vintage Blue  2. Rosy Rustic Red 3. Pale Blue, And High Quality 4.  Brown Beauty 5. White Floral, Scandinavia  6. Captain America Blue 7. Red with Blue Detail, and Chain 8.  Cream and Cups

Le Pasta Bake

I made a Pasta Bake! After a Frosty New Years in Scotland, and spending the day at my boyfriend's place, I decided that I did not want toast and melted cheese for my breakfast. So After rummaging around on the internet for a few minutes I compiled a bake I'd enjoy. I only thought to take pictures at the end, but I can confirm it was a messy process!