So I've been here a little over a month. I haven't written, I haven't called. Transitions: who remembered how taxing they were? Quincy has done better than I have, though. Surfer boy is so thrilled with pasture turnout he's earned the new moniker "Grass man" by Chris and Lisa, his new landlords. The rest of the time, he acts and is treated like royalty, so his second nickname is "Princy." Either way, he doesn't concern himself the past or the future ... he's got now, and now has grass 12 hours a day, a herd to hang out with, and trails that keep his mind and body active. In the moment. There's a lesson there.
Speaking of lessons ... ChiaTrailer
Yes, the trip is over. But there is one last lesson to share from it. If your water tank leaks and you spill your horse's chia seeds, you will get a ChiaTrailer. I didn't discover my science experiment until I unpacked the trailer, a good week after I got here. You gotta laugh. And that is one tough little organism. I won the battle for the carpet's life, but ChiaTrailer put up a helluva fight.
The job
I must say, I am loving this job. There is something deeply satisfying about being able to use all your skills and education to help solve problems in an organization that has a worthy mission. Add to that the gift of Sarah, the best assistant ever (i.e., the other half of my brain), along with the fact that people seem to truly appreciate our help, and you've got an explanation for why I look forward to going in every day.
The riding
Virginia trails are unbelievable. According to Chris and Lisa, I have only scratched the surface
of what's available for a day trip. They're serious trail riders. Trail blazers, really. Off the manicured trails, this country is not for wimps. We weave between and under branches, jump over fallen trees (the true cavalettis), cross streams, cruise up and down hills. Quickly. Quincy is getting in really good shape, both mentally and physically. I am putting all those riding and horsemanship skills to good use (thanks Gina and Peter). I have also learned that my well-loved baseball caps are a hazard. I duck under a branch; I make it, the cap doesn't. By the third time, I learned my lesson. What's with me and lessons, anyway?
The ticks
Yes, the ticks get their own heading. They are like some alien lifeform here ... insidious, tenacious, and very difficult to kill. I am becoming much more adept at removing them from Quincy, and I'm learning all their favorite hiding spots. I get lots of practice -- I'm removing several ticks before we ride, and a bunch more after we're done. This task adds 30 minutes to my barn time. And the live ones don't begin to account for all the bites he's got, not only from ticks, but all manner of flying, buzzing, crawling creatures. We don't know bugs like this in California. When it comes to bugs, California is to Virginia what Air Force basic training is to Marine boot camp. But then, last Tuesday, we went to a whole new level for me. The alien invaded my neck. I was talking to Sarah, getting ready to go into a big meeting for us, and I felt a bump on my neck. I lifted up my chin and said, "Is this a
tick?" She got a very odd look on her face and said, "We need to find some tweezers. Now." We went to the front office and, with the help of some very helpful secretaries, found a pair of tweezers. I pulled that damn thing out, alive with his head intact, in the bathroom at DCAA headquarters. Five minutes later we went into our meeting. I let it go. But, Ew. Shudder. Right?
The Future
I don't know. Ask Quincy. All he sees is more grass, and he's good with it. I'm not sure what my grass is yet, but I'll just ride along and see what happens. And kill as many ticks as possible. I'm not barbaric, they're just bloodsucking menaces. And they irritate Princy. So.
