Like Horses, We Falter When We Lose Our Way

By
The morning after the veterinarian injected the little white mare with a sedative, and then a lethal dose of barbiturates, the herd did not want to go out to the pasture. They stayed near the gate where the sweet elderly Arabian had taken her last breath.  “The timing is good,” the veterinarian had said. “Not too soon, and not too late.” She had taken care of Echo for many years. None of us wanted the thin mare to endure another hard winter, even with the herd beside her, even with abundant hay.

The slender white mare had roamed these high mountain pastures for nearly thirty years. As other horses came and went, Echo’s presence remained as constant as the glow of moonlight over the meadows. She wasn’t a leader. She wasn’t an enforcer. She wasn’t even a follower. But like her name suggested, she was the mirror that reflected back to the other horses their sense of order, their sense that all was right in the world. 

Like the vista of a deep canyon inspires us to shout across the water and wait eagerly for the return of our own voice ... Hello?... Hello?… the little mare reminded the other horses that they were a community, and she was at its center. You are not alone. You are part of something grander. 

Remembering the herd clustered near the gate where Echo had died, I thought of all the horses that might be waiting for her in the great beyond, her herd in the sky. San Martine. Casteel. The weather horses Windy, Cloudy, and Sunny. The Peruvian Pasos de la Montana and Abril. My gentleman Arab Farside. Sweet Lena. Handsome Wendy. Dominica, the big warmblood. And so many more.

With each new member, and with each loss, the herd has had to restructure itself. Each horse must learn, or re-learn, its place within the herd. Each new horse must learn to respect the leaders, will suffer discipline and loneliness if they do not. Winter or summer, the horses do all of this while moving like a flock of birds in the sky—floating on the wind—always touching but not touching. 


Our human herd at the barn mirrors whatever is going on with the herd, but we don’t always recognize that we are doing this. Change disrupts our sense of order. We are rarely as graceful as the horses in reestablishing our equilibrium. We look for leadership. And like now, we falter when there is none. 

Echo's herd looks to the elders of the herd for leadership, now more than ever - big gentle black Milagro, the undisputed aging king, and Di, the wise queen mare. She stands quietly behind him here, patient in her reign, though it will eventually slip away from both of them. We do not know who will step up to take their places. 


I worry for our human herd—the one outside these pristine pastures. I fear that humans lack the wisdom of these horses. I fear that we no longer understand that our survival and serenity depend on our ability to form and hold community. Echo knew this when she welcomed my Arab gelding Farside to the herd, following him as he explored his new home. 


Let us look to our animal friends for guidance. Let us study the network of kinship that exists beneath the boughs of the trees. Let us learn from the tufted bunch grasses of the West that thrive from a common root system. Let us listen to the earth and to each other. Let us remember that we are part of something grander. Let us do this while the time is right. Before it is too late. 

NOTE: How do we start? Here's a suggestion...


In her groundbreaking EQUUS training program, Flying Lead Change, Kelly Wendorf teaches a way of leadership "modeled on a 56 million-year-old system of the horse herd––a path that has allowed humans and horses alike to survive the kinds of global and societal threats we now face, such as climate change and mass extinction." The book was released this month and is available now. 
Page Lambert's upcoming retreat "Santa Fe & Taos Autumn Sojourn" (September 2021), includes a private morning session with Kelly and the horses of EQUUS. Contact Page if you'd like more information about this 7-day retreat. 
An advisor for the Rocky Mountain Land Library and member of the International League of Conservation Writers, Page Lambert has been writing about the western landscape and leading nature retreats in the West for twenty years. Founding member of Women Writing the West, member of Wyoming Writers and Colorado Authors’ League, Lambert’s writing can be found inside monumental sculptures at the Denver Art Museum, online at Huffington Post, and inside the pages of dozens of anthologies. Page designs and teaches graduate writing courses for the University of Denver’s University College. Recent published works include “Not for Sale” (Langscape Magazine and “The Rural West,” included in Fulcrum’s new book, The Light Shines from the West. Forthcoming are 3 poems in DoveTails: Writing for Peace. Page writes All Things Literary/All Things Natural from her mountain home west of Denver.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Celtic Blood, Cherokee Blood, and Nature's Earthly Spirits

By
Image
Helen Terry Dunton c. 1912 When I asked my redheaded Great Aunt Violet, who died many years ago but in whose western saddle I still ride, to tell me what she remembered about my paternal grandmother, she said, "Well, besides being a crack shot with a rifle, Helen was part Irish, and part Cherokee , and that wasn't a very good thing to be back then."   Auntie Vi was from the Dunton clan, my father's clan. "We have Scots blood," was the pronouncement, and I took it to mean that Scots blood was somehow superior to the Irish blood my grandfather had married into.  The Cherokee blood was rarely mentioned, and never with "princess" lineage claims. I continue to research this claim but have found no direct lineage tying me to enrolled ancestors, only the names of distant cousins and ties to Cherokee communities in Oklahoma such as Wauhillau and Stillwell. Beyond the American Pale In David M. Emmons book, Beyond the American Pale: The Irish in t
READ MORE »

The Moral Dilemma of My Mother's Mink: Earning Our Place in the World

By
Image
My mother’s mink stole and two fur collars, one sable, one white, have been hanging in the back of my closet since she died five years ago.  I remember how beautiful she looked to me as a child when she wore her mink—how the soft fur graced her bare sloping shoulders and showed off her own mother’s strand of pearls—how proud my father looked as he offered my mother his arm. The mink stole symbolized to my father his ability and desire to provide for my mother (not unlike what his grandfather must have felt when he dragged a deer back to his waiting wife). Old Fugate Sawmill, Stringtown, OK read essay My grandmother never wore a mink stole, though.  She had been born in Indian Territory—the child of a laboring, mixed-blood family that logged for the railroad companies as they laid track from Arkansas and Kentucky and Oklahoma west to Washington.  Judging from old family photos, they ate a lot of deer meat—and rabbit.  Members of the weasel family, no doubt, provided food and fur an
READ MORE »

The Crows Who Knew the Fox Who Knew My Mother

By
Image
Always, in the month of May, I feel my mother's presence in the untamed view outside our windows (which was once her view), in the mountain neighbors who once knew her, even in the noisy crows who congregate in the gangly ponderosas in our yard. The elders of this crow family might have been youngsters when Mom was alive, growing as she aged, recognizing her just as they recognized the mother fox and each new set of kits who denned below the house. Mom loved nature, and walks in the woods, but she also loved Japanese art, exotic travels, world-class museums, good books, classical music, Darjeeling tea, and French food. She never had these things growing up, which is perhaps why, later in life, she loved them so much. She loved Van Gogh, but not as much as she loved Claude Monet. A print of Monet's Japanese Bridge  found its way onto every bedroom wall I had as a child.   I've been re-reading my old journal entries from 2004, when my mother's valient struggles with cance
READ MORE »