Friday, June 20, 2008

Summer Scenes


So it all starts today, and I do believe it and can conceive it. This is a truly beautiful Friday morning for the start of summer. Tree leaves fluttering in a soft breeze, birds singing, horses happily grazing in grass nearly up to their withers, garden growing, blue sky cloudless.

In contrast to all the griping I did for months about the winter, I'll sing Hallelujahs (although off key) about any gorgeous North Idaho day. A full day of the stuff I love more than anything lies ahead. That's work and outdoor work at that. The weedeater has been running overtime the past few days, and I've still got scraggily grass to remove from around trees, fences, bushes, etc.
This place requires long hours of work, but I don't mind that one bit. The end product is worth every minute of toil.


I also don't mind having a pretty horse to ride. Lily is almost a dream. Since bringing her home last Friday, I've ridden her four times and now even one more than Laurie who's continuing her training. Last night marked our first solo experience because Laurie was gone to Bonners Ferry for a class. I asked Bill to remain within eyeshot, just in case. That was hardly necessary.
Lily crow-hopped once when she was supposed to be jogging. Her crow hops seem more like sparrow hops to me. Even ol' Rambo could get those long hind legs up in the air with a little more pzazz than Lily.


We went out on the road, just a short stretch down toward the Kauble's driveway and then north toward Meserve's. I looked back to see a car turn on to South Center Valley Road and figured I'd better turn her around so she could see it coming. After all, this was Lily's first meeting with a car on a country road.

She could have cared less cuz there were horses in a field far off to the east that took her attention, so much so, she slipped a hind leg into the ditch while snorting at them. Other than that, all went well as I visited briefly with Monique from Forest Siding Road.
Hallelujah, Lily. I'm proud of her and proud to sit on her back.


Summer brings lots of animal experiences. I had an encounter with a robin family yesterday. The weedeater ran out of gas, so I went to get the gas can. When I came back, a baby robin was sitting on one of the handlebars. I told it to leave, but it just sat there. I petted its little head and went on about my business of filling the gas tank.

It sat there the whole time, not moving. Finally, it was time to power up the weedeater, so I carefully lifted the little one from its perch. Instantly, the protests began, and I saw Mom and Dad, flying to and fro, chastising me to no end. The little one let out a whoop and then flew from my hands to the ground.

Kea loves to chase robins, and instantly she was on the pursuit. I shooed her out of the way and moved the little birdie further from where I was doing my work. Mom and Dad settled down, and apparently the little one found its way to a safe haven.

I have a sad tale to relate about the creatures of summer. Last week, a whitetail doe came to the Lovestead to have her baby. We knew it was somewhere near the house because for several days, she even came into the yard with no fear. She also chased the dogs twice while Bill and Annie took them to the woods. Bill said he'd never seen such an aggressive deer. He even locked the dogs in the kennel and used the 4-wheeler to go to the woods after that.

The other day, shortly after putting the horses into their pasture, I went outside to hear the telltale sounds of a baby fawn. The horses were standing in a circle near the sound. Apparently, the little one had been hidden by Mom in the deep, jungle-like grass and a horse had stumbled on to it. It's shriek startled the horses, and one of them apparently struck it, killing the fawn. This unfortunate sequence of events was especially intensified by memories of the tender sight of the baby fawn we had enjoyed and photographed at Boulder Meadows just the day before.

Our homegrown fawn had not been so lucky. It was awful.

I removed the horses from the pasture and called a friend who knows the rules of wildlife. He said to let nature take its course. The doe would find its baby and would probably leave soon after. He said not to bury it and that the horses would leave it alone.


We followed his suggestions. The chain of subsequent events played out exactly as he predicted.
We're often reminded that there's not a happy ending to every story, nor a clearcut explanation for why things happen as they do. I thought for a while---if only the doe had kept her baby in the woods, if only I had know it was in the field . . . then, I stopped stewing, realizing that often the "if only's" aren't dictated by what we humans accustomed to TV fiction wish would happen.


Cruel lessons of life, I guess.

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