Horse Sense

Our four work horses have had a tumultuous season. When three out of four couldn’t work, from age or injury, we borrowed a horse from our farrier. Introducing a new horse to a herd is always a tricky business.

We started with the new mare, Button, and our horse, Clyde, as they would be the working team for a while. They got along nicely. Meanwhile Molly, Moon, and Ben were in our neighbors’ pasture, where they always spend part of the grazing season. When Molly recovered from her lameness, we brought the three back home. 

It was a beautiful sight: five big draft horses, one black, one red, two gold, and one cream, all galloping around on the green green grass. Great! we said, until the next morning, when Moon got out, all by himself, and went back to the neighbors.’ 

We fetched Moon home, thinking he had just gotten tangled up somehow. But it turned out that Moon was sore afraid of Clyde, because Clyde had decided that with two mares around, it was time to be a serious boss hoss, and he chased Moon and Ben away aggressively.

Ben is all right with some distance, but Moon grew up with Molly, and he wants to be next to her at all times. Clyde would no longer tolerate this. Thus we had a new configuration: the main herd (of three), and a new bachelor herd (of two), just like in the wild. Okay, we thought, that’s fine.

The next escape was an hour later: Moon and Ben got out and went to the neighbors.’ We gave up, and left them there, thinking these horses had a lot more time to get out than we had to get them back in. Occasionally there was some neighing back and forth, but for the most part all was calm.

After nearly two months, when we finally had our hay and garden work done, we took Button home. We brought Moon and Ben back into the fold, thinking there would be no problem. Ha! 

Clyde still chased Moon and Ben away, a long way away. The two pairs of horses had lots of room in our big pasture, but we were beginning to wonder what we would do when it was time to bring them all into the smaller winter paddock.

By November, trying to hold off on the paddock, we were setting out hay in the pasture. But when the snow came, Molly and Clyde walked past the hay, and went on a jaunt to the neighbors.’  

“For crying out loud,” we groaned. All right, now Molly and Clyde could stay at the neighbors.’ But in fifteen minutes, they had gotten out of the neighbors’ pasture and come home again. This was also the day before Thanksgiving, and we had planned to visit family. These horses were not helping. We ended up taking all four of them back to the neighbors’ pasture, along with two mangers of hay.

Happily, everything went fine while we were away. When we got home, we wanted to bring our horses home too, where all the hay and water was. So we split our winter paddock, with a classy arrangement of metal gates and a wooden pallet, because the gates weren’t quite long enough. 

We fed the two horse pairs at opposite ends of the paddock. Gradually, we planned, over some weeks, we would bring them closer and closer together, and maybe they would all remember how to get along. 

But the funny thing was, all four horses already remembered. On day two, they were calmly eating near each other, next to the gate divider. By day four, we opened up the gates. By day six, we took the gates down entirely.

“What’s the big deal?” the horses seemed to say. “This is how we always spend the winter.” 

Huh. Well. We humans might have saved ourselves some trouble, if we had a little more horse sense.

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, Dec 13 - Dec 19, 2023

The Dedication of the CCCD

Recently I gave a short talk at the Cheshire County Conservation District’s annual meeting. The meeting happened to fall on the same evening as the 22 degree weather prediction. Happily, the CCCD fed us a good hot meal, and then we went back to the garden, from 9 p.m. to 2:30 a.m., pulling and storing crops before the freeze. 

You’re probably glad you missed the headlamp harvesting, but here’s the speech:

My fellow and I started farming because we like to work outdoors. We started vegetable farming because we like vegetables. We started vegetable farming with draft horses because we like horses.

But we did not start vegetable farming with draft horses because we like money.

In fact, budgeting, marketing, and big-money projects are one of the toughest parts of small, sustainable farming. The Cheshire County Conservation District has helped us with our big-money problems by connecting us with the Natural Resources Conservation Service, and we’ve received grants for fencing, irrigation, and greenhouses.

But the CCCD has also supported us in our more ordinary, daily project of making our living by selling vegetables. Here are three mini-stories about a few of the district’s programs, programs which address both food insecurity and farmer insecurity.

The first program is Veterans' Appreciation Month at the farmers’ market, which happens every September. Veterans receive vouchers for fresh food, and farmers receive a boost in sales, as September is also the month when foot traffic goes way down at the market. 

Many veterans tend towards the snack veggies – a pint of cherry tomatoes or some carrots.  But one year, my fellow came home from the market saying, “One of the vets got almost all his vouchers in hot peppers. He’s going to have one peppy snack!” Considering that hot peppers were only a quarter apiece at the time, I’d say that vet was going to have a lot of peppy snacks!

The second program is the Granite State Market Match, which offers double the spending power for people who qualify for SNAP benefits, at the market or as CSA members. The program attracts both returning and new members to our farm. One of the first of those new members was a chef. 

The chef was married, with a job, a spouse, two very small children and a brand-new baby. He always looked exhausted; still he was glad to see the lettuce, the potatoes, the squash, all the vegetables in his weekly share. But what really caught his attention was the unusual things that my fellow gets excited about trialing in small amounts every year: hibiscus, licorice basil, ginger, turmeric. Some of our CSA members might look askance at these oddities, but our chef’s eyes would light up when he came into the distribution shed: “Oh wow, is that Thai basil? I know exactly what I’m going to make with that!”  

The third program is the Monadnock Farm Share Program, which provides half-price shares for people with lower incomes. The program is a collaboration between regional CSA farmers, the CCCD, and local business sponsors. 

One of our long-time CSA members, with serious health issues, which then caused serious budget issues, happily joined the program. She loves tomatoes, and always whooped when the first tomato came in. She also always wanted to have a tomato parade for us. When our dear friend died, at 56, her request was to have her memorial service at our farm. We finally had our tomato parade, as we sang and cried our way up to one of our horse pastures, to say goodbye to our friend.

These kind of deep connections with the people who eat the food we grow is part of what keeps my fellow and I farming vegetables with draft horses. The Cheshire County Conservation District helps us turn that farming into a living. We love the district’s dedication to food access and food security and food justice, and we also love their dedication to local gardeners and farmers.

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, Nov 15 - Nov 21, 2023

Borrow-a-Draft-Horse Agency: Thank Goodness for Farriers, Mothers, and Draft Horses

We farmers were stumped. With three out of four draft horses unable to work, due to injury, and our first decent stretch of haying weather coming up, late in the summer, we needed to borrow a draft horse, in a hurry. But how likely was that?

“Maybe we could call the Borrow-a-Draft-Horse Agency?” I suggested.

“Let’s think,” answered my fellow farmer, “Who could we even ask? X’s team is pretty old, and he won’t want to split them up, anyway. Y’s horse might like the company of our horses, but Y would miss her horse too much. Let’s try Z.”

“And A, and B, and C,” I added, so we made phone calls and sent emails, thinking our chances were pretty slim. How many people have draft horses anyway, and who in their right mind would ever loan one?

Luckily, our farrier, Jake, whose generosity far outweighs his right-mindedness, said “Sure, you can borrow Button. She could use the work.”

We could hardly believe it, and we not only borrowed the horse, but the horse trailer to haul her. Button, who is half-Belgian and half-American Cream, is a big horse, a beautiful pale gold color. She was also out of shape, a “cream puff,” said our farrier’s mother, Mary. In fact, Button was so round and gold we were tempted to call her Butterball instead of Button.

Button was not pleased to be separated from her two pasture-mates. Happily, Mary helped us, leading Button into the trailer, multiple times. Button backed, right off the trailer, multiple times. Mary sighed, led Button’s mother into the trailer, tied her, led Button in, tied her, then untied and backed Button’s mother off again.  

Thank goodness for mothers, we were thinking. 

But “Thanks, George!” was what Mary said, relieved. George is Mary’s spouse, and Jake’s father. George died, in 2021, of cancer. George was also a farrier, and a teamster, and a draft-horse legend, and he carried that great spirit of generosity we still see in Jake. We all miss George. As my fellow farmer said, “I never thought I’d get to drive a horse that George trained.”

Button gradually settled down on our farm, showing her solid training, and remembering her good manners. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t a handful. George liked “hot” horses, and Button is hot. (She’s a hot button!)

At our farm, we introduced Button to just one horse, Clyde, while our three recovering horses stayed at our neighbors’. Luckily Clyde is a very steady, sleepy horse, so he made a good calming partner for the high-headed Button. 

Button was learning a lot, and so were we, such as how Button likes to run away when she sees a person coming with a halter. A person without a halter? Button is your best friend. Still, a horse-horse relationship always tops a horse-human relationship, and Clyde never minds being haltered. So we would halter Clyde, as Button trotted around in circles, and then walk away. By the time we got to the gate, Button would give up, and stand for the halter.

Button loved Clyde, but she didn’t love all the rest of the new stuff: new stable, new harness, new noisy scary farming activities. But she managed. She even muscled up. 

“I think we’ve gotten her from cream puff to cream cheese,” my fellow reported to our farrier and his mother. “She’s doing great.” 

Button is doing great, and are we ever glad to have her visiting, hot or not. She is getting us through one long hard garden season, thanks in no small part to George, and to his human and horse legacy. 
 

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, Oct 18 - 24, 2023

If Wishes Were Horses . . .

We’d have plenty to drive.

Wish it Didn’t Happen, #1: In a classic example of farmer exhaustion bordering on farmer foolishness falling into farmer-causing-harm, we accidentally dropped our barbed wire gate too close to the pathway. When my fellow farmer brought all four horses to the pasture at once, which he often does, one horse got caught in the wire. This was very bad, and this is exactly the reason you should not use barbed wire with horses.

I heard the ruckus and went running. Clyde and Moon, still tied together by the halters, were galloping in a panic. My fellow farmer, also panicked, was trying to untie Ben from Molly, who was caught in the wire. I unhaltered Clyde and Moon, and my fellow got Ben free, and the three settled down to graze nearby. Then I held Molly’s halter, and my fellow worked the wire cutters. We were very lucky, as Molly only had surface scratches on one leg.

Wish it Didn’t Happen, #2: Ben, our big black Percheron, made some strange loud breathing noises twice last year as he was working. Maybe it was because both days were hot, the hay loads were heavy, and Ben was working with Clyde, not his favorite partner in harness. But it didn’t happen again, and this spring Benny did some heavy work without incident. 

Then came the incident: a hot haying day, with Ben and Clyde. Ben started making the big noise when they were in the barnyard, pulling the wagon. 

“I don’t know what to do,” said my fellow, as we hitched the hay wagon to the hayloader.

“I don’t either,” I said. “Let’s just see how Ben’s doing at the top of the hill.” 

Well, Benny didn’t make it to the top of the hill. He hardly made it to the start of the hill. He made the noise, and then he staggered, and then he collapsed in a ditch. He tried to get up. He couldn’t get up. It was dreadful.

We managed to unhook Ben from the wagon and from Clyde (who stood like a dream, when he could have easily panicked). We thought Ben was going to die right there, in the ditch. But all of a sudden he heaved himself to his feet. He stood there a moment. Then he put his head down to grab a bite of grass. We were dumbfounded.

We took Ben slowly back to the barn – by then his nose was bleeding – but he drank water and ate hay, and the bleeding stopped. We headed back to the hayfield with Clyde and Molly. After haying, Ben still seemed fine, so we led all four horses to pasture, figuring if Benny was going to die in the night, he’d rather do it in the green grass with his herd near him. But the next morning, there he was, big as life, grazing along, and wondering why we were making such a fuss over him. 

We did a little research, later confirmed by the vet. Turns out Benny is a roarer. His larynx is paralyzed on one side; he couldn’t get enough air during heavy exercise and passed out. This happens mostly in racehorses, and a nosebleed often follows. (Surgery is possible, but not always successful.) Benny is twenty years old, and doesn’t have any roaring problems at leisure: thus he is officially retired. 

Wish it Didn’t Happen, #3: Molly’s other leg is swollen. She is lame. We call the vet. Apparently we missed something from the barbed wire episode. With antibiotics, she comes through fine. But she can’t work. So we prevail on Moon, her brother, who has been fully retired for three years, to do a little raking and tedding of the hay. Though he is willing, he gets a sore shoulder.  

We now have three out of four work horses that can’t work.

We also have a lot of hay to get in, and a lot of garden tasks. As crazy as it sounds, we are able to borrow a draft horse. If wishes were horses . . .

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, Sept 20 - 26, 2023