Goodbye Pony Girl

Ashley on Squirt in 1996

Today, Dr. Forsythe came to the farm and we put Squirt down.  The Cushing's had advanced to the point that keeping her comfortable was beyond our available resources.  Ashley came up for the day to brush her one last time and to be with her as she died.  Our tears have flowed freely today.  Rebecca and I hugged each other as T.J. buried our beloved pony next to Locksley, her old stablemate.

Tristan and Squirt, ready for pass in review sometime in the  mid '90's

She taught several children to ride, taught us all to drive, and was the hit of many a school or church festival, where she tirelessly gave pony rides to scores of children who without her never would have been close to a horse.  In her younger years, she was a regular fixture at St. Francis Day animal blessings, and her flash and style made her a real crowd pleaser.  As a three year old, she placed third at the Ohio State Fair in open roadster class, and we bought her not long after that.  Dave Bailey and I drove to Darke county and brought her home for $500.  It was some of the best money I ever spent.

Ashley driving a very young Tristan somewhere,
Perhaps to a regimental muster?

 

Tristan called home from University to see how things went with the vet.  While he never developed a love of horses like his sister, he did think a great deal of this little gal who was so much a part of our lives here at Briarwood. 

I'd like to thank all of the people who have called and written to express their condolences to us about the loss of animals over the past two weeks.  First we lost Faithful Pat the white hound, and now Squirt.  It is as if an era in our lives has passed.  We give thanks for what has been, and look forward to a wonderful future together.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. AMEN.

Goodbye Squirtie

Fergus, Pat, and Lassie
other good friends from the old days

Thanksgiving Report

 

We spent the day at home, with Tristan and Rebecca's parents.  It was a traditional and quiet day with turkey, sweet potatoes, brussel sprouts, cranberries, pumpkin pie, oyster dressing, and
all of those things which go with a traditional formal American Thanksgiving dinner.  Tristan cooked, employing some of the techniques he has picked up in the dietetics department at the University.  He raided the garden and greenhouse for fresh herbs and his production really was quite good.  Perhaps we will let him cook next year as well.

Friday we left early to shoot pheasants in Federal Valley with Ashley's family on her husband Matthew's side.  We killed eleven birds with Fat Leo the Labrador's help (he hunted very well for the day) and then repaired to the club house for fellowship with friends the Montecristos and Mr. Daniels, an old acquaintance from Tennessee.   Then it was back to Chuck and Kathy's where the girls had prepared a wonderful luncheon of prime rib, roast potatoes, cranberry rice, and all the fixings.  We had fun playing games and make believe with the grand daughters and had a wonderful afternoon.  It is amazing how much fun those girls can have with a handful of pheasant and turkey feathers.  Ashley is doing a wonderful job rearing them without a lot of electronic over stimulation and whiz bang gadgets.  I believe they will in the long run be much better for it.

We  ended the weekend special events with a trip to the Palace Theatre to enjoy Christmas Carol, a stage adaptation of Dicken's famous work, yet another wonderful dinner, and finally we will go to Church for Christ the King Sunday.  I am so very thankful that my family is all back in Ohio for this Thanksgiving.   Whatever the future may hold, I cannot say enough times how blessed of God I am.

Preparing to Give Thanks

Norman Rockwell's American Icon: Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is just around the corner here in the US.  It is a grand time of year, with low key family gatherings, lots of seasonal food, some time afield, and "Low Sunday" sorts of Church services.  With the passing of Diocesan Convention this weekend, I am starting to gear up for the day.  Next week, I will sit down for an extended lunch with my United Methodist and Roman Catholic colleagues and we will plan our ecumenical service for the year.  There is not much planning involved besides determining who will preach, but it is a wonderful chance to renew friendships and let things run themselves, which is so much in keeping with the spirit of this holiday for so much of rural and suburban America. 

This year is particularly satisfying for us because all of the family is here in Ohio again.  Tristan will be home from University, and Ashley, Matthew, and the girls are just an hour away in Athens.  Everyone is as safe as can be, and the joy of children's laughter rolls through the woods and across the fields as it did two decades ago.  On Wednesday afternoon, Ashley brought the girls up for a visit.  They immediately dived into the dress up bag and came out attired as fairy princesses, complete with tiarras and magic wands for "enchanting" any unfortunate dog, chicken, or horse they happened to encounter.  Then it was "wellies on" and to the barn to feed apples to the equines and to determine what chickens they would take to their farm with them in the weeks and months to come.  From there we wandered over the back pasture and into the woods to visit the old hunting cabin (a marvelous adventure when you are only three feet tall!) Back at the house, we piled into Grammy's garden wagon with "golden Jesus and picture Jesus" (only my grand-daughters are allowed to loot the family chapel with impunity) for a ride around and around and down the lane to collect the mail.  Then, finally, we returned to the house for tea and a story before traveling for dinner to a local Albanian restaurant and then home to Athens. 

Presidential politics and Ecclesial disputes seem so far away here at Briarwood.  The clean air and the occasional smell of wood smoke seem to wash away the cares of the world.  The love of family and the comfort of a faithful dog, the aroma of a newly groomed horse, and the crisp taste of homeade cider make the unrelenting realities of the broader world seem so remote, and clear my heart to concentrate on those things which are truly important: my God, my family, and giving thanks.

The Best County Fair in the Land!

The Fairfield County Fairgrounds from Mount Pleasant

 The Fairfield County Fair is loved by the people of our county, and is considered by many in these parts to be the best County Fair in Ohio.  When my own children were unable to attend because of grad school and military service, I know how much they missed it, and how they enjoyed seeing a few pictures of home.  They are back in the area now, but I know there are still many of our home town folks serving, studying, and working in foreign parts who cannot make the fair this year.  Because I know how much many of them love this place, I post these pictures with the message that we miss you, and you are not forgotten.  Wherever you may roam, know that we all look forward to the day when you can come home and be among us again.  God bless you, and thank you for your service.

PS: I couldn't find any good clips of this years draft horse pulls, and the combine/ auto demolition derbys and standardbred races haven't happened as of this posting.  But, they are happening, and we hope you will be here next year.


the mule races

a champion?

the 19th century round dairy barn

the midway at night

hard work pays off!

champion feeder steer 

the concert headliners

fairfield county's largest pumpkin

show jumping for gaited horses- a new class for 2012

Memories of My Dad

Federal's traditional purple 16 gague shot shell

Dad died a few years ago, and occasionally something reminds me of how much I miss him.  Today it was taking to the field with some friends for the first day of dove season.  I shot pretty well, always keeping in mind the truism from "Downton Abbey" that a shooter always wonders which is worse, "the sorrow at killing the bird, or the humiliation when you miss."  I had my fair share of both today, but the real story of the day was about remembering Dad.  He always shot 16 gauge.  In the old black powder days it was the perfect round ballistically.  When silver powder came along with its multitude of load possibilities, the "16" waned in popularity here in the US, although I'm told it remains very popular in Europe.  But I've always stuck with it because that's what Dad used. 

Last week, in preparation for the hunt, I stopped by Gander Mountain and picked up a few boxes of Federal shot shells in #8, the correct size for the small and elusive rockets that are called doves.  When I got to the peg today and opened the box to chamber my first two shots, I realized that the hulls on Federal 16's were still purple plastic.  My mind raced immediately back to the purple shells that were always stacked neatly in the bottom of the gun closet in Parker where I grew up.  It was almost like Dad was there with me.

My Dad: May he rest in peace

It's funny, the things that can trigger a memory.   For me is is usually something small and unexpected, like a purple hulled shotgun shell.  I'm glad it works like that.  I find great comfort in remembering what has gone before me, and in looking forward to what is to come.

The Eve of the feast of St. Mary Magdaline

Today has been a wonderful day.  After a quick round of chores at the barn, I showered and drove to Mingo Lodge in Logan for a planning meeting of the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry.  It was good to see old friends and to share ideas for the coming year.  The theme for the day was building character and virtue in the lives of the members of our fraternity.  Such a positive time together was a welcome relief from some of the events of the past couple of weeks.

I returned home to check my e-mail and find this wonderful picture of my grand-daughters, Margaret and Helen, taking their snack together.   Then it was out into the garden to pick tomatoes and peaches and cucumbers, some of which made a delightful lunch.  At about 3:30, Tristan called just to say hi.  It was good to hear him sounding so happy and contented.  I think his carefree joy has something to do with some girls he met from Austria.  It is so good to see him experiencing civilian joys in peace and safety.

Then Rebecca and I drove up for Vespers with our friends at Holy Cross Carpathian Orthodox Church in Columbus.  Sometimes it is good to meet God from the perspective of a layman.  Then we finished out the day by eating at "Chick Fil A," as much as a political and moral statement as anything else, but their food is good. (see http://m.bpnews.net/bpnews.asp?id=38271 if you need some background on the company and the controversy surrounding them.)

From there it was just home, chores (all eight Speckled Sussex Hens laid an egg today!), some time with Scott's "Fair Maid of Perth" and a wee dram of Sherry on the porch surrounded by the dogs, and now it is almost time for bed.  Such an Eve of the Feast of St. Mary Magdaline I cannot remember!

PS: for those who may wonder, Squirt the Shetland Pony has completely recovered from her brush with founder and is back on pasture with her friend Princess, the Thoroughbred-Arab Cross.

What Really Matters

General Convention is now over for three more years.  There were some things that saddened me greatly, like the legislative attempts to legitimize scripturally prohibited behaviour by authorizing a liturgy of blessing for same sex relationships, and the several resolutions and canonical changes designed to accept transexual and transgendered behaviour in the church.  More angered me, such as the endorsements of domestic and foreign political movements, and the pronouncements on technology and social organization, any of which might be acceptable for a Christian to hold, but then the opposing political opinions might also be legitimate for a Christian to hold in the eyes of Scripture.  I will never understand why any religious body endorses political or theological opinions upon which the teachings of Scripture are not clear and decisive.   It only drives people away from the Church and the life giving sacraments which are her's to distribute to God's faithful people. There were a couple of bright points, both of which were supported by our bishop, Bishop Breidenthal.  I was glad to see some tenative steps taken to break up or restructure the authority of the National Church hierarchs, although I am doubtful the resolutions will fully answer to their promise.  The one shining example of faith and doctrine to come out of General Convention was the decision by the House of Bishops (accepted reluctantly by the House of Deputies) to affirm the ancient Christian doctrine that Holy Baptism in the Name of the Trinity is the necessary introduction to the Eucharistic Meal.  But if past history is any guide, the question will arise again in three years, and again after that until the representative democracy of the Episcopal Church manages to change even this most ancient of doctrines.  Such is the curse of modern Protestantism.

But that is all in the past now.  Those who favor the changes and resolutions will point to them again and again, and a few will use them to bully those who disagree.  More will ignore what they do not like and blandly repeat the mantra that resolutions are non-binding, and that the canonical changes only acknowledge what is already going on in some places.  A few will leave, but most of the folks who would leave are already gone, along with over a million others in the last 25 years or so.

But the things that really matter in my life are of a different nature.  I spent yesterday at the barn with Squirt, the Shetland pony.  The heat has been oppressive to this little gal, and as ponys are wont to do in extended heat, she began to founder.  Founder is a dreadful condition, which at it's worst can cause the bones of the lower leg to drive through the sole of the hoof.  Fortunately, we caught this case early.  We walked her and kept her up all day, cooled her feet off with cold water from the hose, and the vet came and administered bute, one of those wonder drugs for which horsemen are so thankful in this modern era.  She is fine now, resting in her stall with daily bute applications, hoof cooling soaks, knee deep straw bedding, and no grain until the middle of next week.

And today was Margaret's fourth birthday.  Grammy and I got to skype with her, Momma, and sister Helen tonight.  It is such a blessing to see this small person grow into all that God has created her to be, and every moment spent with her and her sister, electronically or in person, reminds us how blessed of God we truly are.

Church today was full of friends, friends who walked the extra distance occasioned by the annual downtown Corvette show, which took most of our regular parking places.  As I looked across the congregation, I saw folks I baptised and married, whose loved ones I buried, and with whom I had shared the joys and sorrows of this life.  One of the great joys of my life is being able to minister in a single region for so long, first as a professor, then as a prison and military chaplain, and finally as a parish priest.  There is for me a very real sense of belonging here, and for that I give thanks every day.

In the grand scheme of things, what really matters are the relationships that God has given me in the here and now.  Many things on the world stage can aggravate me with regularity, and have the potential to change my life unalterably, but those things which really matter are closer to home.  In this place, I have found contentment, and purpose, and a sense of the living presence of the true God.  How could I ever in good conscience allow those things of the broader world to distract me from the blessings all around me?  It just wouldn't be right.

Flowers, and Memories of Those We Love

Yesterday morning, I harvested several beautiful yellow dinnerplate dahlias and arranged them in a crystal vase for wife Rebecca's office in our home.  She paid me one of the most wonderful compliments I could ever have received.  "Grandpa would have loved your dahlias."  I replied, "I didn't know he kept them."  She responded, "Oh yes, he always said they were as big as a dinnerplate."  I think it was the first time I have ever been cast in his shadow, and it is an honor indeed.

Ray Bonar grew up on the Ohio River and enlisted in the US Army just in time to deploy with General Blackjack Pershing's boys to Mexico in response to Pancho Villa's raid into US territory.  He was a trooper in D Troop, 12th US Cavalry, and had a horse shot out from under him during the war.  His leg wound ultimately brought him back to Ohio where he worked as a mining engineer, married Blanche, and reared three daughters, one of whom is my mother in law Twila.  Rebecca remembers him as a very old man who was quiet, squatted on the porch in a very curious position while entertaining a very special little girl, read National Geographic Magazine a lot, and was more than willing to spend time with his eldest grand-daughter, now my wife.  He chewed Mail Pouch Tobacco, and used to keep a pouch filled with prunes so that Rebecca could chew and spit with him when other adults were not around.  My wife worships his memory and treasures the love he showed to her.  I never got to meet him, but over the years I have heard so much about him.  I remember how when I posted to the 107th Cavalry and received my spur award, I felt close to him- as if we shared some common heritage or experience.  And now his little girl, my wife,  invokes his memory in appreciation of my dinner plate dahlias.  Truly, I am a man blessed by God.