A Good Story A brother and sister had made their usual hurried, obligatory pre-Christmas visit to the little farm where dwelt their elderly parents with their small herd of horses. The farm was where they had grown up and had been named Lone Pine Farm because of the huge pine, which topped the hill behind the farm. Through the years the tree had become a talisman to the old man and his wife, and a landmark in the countryside. The young siblings had fond memories of their childhood here, but the city hustle and bustle added more excitement to their lives, and called them away to a different life. The old folks no longer showed their horses, for the years had taken their toll, and getting out to the barn on those frosty mornings was getting harder, but it gave them a reason to get up in the mornings and a reason to live. They sold a few foals each year, and the horses were their reason for joy in the morning and contentment at day's end. Angry, as they prepared to leave, the young couple confronted the old folks "Why do you not at least dispose of The Old One." She is no longer of use to you. It's been years since you've had foals from her. You should cut corners and save so you can have more for yourselves. How can this old worn out horse bring you anything but expense and work? Why do you keep her anyway?" The old man looked down at his worn boots, holes in the toes, scuffed at the barn floor and replied, " Yes, I could use a pair of new boots. His arm slid defensively about the Old One's neck as he drew her near with gentle caressing he rubbed her softly behind her ears. He replied softly, "We keep her because of love. Nothing else, just love." Baffled and irritated, the young folks wished the old man and his wife a Merry Christmas and headed back toward the city as darkness stole through the valley. The old couple shook their heads in sorrow that it had not been a happy visit. A tear fell upon their cheeks. How is it that these young folks do not understand the peace of the love that filled their hearts? So it was, that because of the unhappy leave-taking, no one noticed the insulation smoldering on the frayed wires in the old barn. None saw the first spark fall. None but the "Old One". In a matter of minutes, the whole barn was ablaze and the hungry flames were licking at the loft full of hay. With a cry of horror and despair, the old man shouted to his wife to call for help as he raced to the barn to save their beloved horses.. But the flames were roaring now, and the blazing heat drove him back. He sank sobbing to the ground, helpless before the fire's fury. His wife back from calling for help cradled him in her arms, clinging to each other, they wept at their loss. By the time the fire department arrived, only smoking, glowing ruins were left, and the old man and his wife, exhausted from their grief, huddled together before the barn. They were speechless as they rose from the cold snow covered ground. They nodded thanks to the firemen as there was nothing anyone could do now. The old man turned to his wife, resting her white head upon his shoulders as his shaking old hands clumsily dried her tears with a frayed red Bandana. Brokenly he whispered, "We have lost much, but God has spared our home on this eve of Christmas. Let us gather strength and climb the hill to the old pine where we have sought comfort in times of despair. We will look down upon our home and give thanks to God that it has been spared and pray for our beloved most precious gifts that have been taken from us. And so, he took her by the hand and slowly helped her up the snowy hill as he brushed aside his own tears with the back of his old and withered hand. The journey up the hill was hard for their old bodies in the steep snow. As they stepped over the little knoll at the crest of the hill, they paused to rest, looking up to the top of the hill the old couple gasped and fell to their knees in amazeme

Cowboy Poetry Jake, the rancher, went one day To fix a distant fence. The wind was cold and gusty And the clouds rolled gray and dense.. As he pounded the last staples in And gathered tools to go, The temperature had fallen, The wind and snow began to blow.. When he finally reached his pickup, He felt a heavy heart. From the sound of that ignition He knew it wouldn't start. So Jake did what most of us Would do if we had been there. He humbly bowed his balding head And sent aloft a prayer. As he turned the key for the last time, He softly cursed his luck They found him three days later, Frozen stiff in that old truck. Now Jake had been around in life And done his share of roaming. But when he saw Heaven, he was shocked -- It looked just like Wyoming ! Of all the saints in Heaven, His favorite was St. Peter . So they sat and talked a minute or two, Or maybe it was three. Nobody was keeping' score -- In Heaven, time is free. 'I've always heard,' Jake said to Pete , 'that God will answer prayer, But one time I asked for help, Well, he just plain wasn't there.' 'Does God answer prayers of some, And ignore the prayers of others? That don't seem exactly square -- I know all men are brothers.' 'Or does he randomly reply, Without good rhyme or reason? Maybe, it's the time of day, The weather or the season.' 'Now I ain't trying to act smart, It's just the way I feel. And I was wondering', could you tell me -- What the heck's the deal?!' Peter listened very patiently And when Jake was done, There were smiles of recognition, And he said, 'So, you're the one!!' That day your truck, it wouldn't start, And you sent your prayer a flying, You gave us all a real bad time, With hundreds of us trying.' 'A thousand angels rushed, To check the status of your file, But you know, Jake , we hadn't heard From you in quite a long while.' 'And though all prayers are answered, And God ain't got no quota, He didn't recognize your voice, And started a truck in Minnesota' BETTER KEEP IN TOUCH !

for all who are faced with the decision to ease one on or who have lost one....... "Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, that we still are. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way which you always used to. Put no difference in your tone, wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Pray, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word it always was, let it be spoken without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was; there is unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well."

Don't Touch My Hat Y'ever hit the dancehall on a Saturday night and find a good place to sit down? If ya have then ya know that ya got there early, ‘cause otherwise there's none to be found. Now, a new problem starts as you sit in your chair and relish your victory won. When ya get up to dance whatcha think is the chance that your seat will be gone when you're done? So, you develop a plan and reach with one hand and pluck the hat from your head. Then protect your prized chair by sittin' it there as off to the dance floor you're led. You twist and you twirl with some pretty girl and for the moment, everything's swell. Then you go to sit down, but your hat can't be found and you start gettin' madder than hell! Seems some sorry rat has taken your hat and moved it a few tables back. Now, only a fool breaks this simple rule, "YOU DON'T TOUCH ANOTHER MAN'S HAT!" So, you calmly walk over to talk to the "rover" who occupies the seat where you sat. Then you calmly inquire as you hide your fire, "Excuse me. Did you move my hat?" Not much more than a kid, he says, "Yes I did., ‘cause there was no other place to sit down ." So you think to yourself, "Do I educate this elf or do I stomp his dumb ass in the ground. You decide on plan one and say "Listen here, son. Let me give you one piece of advice." "Never touch a man's hat. There's nothin' ruder than that. You need to learn to be nice. But, he ain't too impressed as you help him your best to understand this one simple rule. So, you abandon plan one and then just for fun switch over to plan number two. R. Atkinson

I recently said good-bye to an old friend. He was my first horse as an adult, he taught me how to ride again. Tears stream down my cheeks, I am so glad for him, He's running in lush green pasture, no pain, he is the "King" again. I called him Marsh, short for Marshmellow, he was "King" of our herd until his accident, then he was no longer the king. This is a dedication to him. I found it on a farms website, they said the author is unknown. "The New Me - How I Soar!" A star is seen through darkness - and not by light of day. Though it's not seen with human eyes - it has not gone away. I did not come here just to die - But live forever more. The old me is in the ground - The new me - How I soar! When all is quiet, just listen - For you may hear me neigh And know that I am prancing Across the Milkey Way! So be done with your grieving Wipe all tears from your eyes - Someday you'll see me running - Across God's Big Blue Sky! Until we meet on the trail again - I Love You Marsh...

And one more because I think it might appeal. Wish Sometimes, in the dark of night, I close my eyes and imagine that I am with you, lying on bedrolls under a night sky brilliantly clear with the Milky Way spread across the heavens. Fingers entwined, not speaking, listening to the night calls of earth and creature alike…the crack of weakened stone, the call of a predator, the scratching of myriad insects and little animals. One of the horses stamps a hoof, and blows softly. And I don’t know who sees it first… but your fingers tighten on mine as a star falls across the night sky, and in that instant my wish comes true, so I leave the wish… for you. 1999

Merry Christmas to all of those that we owe our lives to. It’s What They Do They pick up and leave at a moments notice, it’s what they do They put their lives on the line everyday for someone they don’t even know and for a way of life that others take for granted, it’s what they do. They leave their families and loved ones behind to give others a chance, a life with hope, a life with freedom, it’s what they do. They make calls to home however brief just to say I love you. I’ll be home soon even though they are not sure when they will be returning, it’s what they do. They carry tattered pictures of their families, bringing them out each evening, talking to them and caressing the photo, holding together their lives like a thread holding together a priceless heirloom, it’s what they do. They are the husbands, wives, mothers, brothers, sons and daughters that serve in our military, they are the police officers and firemen that serve. They are the ones that sacrifice their lives each day for the right to live, love and be free and safe. For that I am thankful. For those that are away from home this Christmas season, their families and for those that will not make it home this Christmas or all the Christmas’s to come my heart, thoughts and prayers are with you and your loved ones Kath

I received this recently dated poem from a friend, Karen Everhart, who lives in nearby Sedan, KS, and manages Rainbow Meadows Ranch. I do not know if the author is known to Karen. I sent this poem to several dear women friends this morning, but then got to thinking that the sentiments expressed are not exclusive to women . . . and since many of us ES members are not the spring chickens we used to be, there may be more of us than not who find affirmation through the emotions and thoughts shared by the author. Whatever it is that constitutes one's dreams; whatever it is that brings joy to one's life; it strengthens our spirits and keeps us open to learning if we continue participating in some aspect of that activity whether through physical contact or by staying in relationship to other people who love what we love. Enjoy :) ************************************ Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow and the Day After Yesterday, for the first time, I was too tired to ride I was afraid I would be hurt if I was thrown I heard someone say my barn was too shabby I let someone tell me I was too pudgy to ride I realized I was old I had to face that I could no longer keep up I had to let go of my dreams I felt my heart break I turned my back on my friend I knew I was done Today, for the last time, I felt warm, braided leather in my hands. I ran my stirrups up so they wouldn't bang my mare's sides I released the buckles on the girth and watched my girl sigh I slowly dropped the bit so it wouldn't hit her teeth I gave my mare a cookie to thank her for the ride I buried my head in her soft, warm neck I inhaled the sun and the dust in her long winter coat I closed the gate and trudged to the muddy porch I tracked hay and horse hair into my house I pulled off my boots and felt the sting of warm blood returning to my cold toes Today, for the first time, I cried after my ride I felt my hands shake as I set the saddle on its rack I hugged my young trainer a final goodbye I waited for the new owner's trailer to arrive I set my boots in a box to go to the Goodwill I sighed at the wear on my riding gloves I had no hay in my hair I did not hear nickering when I opened my back door I felt worse leaving the barn that I did when I entered I had no one to check on before going to bed Tomorrow, for the first time, I won't have to buy hay I can stay in bed longer I won't see the poop pile grow I won't be able to fly on four legs I will be sorry I listened I will regret letting her go I will be angry at God I will be angry at myself I will cry the day away I will be glad to die Day after tomorrow, for the first time, I will awaken in tears I will know I was wrong I will defy all the judgment I will ignore my old bones I will return the buyer's check I will bring my friend home I will take my boots out of the box I will be reborn For the rest of my life, I will have a horse in my yard I will ignore the cruel judging I will watch the poop pile grow I will have hay in my hair I will track mud in my house I will bury my face in her soft neck I will let my soul fly I will never be alone. I Hung up my Bridle Today by Kris Garrett 11-11-09

Subject: Fw: Ten Top Exercises to Become a Better Equestrian Top 10 Exercises to Become a Better Equestrian They say it takes seven falls to make a rider. But there's a lot more to it than that. Check out this humorous list of 10 simple exercises that will help you become a better equestrian. 10. Drop a heavy steel object on your foot. Don't pick it up right away. Shout, "Get off, Stupid, GET OFF!" 9. Leap out of a moving vehicle and practice "relaxing into the fall." Roll lithely into a ball and spring to your feet. 8. Learn to grab your checkbook out of your purse and write out a $200 check without even looking down. 7. Jog long distances carrying a halter and a carrot. Go ahead and tell the neighbors what you are doing - they might as well know now. 6. Affix a pair of reins to a moving freight train and practice pulling to a halt. Smile as if you are having fun. 5. Hone your fibbing skills: "See hon, moving hay bales is FUN!" and "No, really, I'm glad your lucky performance and multimillion dollar horse won the blue ribbon. I am just thankful that my hard work and actual ability won me second place." 3. Borrow the US Army's slogan: Be All That You Can Be -- bitten, thrown, kicked, slimed, trampled, frozen... 2. Lie face down in a puddle of mud in your most expensive riding clothes and repeat to yourself, "This is a learning experience, this is a learning experience, this is .." 1. THE NUMBER ONE EXERCISE TO BECOME A BETTER EQUESTRIAN: Marry money.

He rode thru the day with the sun at his back...and into the night storm with thunder boomin' and lightnin' flashin with a crack... Two...maybe three days ahead of him was a town...One that spent alotta time trackin' him down... He received a telegraph a week or so prior as he was tendin' his stock at home...When he loaded his tool of the trade knowin' he wouldn't be alone... Brought enough water to make it thru the pass...if he ran out he'd be dead and fast... The locals had tainted the waterin' holes knowin he was on his way...leavin' a poisonous end for any cattle that happened to stray... The graph said his path wouldn't be an easy one by any means...He'd have to rely on his own savvy and beliefs... The town he'd been called to was as rough as a javalinas hide...but he knew there was some folks that carried burden inside... His journey was tough and was bound to get worse...as he rode into town just at dusk...all that could be heard was a verse... In a low steady voice that drew all attention...clear without murmer, he talked of Hell and it's rapid assencion... Then He spoke of fire and brimstone being beaten down by glory and forgiveness...how by mornin' the meanest of the town would be on thier knees crying in repent... They called on him...called him by name...now it was time to make them wish he'd never came... He stepped down from his steed, feelin' thier need...and carefully unclothed his weapon of choice...the Bible, written by The Lords own Voice... He was a ruthless gunfighter in the past and still carried the stance...but he posed a much greater fear to the wicked now...He's a Preacher Man. Phil J. Parks 8-3-09 (Copywrite)