October 18, 2006

10:00 a.m.

I’ve been up for a couple of hours now. The weather is mild this morning. Madeline and I took a hike to the end of the primitive camping trail before breakfast. One lone primitive camper still inside the tent. Maddy was polite and didn’t intrude.

I’m sitting by the river listening to Morten Lauridsen’s, O Magnum Mysterium. I have the illustrious Ken Karadin to thank for introducing me to this composer of the most beautiful piece of choral music I think I’ve ever heard.

I have decided, like I always do when I am in “these parts”, that the world is simply more glorious in this mountainous, “river-ous”, soulful setting.

I am practically healed…

3:30 p.m.

We just got back from a horseback-riding adventure at Sandy Bottom Stables in Marshall, N.C. http://www.sandybottomtrailrides.net/

It's been 30 years since I last rode; the sensation hasn’t changed much except for the extra back strain. Of course, our 18-year-old guide set the pace for “the inexperienced riders” of about 5-7 mph. Still, it was a delightful ride. We rode for a little over an hour through beautiful, unspoiled countryside. My favorite spot was the herd of goats on a lush green hillside.

“Ohhhh!” I reacted.

“You like goats?” our young guide asked. “We have over a hundred here.”

Then I heard it, the unmistakable bellowing bark. “THAT sounds like a Great Pyrenees!” I cried.

“Oh yeah. We have about six of them herding and patrolling our goats. We have a problem with coyotes out here.”

And there they were: four of them, mother dog and three youngsters. They were gorgeous with dark markings like the Pyrs I’ve seen on the Netherlands website. These were not pets, though. Jeremy told us that the only person who could get close to these dogs was their Mexican goat-herder. Anyone else who came inside the fenced area was likely to lose something important. The pups, he said, were born and raised among the goats.

Jeremy entertained us with a story about his senior year in high school. He said that his grandmother, a teacher, moved from middle school to high school depending on where he was enrolled. According to Jeremy, he and seven other rowdy boys played a prank on his school during their last week as seniors. Apparently, these young North Carolina hillbillies released a “gang of possums and raccoons” inside the school building at night. Among the aggravated teachers and staff was his grandmother who was “very disappointed” and “more than a little pissed off” the following morning. It appears that at least one raccoon had ransacked her desk and gone through all of her drawers, failing to rearrange her papers back into neat, alphabetized stacks.

I asked him if he'd always had horses. He told me that he’d had ponies until he turned four, at which time his father bought him a full-sized horse.

“What do you do for fun around here?” I asked.

"Not a thing. There's nothing TO do, unless you ride horses or 4-wheelers. I like to barrel-race."

“OK. What is barrel-racing?”

“It’s when you place several barrels in a pasture and race your horse in and out through a course. I used to think it was just for girls until my girlfriend convinced me otherwise,” he grinned.

After we made the last bend in our trip, I climbed down from my horse, Silver, and rubbed her nose. The fellow tying up the horses said, “No, Silver, you’re not going home with her today.”

Gary dismounted and made the comment, “Boy, I can definitely feel this in my rear.” The guy smiled and said to his buddy, “Hey Joe, it’s another butt-complainer!”

I howled.

A perfect day.