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Archive for April, 2011

Holga Horses

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~The day was breathtaking; needless to say, there will be no pears this year.

Snow Falls on Pear Blossom

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Beautiful Site for all my photographer friends: Shutter Sisters!

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~Check it out if you get a minute:  Toying with the Holga~

Holga Image "Bales" ©Matt Callow

 

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I’m sitting at Apache Creek below the horse pasture.  It’s sunny but cool.  Creek is flowing well and the horses are frisky.  Solid blue sky.

White and Yellow Sweet Clover are beginning to sprout from wintered roots along the banks of the creek.  These plants (kept in check here by my horses) are originally not from here.  They are from Eurasia and are now considered naturalized.  This issue is a book in itself, not a blog post  topic.  But if you’re interested about that sort of thing, go HERE.  My horses don’t mind; although I won’t feed them alfalfa or clover for health issues, the amount they nibble along the creek is really a non-issue.

The Cottonwoods and Willows have fat bursting buds and the wild Apache Creek Mint has begun to push its way up through the moss and last winter’s flood debris and old vegetation.

Prescott Lupine leaf clusters the size of dimes.

Tiny unopened mossflowers.

Yarrow the size of my pinky.

The various emerging spring vegetation is allowing the horses more browsing on the 80 acres.  They eat less hay now and I find them on the far side of the pasture eating some very strange (to me) things.  Hackberry twig ends, Scrub Oak tips, Willow and Alfalfa roots and, strangely, dirt.  Yes, the are supplied with various free choice minerals I buy at the feed store.  However, there is something in the clay/dirt that they obviously must not acquire in the store-bought minerals.

I wish we still had this intuitive sense to know what minerals, herbs, twigs and roots to eat at what times of the year.  Sometimes, when I’ve been sitting with the land and creek long enough, I feel I might be getting a grasp.  Then, I get rushed and caught up in our busy “human” things and it’s lost.  The wisdom that is so close is lost.

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