Notes from Maine - 2025/07/13

It was a busy week here—full of appointments and social obligations. That’s probably not the right expression. “Obligations” makes them sound burdensome, and they weren’t. I connected with old friends and strengthened some acquaintances. On Friday afternoon, my brother dropped Mom off. He went down to visit her and she accompanied him back to stay with me for a while. Later in the summer my sister will come up for a visit and Mom will have the option of returning south with her.

The horses were delighted to see Mom. She’s the carrot lady. She brought a new five pound bag that she will dip into each day to give them little treats. They run to the gate whenever they see her outside. Lilly (the tiny filly) has just started to indulge in carrots. Mom says that Lilly bit her, but Mom’s account is heavily disputed. First, Lilly is way too sweet to do anything like that. Second, Lilly is just now learning what a “carrot” is, so she can’t be blamed for being too eager with her reach. Third, Mom holds the carrot like a dagger, practically begging a baby horse to mistake her fingers for delicious treats. Everyone knows that you’re supposed to palm a carrot, like a humble offering to a jealous god. Everyone, of course, save Mom, who seems to want to be “bitten.” 

Last night, we watched Sinners. It was on my list months ago, but I missed it in theaters. It was easily the most interesting movie I’ve seen in years. Mom liked it as well, but I’m not sure she was as enthralled as I was. When a movie blends so many themes, elements, and observations into a cohesive story, I’m hooked. Waking up this morning I was still mulling over the ramifications of different scenes. My sister had to sit through my enthusiastic rantings this morning. She happened to call while I was outside doing my chores and I talked about that movie for five minutes straight. I enjoyed Ryan Coogler’s other movies well enough, but this one was right up my alley. I just checked on “Rotten Tomatoes” and the movie is rated 4.8 out of 5 stars, with a 97%. I guess I’m late to this party, but I can’t help but be enthusiastic.

The horses just wandered into view outside. It’s cloudy and cool this morning. I suppose the bugs aren’t oppressive since they’re not hiding in the barn. Earl (shire horse) just spotted Mom in the garden and he keeps eyeing her hopefully. She already gave them carrots an hour ago, so they’ll have to wait at least another fifteen or twenty minutes before she might consider giving them more. That five pound bag might not make it to the end of the week.

Lilly (the adorable filly) tends to hang out closer to her father when they’re grazing. I’m not sure it’s affinity—he’s just taller and has a longer, swishing tail. If there are any biting flies, they’re going to swarm to Earl. Anyone else in his proximity will be safe from pests. This pasture is not equipped to sustain these giant horses. Even in July, I supplement with plenty of hay. A few times each summer I’ll break out the riding mower and take down a couple of weeds, but that’s the only maintenance required. I’ve talked about fencing in another pasture out back, but it’s nice to have the horses close. I’d hate to have them on the other side of the gully, out of sight.

We’ll go to the feed store this afternoon and get a week’s worth of hay. The loft is almost empty. In a month or so, I’ll start talking to Gary about a delivery. 

The conversation always goes the same.

“How the hay looking?” I’ll ask.

Gary always shakes his head, sighs, and looks at the ground.

“Not good this year. Not good.”

Some years, “It’s been so dry. Nobody is putting up any good bales.”

Other years, “It’s been so wet. Everyone’s fields turned to mud.”

For the past twenty years I’ve never heard even a whiff of a rumor that it was a good hay year. But somehow he always comes through and delivers enough for me to fill the loft for the winter. I’m keenly aware that at some point I won’t be able to throw all that hay into the loft on my own. Before that happens, I’ll probably have to find another hay guy. Gary is at least ten years older than I am. He told me his age last year, but I’m too old at this point to clearly remember what the number was. Maybe he’ll mention it again, but I hope he doesn’t. I just want to keep rolling along with the status quo. Years ago there was a spring hay shortage and I was driving thirty minutes just to get a few bales at a time. That really was a bad hay year. Ever since, I try to make sure to keep at least a few extra in the loft. Maybe I’ll talk to Gary when I’m over there today.