Notes from Maine - 2025/05/04

The horses (Maybelle, Lilly, and Earl) are all outside. They’re not together in the same pasture, but they’re all outside at the same time, which is a major step. Fences are a social contract with Earl. He’s tall enough that he could just about step over any fence around without scraping his belly, but so far he has stayed on his side and admired Maybelle and Lilly from a distance. 

Lilly is only six weeks old. It’s hard to believe. She’s already so independent, and she has already formed such strong opinions. In the last couple of weeks she has found her voice. If I go into the barn to do chores and I don’t immediately go over to greet her, she whinnies at me. She wants to be scratched, always. If you’re outside and you’re not scratching her, she will press into your side, pushing you over if she has to. Her tiny head bobs in anticipation. 

Her sister was not nearly this social at her age. Giselle was beautiful and sweet, but she didn’t run up to me whenever I went outside. Lilly does this every time. I wonder if she will still have this sweet personality in a few months. Earl (her father) only really wants to be groomed at the top of his back, which pretty much requires a stepladder. Maybelle (her mother) will let you groom her if you have a carrot. Otherwise, she’s not particularly interested.

A jogger stopped by yesterday to talk to Earl over the fence. I was getting the mail and I told the jogger to go meet the baby. Of course Maybelle and Lilly were nowhere to be found. They might have been in the barn taking a break. 

“I swear there’s a baby,” I said.

The jogger just eyed me warily, made an excuse, and returned to jogging.

I read too many true crime stories, and listen to too many true crime podcasts. I can only see the interaction through the jogger’s eyes. If I was a monster, I would have said, “Just step a little closer to the barn. Yeah, just get a little farther from the road and you’ll be able to see the baby horse. Does this rag smell like chloroform?”

The other day I was at the feed store. Cheryl and Leia have been working there for at least a decade and they help me load the truck with hay and feed. Leia was pushing hay from deep inside the trailer and I was standing in the bed of the truck, waiting. Seeing her carrying the hay hook and emerge from the darkness of the trailer was an evocative sight. 

I asked, “Have you ever read about the Toy Box killer?”

He was a serial killer in New Mexico who soundproofed his semi-trailer and called it his Toy Box. That’s where he would keep his victims.

Leia looked at me, frowned, and said, “Yeah, but these floors come right up. You couldn’t lock someone in here.”

I glanced down at the floor of the trailer. The boards did look like they would come up, but they also looked really heavy, and I wondered how one could get a grip on them. I was about to say so, but then I glanced up and saw the way that Leia was studying me. This was not a typical conversation between someone buying hay and someone pushing the hay towards that buyer’s truck. 

I had strayed into the territory of, “I don’t know you well enough to be talking casually about serial killers.” At least Leia had heard of David Parker Ray (the Toy Box killer), so she had context for the conversation. At the time, I was thinking, “How would I get out of this semi-trailer if someone swung the big metal door shut while I was inside?” But, of course Leia was probably thinking, “This guy is going to try to lock me in here.”

I kept my distance from the door of the trailer even though I really wanted to hear the way the hinges would groan, and the way it would bang home, if I swung it shut. I find true crime stories fascinating, but they can really infect your thoughts if you let them. 

Mom recommended that I read “The Women” by Kristin Hannah. My library had it available as an audiobook, so I downloaded it. There were a couple of days last week where I was busy doing chores and my ears had nothing to do but listen to that book. It’s a really great book, but listening to someone else’s life for six hours a day is maybe a little too much. You start to see your world through their eyes.

I’d rather see the world through little Lilly’s eyes. She’s so adorable. Everything is new for her and everyone she meets is a potential new friend (depending on if they scratch her).