Vacation for dairy farmers is a rare event. My days are consumed with helping my husband milk the cows, complete barn chores, and care for the health of 130 dairy animals which include milk cows, heifers, calves and bulls. The days are full to the brim juggling farm duties and managing my domestic duties. Luckily, my horse, Jazz, sprinkles spice into my daily routine.
When we moved to Westford Hill, I took our children for walks nearly every day. Our favorite destination was Lisa’s horse farm located half a mile from our home where we’d feed the horses carrots and apples. After several visits, they’d trot over to the fence when they spotted us. I grew especially fond of “Jazz,” a white and brown Haflinger paint mare. She was beautiful with her flowing white mane and tail. I was charmed by her soft, brown eyes and the way she gently used her lips to take treats from my outstretched hand. I told Lisa if she decided to sell Jazz to please inform me first.
Subsequently, Lisa called to tell me Jazz was for sale. Having three small children at the time, I asked her if she’d allow me to lease Jazz throughout the fall and winter months. Before I bought her, I wanted to make sure we were a good match and that she would be content living by herself on our farm. Throughout the colorful, crisp fall months, Jazz and I bonded while exploring the fields and woods of Westford Hill. The following spring I bought Jazz, and she became an official part of our family.
Standing in one place on our farm, in every direction I look, there is work to be done. It’s not easy for me to take time to “play” when my chore list grows longer by the minute. For the past two autumns, I had promised myself 10 rides on Jazz. The first September day after the children went to school and my morning chores were completed, I brushed Jazz and saddled her for a ride. Settling onto the soft leather saddle, my body relaxed as I breathed in and out to the rhythm of Jazz’s movement beneath me. “Carry me away, Jazz,” I whispered, and for a short time as she trotted through the fields or walked through the quiet woods, my responsibilities as a mother, a wife, and a farmer melted away.
Sitting astride Jazz’s sturdy back allowed me to view the world at a slower pace. I marveled at the way the majestic evergreens stretched towards the canvas of blue sky. Birds sang their songs as they flitted from branch to branch. For a brief moment, an explosion of feathers interrupted the serenity of the forest as a partridge flew from its resting place. Head elevated on high alert, Jazz came to an abrupt halt at the sound of the thundering wings. After recovering, we continued and soon emerged into an open field. Hidden amongst the tall grass, dainty wild flowers tilted their petals toward the sun like treasures waiting to be discovered. At the end of our ride, I looked for an apple tree. Jazz waited patiently while I picked an apple from the tree. Then she curled her neck toward my knee when I offered her the apple. Returning home, I felt refreshed from my “mini-vacation,” and ready to tackle my chore list.
One day, Lisa called and asked me if I wanted to adopt a three-year-old miniature horse named Fenway. She would give him to us for free, but since he was a stallion we’d have to hire a veterinarian to geld him. I agreed to bring Fenway to the farm on the condition I could return him if he and Jazz didn’t become friends.
From day one, our family was smitten with Fenway. He looked like a smaller version of Jazz with his brown and white markings and thick white mane and tail. A visitor once asked me jokingly, “Did you shrink Jazz?” I separated the two horses for the first month with an electric fence. They could see one another, but they couldn’t have contact. After Fenway was gelded and had time to heal, I allowed the horses to meet in the same pasture. I stood back and watched as they sniffed noses. Jazz pinned back her ears and squealed. She reared on her haunches and then launched a high-flying buck as she spun around. Fenway watched her antics as if to say, “What are you doing that for?”
When Fenway innocently wandered into Jazz’s barn space, she ran over the top of him like a freight train. Fenway rolled 360 degrees and popped back up onto all fours. Stunned from the unexpected blow, he shook off the dust and made a wide berth around Jazz, keeping one eye on her at all times. From that point on, Fenway understood she was the boss and paid attention to her body language. Within a short time the two horses were inseparable. Wherever Jazz went, Fenway followed. He was her protégé.
Taking care of the horses is a welcomed respite for me. I look forward to going to the horse barn every day. Jazz greets me with a friendly nicker, telling me she’s happy to see me, and she’s ready for breakfast. My eight-year-old daughter, Anna, often helps me with horse chores in the evenings. Fenway gravitates towards her and listens intently as she rubs his neck and tells him, “You’re a good boy, Fenway.” Sometimes while I groom Jazz, Anna will groom Fenway and braid his mane and tail. He basks in the attention and stands still while she fusses over him.
Simply watching the horses in the pasture makes me smile. Often the horses will lie next to each other, dozing in the sunshine. After a snowstorm, they’ll gallop around the pasture kicking up powdery snow. On sunny, wintry days, I’ll rest my cheek against a brown patch on Jazz’s left hip, close my eyes, and breathe deeply. The dark colored hair absorbs the sun’s energy and warms my face. Life is good.
Editor’s Note: Lee-Rae Jordan-Oliver and her husband Matt are former educators who own a dairy farm in Hodgdon. Her column, discussing life on a farm, will appear on an ongoing basis in The Houlton Pioneer Times.
