A return from ditch camp. Riding home in the long shadows of the end of the day. Tired bodies. Tired horses. Calm in the saddle as we ride the two hours over the Divide, out from camp, in silence.
With us, we bring the collar and hame, the gear the big draft horse wears as he pulls the dirt, the stumps, the trees. His working uniform. Our dirt work for the year is completed. 28 days of work at the ditch so far this year. How many tons of dirt and rock have we managed to move in one season, with nothing but man and horse power? What remains is trail work and tree work, then packing out camp.
Riding in earlier in the week, hunkered in the saddle for warmth, I wanted to cry. Nothing was wrong, nothing physical or emotional. I was just tired, as tired as I remember being as a little girl trying to hard to keep up with the bigger brothers and sister. That feeling of being so tired you just want to do nothing for just a little while. Perhaps to have the comfort of sitting in my mothers arms, being held small and safe and protected, and allowed to do… nothing… Nothing. Doesn’t that sound good? When it starts to sound good, you know you are tired. I was tired. I am tired. But we get a second wind. A third, and a forth. And we keep on, keep on.
And in doing so, we still manage to open our eyes and absorb the world around us. And not a day passes without our gratitude of the beauty in which we are able to be working, and the family by my side, working together…