Midday Sun and Thunder
The braying of a donkey, especially calling from a distance was the liveliest of greeting calls ever. Eeeh-aw - the throaty low resonant sound was more like an antique hand pump drawing water from a hand-dug well. Half squeal, half honk, the donkey call wasn’t the musicality of birdsong but I have to say that it was equally warming. Arriving at the farm and descending the long sloping laneway that leads to the lower paddock, the echoing eeeh-aw penetrated the sunlit autumn palette of the treetops. It was the call of connection – I know you are here- of memory, of nature’s bonds. To realize that both donkeys, Joe and Thunder picked up signals in the air that I was around was the height of compliment, of acknowledgement. I had come for a visit and their greeting reached me as if the grandest of hugs. Better yet my son Luc had come to join us on a walk making the moment the best-all of Thanksgiving celebrations.
Beaubien, Conrad. Mary Van Grootheest 's Hollyhocks. Watercolour on board. October 2022.
Summer seasons are choc-a-bloc work-wise on the farm and then there is the heat of the day that makes it more suitable for the animals to rest in the shade of the grove of walnut and old apple trees. Summer is not ideal to trailer Thunder to various sites where we join others for meditative treks in various locations in the County. But the season to begin our regular walks is now. Autumn through to the spring months is when it’s best for us humans along with Thunder to be out on the trail. The sun, low on the horizon; shorter days, darkness and cold is when we can use some lightness to sustain the spirit. Planning locations, putting the call out to anyone who cares to join us and then especially when the day of rendezvous arrives is a process we have come to enjoy over past winters. Shed of foliage, the landscape bares its skeletal form, the flow of drawing lines descend into crevices and roll over hills connect us nearer to the contours and rhythms of the earth.
The warmth of clothing, the acoustical muting of snow-cover and the warm/cold sensations of sun and shadow over the fields offers change. I hang onto these thoughts and images as a way to prepare for the arrival of winter. While I enjoy the outdoors, the low light of winter can challenge moods. Something I have recently thought of was a conversation I once had with a heath care professional who worked in the Gary Armstrong Home on Rideau Island in Ottawa where my mom was cared for in her later years. The caregiver talked about the phenomena of sundown where a large number of residents had a significant mood change toward the lowering of the day. It’s a topic I am interested in investigating.
Meeting up with the animals at the lower paddock which is set against a backdrop of the Bloomfield marsh is always magical, more so on a bright, early October day. While Luc drew the attention of the fiord horse Micah away from the gate with a handful of fresh grass, I slipped through the opening to nuzzle with the donkeys and to get caught up in conversation. Today was to be a big day in that a new wooden shelter had been assembled on higher land close to the highway, a paddock area where the animals had previously spent several years. A wind storm had caused damage to the previous shelter which was subsequently removed but today a new home waited which will protect the animals from the north winds while offering a wide opening inviting the warmth of the south.
Out on the trail was comforting, a leisurely stroll with Thunder wanting to get at the fresh grass and clover that borders the path. People stopped to greet us, to inquire. Bees moved about the tall grass and the now harvested fields lay in wait of the snows. All of it is now noted in my emotional memoir, moments harvested to feed on through to spring. The thing that occurs to me is that the eeh-aw will echo within to remind me to draw on the well of fond memory, the storehouse of enchanting moments just like this day.
