Attic thoughts v. 24

haying, injured rabbits, preschool graduations, horse updates, reading all Clover Stroud's memoirs, and more

Welcome to this nearly-every-Friday newsletter (possibly once a month going forward? who knows): “Attic Thoughts” - a chatty check in inspired by some lines from Antonia Fraser’s memoir, “I would define happiness as being alone in a room in a house full of people.” So, less Woolf’s ‘Room of One’s Own’, more ‘Jo March’s attic.’

Please feel free to say hi in the comments - I love book/movie recs, general updates, hearing anything on your mind! Thanks for being here x

1) meetings, 2) dachshund barnacle, 3) where I am post bedtime, 4) my daughter and her bff, an 18 year old barn cat, 5) little girls and ponies, 6) June sunsets

Well it’s been a proper three months since I hopped into Attic Thoughts, but the farm and life is bursting and busy and I felt the urge to not put writing on hold while many things continue to be ‘in process.’ Of course in many ways June is a month of fruition. Especially, it seems, for weeds. One can live in a sort of far off dreamy spring-scape in the early weeks of May, when the flowers are blooming and the thistle is short. Then the muggy storms roll in and days of rain give way to weeks of draught and somewhere in there the weeds take root and you start chasing a clean garden bed until October. Very Sisyphus.

farm news

We baled 651 bales of hay. I say ‘we’ but it was really the farmer who rents out 20 acres from my father, which this year is planted in corn. But has anyone looked at the price of haying equipment? Basically it’s a lot cheaper to hire someone with the machinery to get the cutting and baling done. But we certainly monitored the heck out of those fields, even scratching 2 acres that were too full of milkweed to feed horses. But the hay we did manage to harvest is beautiful and smells clean and fresh. We have it stacked up in the big run in on the hill and I am having it tested this week. As long as the NSC (that’s sugar) is low enough for my insulin-challenged herd, we should be well-kept in hay for the remainder of the year+ (which is no small feat if anyone knows the price of hay). If not, we can sell it and make a little cash (again, no small feat with the price of hay!). All in all, it was a wonderful process and we are learning a lot.

The new Icelandic, Draupnir (pronounced, nonsensically, Droysh-pa-neesh), is settling in very well. He was finally able to join the other boys out in the field after his thirty day quarantine and they all seemed pretty calm about it, with only a few squeals and kicks. He feels entirely different from my other Icelandic, who is built round and solid like a cob and is much more whoa-than-go. D (as I often call him, though the kids insist on using the full Icelandic name) has a big stride and is much more sensitive. I’m very excited to get him out of the ring onto a flat stretch where I can really let him loose. Soon. For now, I’m getting used to him and building in lots of positivity in what, to him, is an entirely strange environment (barely any bugs, no trees, no deer, etc in Iceland).

For those unfamiliar with gaited breeds, their cues and signals are a little different and they usually don’t have the same training in flatwork as other breeds. They are really bred to go on a trail and tolt (that’s the smooth four-beat gait Iceys are famous for). Many people do get Icelandics to work in other disciplines and D has such natural pretty movement I’d love to try to do some dressage with him, but it will take a while to work on collection and getting him to learn classic trot and canter cues.

1) Tango, my classic 'cob' Icey, 2) Draupnir with his pretty long stride

Otherwise, vegetable gardens and rows of flower beds for bouquets continue to grow. I would update on this but that’s truly my husband’s realm. I can tell you they look lovely when I walk by, but I stick to the barn and the animals. We have a bit of fencing to complete (the Amish are usually who we hire) for the sheep field and our six Perendale ewes should arrive July 25th. This date keeps shifting as the rather eccentric ex-professor owner of this flock is quite specific about their needs and weaning schedule. We’re in no rush though. The sheep are entirely an experiment and this whole first year will be simply to see if we even want a flock of sheep, for wool or cheese or (less likely) for meat, or if we want to throw horses in that field instead.

Meanwhile our fifteen chickens are now fourteen. “Scissor-beak” (who had dealt with this challenging deformity from birth) was a fighter but seems to have stopped growing and gave out. The impossibility of keeping up with the other birds became more apparent as time went on. My husband put in a valiant effort -feeding her separately etc. - but alas, it was her time. Fourteen chickens are of course plenty for the moment and we have the loveliest, freshest omelettes.

We should have an entire field of sunflowers blooming later this summer. The previous owner of my father’s farm was a dove hunter and he planted them solely for shooting. We don’t shoot but we do ride and we are considering renting out the field for occasional photoshoots. We will see - either way, stay tuned for the photos.

My husband is now a certified beekeeper and we have three hives. He says that they're all doing well and two out of three are doing exceptionally well. The girls and I keep our distance and watch him in his bee suit with his smoker from the top of the hill.

A blooming leopard flower for my leopard obsessed 5 year old

In animal excitement, I was meeting with my neighbor for a morning ride when I picked up a saddle pad and much to my shock there was —

Yes, a little juvenile rabbit hiding away looking quite scared! I’m sure our three barn cats had frightened him in there. I called my husband down and we quickly realized the poor little fellow had an injured leg. My husband got him in a cardboard box and took him to what seems to be quite an eccentric wildlife rehabilitation center - foxes, monkeys, opossums, turtles, all call this place home. So our rabbit friend went there as well. We haven’t heard an update but we are crossing our fingers he can hop free again soon.

kids and family stuff

If you haven’t been to a Nature Preschool graduation, I highly recommend it. Even on one of the more miserably hot days (index in the 100s) the teachers managed to find a lovely shaded spot by the river. We all hauled down our chairs and watched our delighted graduates in their flower crowns sing songs before prancing off to the bridge to drop a flower in the river, saying “goodbye” to Nature School as the flower drifted downstream. I loved watching the different children’s reactions when their names were called. Some jumped up and danced. Some pranced. Some shyly held the hand of their teacher. Some (like my daughter) got up and sprinted like the starting gun had just gone off. And some froze at all those parental eyes and cried. It was sweet and I loved how their individuality was honored and celebrated. I’m so glad we have a few more years at this school with my littlest.

Relatedly, raising kids in community is so much better. I’ve let go of my death-grip and gladly invite the influence of teachers and friends’ parents. I’m thankful for mornings at my father’s across the way, where my kids can play with trains on his screened in porch and I can watch the wind blow through the trees. I’m grateful for the mornings my mother-in-law plays endless hide and seek and I ride two horses and run a mile at the gym. I’m grateful for the teenager down the lane who is available for babysitting so I can go to the store or walk the dogs or catch up on freelance work. I’m grateful my husband is inside from working around the farm this morning and can take the monitors during quiet time while I write. I know this isn’t everyone’s experience of parenting (and it hasn’t always been mine) but it is just something I will not get tired of jotting down in a gratitude journal.

work and writing

I’ve written two recent essays here on Substack.

Here I explain the many, many things I dislike about classically oriented children’s activities, especially so-called “children’s museums.” I love my kids but ‘kid things’ are not for me: I hate children’s museums

In this piece I reflect on horses, grief, childhood memories, my mother, and what it all means. There’s a strange way horses combine fear and joy, delight and remorse, and I’ve valued it all more and more as time has gone on: on horses and homesickness

I completed my first column for The Better Part Journal, which will come out this fall. I’ve sent some pitches to other magazines, and I still play around with fiction in my private Google Docs.

Audio-wise, I’m editing a podcast for a locally-popular OBGYN. His care for women and genuine expertise is refreshing and I feel like I’m getting free medical advice being his producer. I’m chasing other audio work, but really enjoying this at the moment.

reading corner

It’s all about Clover Stroud this month. I read her motherhood memoir My Wild and Sleepless Nights in a frantic, held-breath sort of way. I admire people who say things that many of us think but would never say out loud. Clover is very brave in that way. She is a mother of five and her love for her children is profound and messy and I appreciated her breadth of experience, raising both teenagers and little ones at the same time.

I then went on to read The Wild Other recounting her mother’s tragic riding accident which left her permanently brain-damaged. Clover’s life in the years after the accident are wild and almost impossible to imagine - gypsies, racehorses, Russian love affairs - but there was a deep kernel of need and grief and violence that I think many, many people could relate to. I love both these books and again I truly admire Clover’s bracing honesty.¹

[I also absolutely loved this interview with Clover on Elizabeth Oldfield’s podcast, The Sacred: On God, creativity, and horses

Otherwise, I’m about 3/4 of the way through the sequel to The Language of Dragons by S.F. Williamson and have started a book containing the witness testimonies of the 15 people who saw the Marian apparition at Knock in Ireland.

listening

I’m a huge fan of the “The Rest is History” podcast and I absolutely love “The Book Club” spin-off. I recently listened to their episodes on Mrs. Dalloway, The Hunger Games, and The Secret History. They are so knowledgable and fun and funny and after I listen I want to go around saying Britishisms like CRACKING and JOLLY GOOD STUFF HERE!

I also listen to almost solely Chappell Roan while running at the gym. Hey, she’s DANG CATCHY AND FUN!

aaaand that’s all folks!

I hope you all liked this new format. Less bullet points, more ‘areas of life.’ Who knows what will stick? If anything I’m embracing my absolute lack of rhythm and unpredictability.

On that note: paid subscriptions are back on. This gives you full access to the archives, with all posts paywalled after 2 weeks.

Cheers and tell me all about your summer!

Wilting yet, drinking Chardoney, drinking this bougie non-alcoholic ginger drink I’m obsessed with, grilling burgers, going to the beach, reading books, any good movies?

Let me know x

Cheers,

Katie

1. Fair warning: both these books are often very explicit and sometimes graphic, but hey, honesty is sometimes a messy business.