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When you see a pattern in yourself, you can either laugh or cry. I first started this blog, so I had an avenue for my writing - an excuse to write, a place to put my thoughts, a trial run at short stories. My goal was to write consistently at least two or three times every week. It evolved into being a place I wrote on Sunday mornings, which was the only time I wasn't running off to work or the gym. Writing is a hobby that can transcend me; I lose track of time and everything around me when I am in the flow. The blog was to inspire me to write more often and enjoy the process. 

Instead of writing for the pure pleasure of it, I made it the place to craft my articles for the magazine. If I didn't have enough ideas for a page or two, I'd feel it wasn't worth writing. It was not fun anymore. Now it was a job. Deadlines. Commitments.  I had over-complicated  one more thing. My words dried up. 

I'm going to relax. If I ramble on and it becomes a story, then fine. Otherwise, it will be a place to once more exercise my writing muscles. I had someone tell me that I am always "pushing the river." My assumption is that is the opposite of just going with the flow. Guilty as charged. 

I find the most difficult issue is knowing when to create, manifest, make your own destiny or when to let life takes its course and roll with it. It's a tricky balancing act. This is the situation I am in with my house hunting. I have done everything possible for the last 10 months to buy a house. I have made eight offers, a couple of  houses more than once. I watch the listings; I read the paper. I am pre-approved. All I  can do for now is stop struggling. I have to stock up wood for the winter in the cabin and hunker down. Spring will come and the search will begin for the fourth year. Time to relax and flow. Maybe I'll just write.

Walking through our fears

Lakota and I, reunited

It had been another year of one of us healing. The latest injury had been Lakota tearing off most of her hoof under a sharp metal fence. Seven months of summer- hand walking and an additional six months of winter. Now with over a year off from riding, the mare had fallen back into her previous fearful behavior. Cripes. Not this again. It had only been two years before that, when I broke my back in a horse accident. She waited more than a year for my bone to mend. I threw the saddle over her back; she flinched and drove her nose into the corner of the stall in terror. “Oh, come on. I am not going to hurt you. I have never hurt you.” I threw the pad on and off her until she settled. I hoisted the saddle up first from the left, then off and up on the right. I sure hoped she calmed down before my arms gave out. She did. As I came around her rump, I noticed her skin actually rippling along her right flank. When I ran my hand over the area she cringed under my touch. Lakota looked like a watch spring wound just a little too tight. This location on her body had been abused years before. I imagined a right handed rider using a whip along her side to motivate speed. The rider was long gone but the fear remained. Each time we were laid off, we lost our rhythm and these fears came back to haunt her.

Fast forward two months. I decided I didn’t have time for Lakota. It would be better to let another owner take her who would give her the attention I could not. I felt guilty when my work kept me away from riding her. My schedule is erratic and I was house hunting. Maybe I’d be even busier with a house and then maybe I wouldn’t be able to afford her board. I would sell her and it would be the best for both of us. Our relationship had deteriorated and neither of us was enjoying the situation. I was tired of riding around a farm alone and she would rather eat grass than listen to me.

I delivered her to a trainer who would work with her for two weeks, show her to perspective buyers and then she would be gone. I choked back the tears as I drove away. The sobbing and heartbreak was relentless for three days. I went back to the barn to check on her. The trainer had been using ground exercises to help her work through her anxiety and return to work mode. She was responding beautifully. More days went by and more I saw Lakota willing and eager to cooperate. As time allowed, I learned the exercises and continued them on weekends. She whinnied for me when I arrived and nickered with head bobbing as I left. Our friendship was blossoming once again. When a buyer called, I told him I needed a couple more weeks to decide.

The words fell on my ears like bricks. “She’s ready to ride. You have your old horse back. Go get her.” I tied her. I brushed her. I applied fly spray. She stood calmly as I lifted up the Tucker onto her back. Lakota lowered her head to allow the bridle to slide gently into her mouth and up over her ears. I led her to the arena. My bowels turned to jelly. My stomach churned. The wind rattled through the aspen trees. Bits of leaves and dust danced across the ring. She stood silently as I climbed slowly into the saddle. I nudged her forward into a walk and then a trot around the fence line. “Breathe,” I reminded myself. “Lakota has done her work, now you do yours.”

Traumatic images percolated up as soon as my foot hit the stirrup. Long forgotten, or purposefully buried, painful equine mishaps reared their ugly heads. My confidence had been shattered by a long history of horse accidents. The events were suddenly remembered in vivid detail. The wind reminded me of the thoroughbred off the racetrack I purchased 25 years ago.   I attempted to retrain him for a dressage horse. Each time something startled him, like the wind, a leaf, a gum wrapper – he would bolt, racing then bucking – always, always resulting in a trip to the emergency room. I broke both of my wrists, my nose twice, my ribs two or three times, the bones on my hand. The last time I was thrown off my Achilles tendon was torn so badly I was told I would always walk with a limp. After that gelding, I bought a quarter horse that did not run away with me. In fact, when asked him to trot or lope, he bucked and tried to throw me into a fence. I took him to a trainer who told me that the horse needed an expert with a sharp set of spurs. I handed him over to an expert for a month of training. The horse never thought about bucking so there was not much for him to do. The moment I climbed on board, much to the amazement of the trainer, the horse began bucking around a huge rodeo arena determined to do me in. That is another story, but when I finally got off that horse, I handed the man the reins and said, “I never want to lay eyes on this horse again. Sell him.” More recently, I had just purchased Lakota. My daughter was visiting and I put her on my new prize. A friend handed me a horse all tacked and ready to ride. “Join your daughter. Go on a trail ride; this mare will be fine.” I took her to the round pen to try her in a small area and got on. I had no sooner asked her to move forward when “she broke in two”. Meaning = she exploded into a fit of bucking. The pain I felt when I landed will forever be burned into my body. The doctor at the hospital said it was as if someone had taken a sledge hammer to my sacrum. The months of therapy, medication, loneliness and agony are every horse person’s worst nightmare. All of these horrors flooded into my psyche once I was aboard Lakota.

Had I really become too busy or had I simply lost my nerve? Each time Lakota and I took a year off, we both fell back into our fears.

I was upset at Lakota because when she gets scared, I get scared. When she gets tense, I get tense. I wanted her to stop thinking of the past and know I wont hurt her. Stop being afraid! How ridiculous is that? Can I just stop being afraid of getting thrown off a horse again? I wanted her to do what I had not been able to accomplish. It would have been so much easier to deny these feelings and send her down the road, than to face this terror.

When I made this realization, something inside of me shifted entirely. I threw my arms around her neck and I am sure she understood. I am in this for the long haul. I would like to be riding until I am 75 years old. I would like Lakota to be my horse. By the time I am that age, we will both be ready to hang up our boots and call it good. There is no race. If it takes me a month or years to completely trust a horse again, it is OK. She helps me see where I am each day in the process. Around and around the pen she lopes like a carousel horse, allowing me to be comfortable with speed again.  I don’t have to be afraid she will run away with me. When the wind blows, she is unaware and keeps to the lesson. My new instructor says, “it’s is all about trust.” Lakota and I are learning to trust each other again. We are helping heal each other’s wounds. We can’t take away the experiences that happened before. We can only move forward with what we have today. Every day I see her moving through her fears, I hope she sees me moving through mine.

Intention

Some of the happiest moments of my life were when my husband and I were reading bedtime stories to our daughters. Every night the four of us snuggled in one bed or the other to hear a well-worn tale. No matter how busy the day, there was always time for a story. Kate liked her blankets tucked in so tight she could barely roll over. Sarah had countless stuffed animals piled in with her.

The stories we read conveyed humor, faith, magic, consistency and adventure. They filled my daughter’s minds with fantasy and laughter before they drifted off to sleep.

I can only imagine how life changing it would be if every person in the world was tucked in with a loving story and a fuzzy blanket. As an adult, many of us go to our beds with the latest world news report, a murder mystery, stressing over family finances or relationship woes. Some of us have been alone a very long time. Some of us wish we were. Bed can be the home base of power struggles, disappointment and isolation. If I had a magic wand, I would sit on the edge of the bed of each individual as they relaxed into slumber and recite to them a story of hope and encouragement. My words would transport love to each heart. The stories that I would read would be every day events that demonstrate how easy it is to tap into the connectedness of life. The birds, the animals, the insects are all here to assist us on our journey. I would help the listener tune in and see with new eyes. To feel enveloped in love and understanding, warmth and compassion, this is the experience I would deliver.

If every person went to bed feeling secure and loved would they arise to kick the cat or bomb their neighbor? I think not. Setting in motion dreams of what can be instead of what seems to be, is the first step to solving global conflict. I wish to be an instrument of peace.

When I was the director of the Farm on Wheels program in Albany, NY, I took my farm animals into urban schools to teach about agriculture. I was less than 10 miles from the farm but a world away. At an elementary school in Schenectady, I asked a teacher one morning why some of the students were arriving at such random times. She explained that these six year olds were often dragged out in the middle of the night while their parent went to get a drug fix. The child would wake up in a strange place and have to find their way back home and get themselves ready for school. These students were fed and applauded for arriving no matter what time. My heart wept for them. No one to read a bedtime story; no one to tuck them in with their favorite blanket and give them encouragement. These are the young people that kept me motivated to continue my teaching. They were like little sponges that drank up the love that flowed between my animals and me. I could see the looks on their faces when they held the rabbit or put their arms around the sheep. A step away from the concrete and crime was a universe of kindness that they were eager to taste. If resources had allowed, I would be conducting this program today simply for the reward of seeing the look of amazement on their faces. Instead, I share the stories of these days, the miracles I witnessed.

What about their parents? If they were tucked in each evening with a hug and a story of reassurance, would they be addicted to drugs and violent behavior? And, what of their parents before them? I would have treasured storytelling and goodnight kisses on my forehead as a young child. I know what it is like to stay awake all night in fear, feeling so vulnerable and insignificant. Even as an adult, we realize the pleasure that is felt when listening to the soothing voice of a loved one assuring us that we are loved and cared for.

Each time I sit down to write, I pray that my words help someone, somewhere, someday.

I write stories that express my appreciation to nature, people, and animals – everything that has brought me to this place on my path. My stories are intended to be uplifting and healing. I wish to serve. I am extending love to all. As my life continues taking twists and turns, new stories reflect those experiences. I am taking my reader on a journey and inspiring them to see their life in unique ways. See the magic; see the messages that are available in every moment. My wish is to bring you sweet dreams.

Rose

I sit here on the front porch of the cabin early on a Saturday morning. The dew is heavy on the grass and the hummingbirds are feasting at the feeders. The only sound is a crow chasing a red tailed hawk over the meadow and chickadees in the pines. At times like this I wonder if I really want to leave the cabin to find a home of my own. Then I remember this past winter, shiver and continue my house hunting. I am satisfied as I look out over the lawn and see the beauty I have created here over the past six summers. The turf is well fed and weed free. The perennial beds are blossoming all around the cabin with roses, black eyed susans, peonies, hydrangeas and phlox. Pots of geraniums and beds of snapdragons add splashes of color. It has been an honor to care for this historical treasure. The peace and serenity I have found here has added a multitude of textures to the fabric of my being.

I look over the railing and observe the fullness of the wild climbing rose I cut down in April. The canes had become woody and non- productive. The weight of the plant was corralled by heavy gauge wire and nailed to the cabin logs. I’d been told by native Montanans that these heirloom roses could be cut down harshly and they would rejuvenate completely. So one very brisk morning, I conducted a dormant pruning. Donned in a canvas jacket and wearing leather gloves, I hauled out a truckload of branches. Then I waited. Temperatures rose, daffodils and tulips bloomed, the rose did not survive. I couldn’t believe I had been so foolish. I know better than to prune more than 30% of a plant at one time. Restoration pruning takes two to three years to accomplish successfully. I had annihilated my favorite shrub. Last year neighbors stopped by just to tell me how gorgeous this plant was. What was I going to tell my landlord? I accidently killed a 75 year old rose that his grandparents had placed there or the settler before them. Me, the master gardener teacher. By Father’s Day, when the other roses were blooming, there was one green sprout. Please, please grow.

Thirty days later, fertilized, watered and prayed over, it is rallying with a passion. The succulent new growth is an emerald green and profuse. Hallelujah! This plant speaks to me on so many levels this morning.

· It speaks of faith that life is reborn from the ashes of what can appear to be insurmountable devastation. Like the mythological Phoenix, we rise from our challenges and greet the new day. My faith and trust are even stronger after walking through the dark night of the soul and reaching the light on the other side. The root system was tough and irrepressible.

· What appears to be dead can be a matter of timing; it will bloom again. It may not be on our schedule but it will happen. I reflect on dreams I have carried and wonder if maybe someday… I have dreamed of a partner, a new home, writing a book…these dreams may be dormant but they are not dead. When the time is right, they will bloom. I cannot see it now, but someday I will. There is still life and growth under the surface.

· One year of flowering was sacrificed for the overall health and benefit of the whole. This rose will be even more glorious next year. Continual thinning will eliminate the necessity of such radical measures in the future. We can make huge changes all at once in our lives or small incremental moves that take us higher on our path. Sometimes we do them both simultaneously. There are times when I have taken an unnecessary detour and then I see that it was an indispensable fork in order to give me a new skill or a new perspective. The time I forfeited was made up in the awareness I gained.

· I really dislike this cliché, but it comes to mind, “What doesn’t kill you makes you strong.” Don’t people tell you this when you are so far down you can’t see any hope? I want to kick them in the shins. The rose says it more beautifully by gentle demonstration. I can see where my rough edges have been worn down by adversity. Maybe it is age, or wisdom, that allows me to accept the softer side of me. I don’t need the woody branches that were the stiff and rigid belief systems that I inherited. Through the years they have been discarded one by one. In their place is a flexible bough with budding shoots and tiny blossoms. I can bend, I can be pushed flat but time has shown me that I will rebound even more resilient.

So thank you, Rose, for giving me so many messages as I drink my coffee and the morning sun. Thank you for surviving my overzealous efforts. I didn’t mean to be so punitive in my branch removal. It is one more lesson to understand that sometimes people think they are helping us but can appear to be cruel. Their words can cut to the bone. All the while they are trying to help in their own way. Just say “thank you” and keep on growing. Keep on thriving. Pull up the juices stored in your roots and bloom, bloom, bloom.

Best wishes,

Pat

First step

I am sitting in the shade of the cabin as the sun beats on the front porch. The heat can become beastly in July right around supper time. A breeze puffs down the hill from the forest, crossing first the orchard grass in the pasture and then my lawn before it reaches me. The scent of pine needles and cottonwood blossoms are carried along with the cooling breeze. I am distracted first by a butterfly and then by the realization that the lawn needs mowing one more time. I can hear voices floating  up from the horse park and jet skis buzzing across the lake. My chair is a tractor seat that has been nailed onto a tree stump. It goes beautifully with the old wooden, electrical spool that serves as my table. 

I must create a "platform" for my book proposal. This is a publisher's version of a business plan for for a book. The platform describes how I intend on getting the word out about my book. It includes social media - I better learn how to tweet - interviews, contacts, newspaper, magazines and television. I do have experience in this area, not only from the job I have now but also for years working as director of the Farm on Wheels, Inc. and development coordinator for the NYFVI. I sent my promotional materials to ABC, CBS and Oprah describing my agriculture program. I cannot begin to convey my excitement when a crew from CBS news spent two days with me going to inner city schools filming me teach and joining young students as they learned hands on activities at the farm. I found the 1997 VHS tape, amazing it has made all of these moves across country, and had it converted to a DVD. I picked it up today. Step One of the book proposal project. Now, I have to figure out how to make it available as a link to this site. You will all get to see it as soon as I have that figured out. The right person will show up, I am positive. 

Each day I hope to make one step toward my goal. I'm going to set up a calendar of deadlines. The next person I need to find is a copy or line editor. I have some ideas where to begin. It will help me to select which stories will go into the proposal if I have an editor that is not related. Each family member has their own favorite.

I will have to share with you that I am still house hunting - six years and counting - and I am working with a personal trainer. There are many balls up in the air, so to speak, but it is time for these things to  fall into place. I am sure I will manifest a home that is conducive to writing where heat can be expected by turning a dial and not dragging wood up from the basement. The stronger and healthier my body, the more confident I feel speaking in front of a group. Yes, it is time.

Next post I will share with you my intention and why I wish to write. I am content that I made myself sit down and I actually wrote without finding a reason to do housework or plant additional flowers. Until later..

Book Proposal Launch

Ok, this is going to be the beginning of something new. My blog usually consists of my commentary of life and the awareness that I gain from being in nature. I called my vignettes "stories" and a friend told me that term indicates fiction writing. This is not fiction. 

I wish to share with you, my reader, my dream. I love to write. I'd love to make my living by being an author and speaker. A part of me always denied this yearning and kept me pursuing more practical careers. A little more than a year ago, I started posting to this blog. It was my first venture into having my stories out in public. Next, I presented some of my work to Montana Woman magazine. The editor, Cindy, allowed me a section in this beautiful, monthly magazine. I am so grateful for the opportunity. Having a deadline each month gives me the reason to set aside time for writing. 

I have recently returned from a Hay House publisher writer's workshop in Denver. Hay House publishes Marianne Williamson, Wayne Dyer, Deepak Chopra, Gregg Braden and many more. If you attended this workshop, you may submit a book proposal on December 28 without an agent. One person will receive a $10,000 advance and a publishing contract. Two people will receive a Balboa Press self publishing contract - worth over $7,000. The odds of winning this contest are about one in 50 compared to the average one in hundreds of thousands. This is my shot and I am going to take it. It is my intention to share this journey with my readers so that your energy and support will help guide me along this path.

When I first arrived in Montana, there had not been an agriculture agent here for 15 years. I was charged with teaching my clients how to grow their food in spite of the fact that  I had never grown anything in the Rocky Mountains. I decided to plant a vegetable garden on the courthouse lawn in the middle of town. This way, people would know where the ag agent was and I would learn along with my clients. If I was making a mistake, the whole town would see it. I would teach what I had learned. People loved seeing the garden mature as they drove to work each day. I had many wonderful phone calls and yes, everyone knew where the new agent set up shop. It didn't matter if the garden succeeded or failed, the purpose was the learning.

This blog is going to be like that. I encourage you to select one of your dreams and follow that path with me. I will continue to post my "vignettes" but will also be sharing my process - emotional, physical and spiritual - as I develop this book proposal. The staff at Hay House told us repeatedly that our ego would try to stop our progress. I listened to authors and publishers recount situations where writers gave up because they thought that "no one wants to hear what I have to say, who am I to be publishing, who will buy my  book or listen to me, I am not worthy, I probably wont be selected, " and on and on. When those thoughts began running through my mind, I thought what about those 3,000 readers I have on my blog. They are my support network. I will ask them to help me. 

What is so amazing to me each month is where you readers are located. Half of you are in the Ukraine. I have followers across the U.S. and in more than 20 countries. I say this to demonstrate how varied my audience is. I will gain so much from your unique perspectives. 

** There is a comment section under each post. I would appreciate your feedback very much. All you have to do is mouse over the word comment and a text box will appear. We all have dreams; we all have fears; we are all buoyed by each other. 

I read once, "If you want to be a golfer, golf; if you want to be a painter, paint." I want to be an author, so I am writing. More to come. 

Beginnings

I was brushing Lakota’s mane. It had been a seemingly endless winter and her long tresses were rolled into tight little spirals and knots. A mist of detangler, some finger pulling and finally the wide toothed comb. I actually enjoy this process – it is a mindless task that allows my brain to wander and relax. As each tangle unfolds I feel my being settle; my breathing quiets. The scent of her filles me, her munching soothes my soul. I know that I love her completely. Then why was I grooming her and preparing her for a potential new owner?

When I thought of losing her or giving up my dreams of us becoming old ladies together, my heart would clench. Tears would well. I could feel anxiety rush over me. It felt like death – sudden, irreparable, final.

The word beginning hit me out of the blue. In an instant, I saw Lakota taking a young girl to the state horse show. I saw her being doted on and fussed over. Lakota would be a best friend and ally as this young lady traversed the pinnacles and canyons of high school. Her life was just entering a new chapter as was mine. When Lakota and I began our story, I envisioned joining folks exploring the Bob Marshall Wilderness and Glacier National Park, going camping on weekends, driving cattle, and possibly learning western dressage. I had only owned her 10 days when I had a serious accident and fractured my sacrum. Lakota waited for me for a year until I could ride again. The next two years we rode around the farm and the forests nearby. I came to realize without a truck and trailer we weren’t able to meet up with groups who were traveling with their horses. All the assurances I had been given that you could just jump in a trailer going by, had been unrealistic. Our third year, Lakota suffered a traumatic injury and sat on the sidelines for over eight months. I have come to a point where I understand I either have to go big, by purchasing a truck and trailer, or find Lakota a new home. Riding around the farm alone has lost its appeal.

My beginning will be to invest in property and put down roots. My choice is financing a home instead of a truck and trailer. If I allow myself to feel the love I have for Lakota and still move forward, allowing us our new beginnings, I feel at peace.

Why do I feel I am losing something? Why do I hang on so desperately to the past? Why do I cling to old dreams even though I can see fresh ideas pouring into my mind? Change can be scary. Change is continual. When I look at my life, the biggest changes have brought the biggest rewards. Getting married, having children, going to college, moving, even dating and buying a horse. Every change has allowed me to grow and become more of the person I am. Change has never made me less.

I am only afraid when I think I am doing it alone, when I forget I have a higher power. At those times, I feel inadequate and not able to face the challenge. When I remember we are all one, we are all connected, that there is a force supporting me – I find the courage. Change is an opportunity for life to get even better.

I am talking to myself here. I saw that the man I care about has moved on with someone else. I put an offer on a “fixer-upper” house and wonder if I have what it takes to pull this off. I am at a workshop for writers because this is my dream. Should I stay with the job I can do with my eyes closed for the security? We all have doubts. All we can do is face them one at a time and keep walking through. I ask each day to see my life the way Spirit sees it. Use me to help others. Let me see me as the loving, perfect soul that the Divine sees. My judgments of myself and my lack of trust in my decisions, perpetuates my fear of change. I ask to see these changes as the new beginnings that they are. Jumping into the void is easier if you go with me. Come on, let’s go.