Offline For a Few Days

Starting tomorrow, I will have no internet connection for the week. I will reciprocate all drops as soon as I return.

Thank you for visiting.

Have a safe and wonderful week!

Contentment Redux

Today I came across a post about praying to God for wealth. And while it was an interesting and well written article, it has never occurred to me to pray for financial riches. Yes, I have read "The Secret" and yes, I do believe there is truth to the Laws of Attraction but to actually sit down in daily prayer and ask for wealth, no, I will not do that for I believe I have already been blessed by God in so many ways and have received in my life thus far everything I need for the journey I am on.

And, that once again brings me back to contentment.

When I posed the question on contentment, I received so many thoughtful and insightful responses. I was humbled as I read them. I kept returning to them again and again and I thought they deserved a wider audience so I am including excerpts from them in this blog post.

Laurie wrote "Contentment is achieved when you come to the realization that the only control you have is your faith in God...The path is there, let go and follow it. And some wonder where ambition and wanderlust come into that...but God knows our heart and that's part of our path...right?"

If we believe, if we have faith every day and practice our faith, how can we fail to be content?

Cally expressed that to her "contentment is a funny word. I am happy but I cannot be content. I always want more, more, more...I want more time with my children, more closeness with my husband, more beauty in my days, more I can give to others. But I can say I am not discontent."

I can understand and relate to Callie's desire to want more of what is precious and beautiful in life. And, yes, perhaps contentment is a funny word.

Karen and Chris both find contentment in a beautiful day, enjoying the fresh air, the flowers.

Chris finds contentment in knowing her husband is in the garage puttering while her dogs lie beside her chewing on their bones.

There is so much beauty in knowing all is right in our world.

Chris also expressed feeling closer to her cousin who had died of cancer when she sat under a beautiful August sky and listened to the birds singing.

I, too, still feel my husband in a sunset that illuminates the sky.

Karen spoke about how content she is with having a good job, a nice home, a loving husband and opportunities to serve the God almighty. She also shared this passage from 1 Timothy 4:6&8: "Now godliness with contentment is great gain. And having food and clothing with these we shall be content."

What a beautiful verse.

Rayne expressed contentment as feeling secure in your life, marriage and family. Not feeling any uncertainty.

To me, there is great contentment in being surrounded by a loving family.

Pastoral Princess said that contentment for her is seeing and feeling her blessings.
She went on to describe growing a living human being inside her body, seeing the smiles on her children's faces and smelling the air after the rain.

What beautiful images.

And Alan shared with us "Life is a path..full of the good and bad..but you have to keep moving along it...When it's good...enjoy. When it's bad...just keep moving."

Yes, we all are going to be faced with struggles throughout our lives. Contentment to me does not mean days of problem free living nor mindless living. It means acknowledging the pain, striving for improvement but at the same time seeing the beauty that surrounds us and being present in the moment.

We hear so much about what is wrong with the world and society today but if we stop for a moment to share with others what is in our hearts, maybe we can start to focus on the positive.

What a Quarter Horse Taught Me

I’m 53, old to be returning to riding perhaps. But riding again has always been a dream of mine.

I had planned on purchasing an aging, quiet horse, one not so different from me but one of my friends, Anna, said she had the perfect match for me, a three year old quarter horse named Shadow.

We are a contrast Shadow and I. She is young, vibrant full of movement. I’m older, methodical and careful.

Our differences became apparent this week as the seasons began to change. With frost on the ground, Shadow has become energized while I cling to my jacket and wish for warmer climates.

We start off on our daily trail ride over Red Pine Mountain but today Shadow changes the rules. She balks, she spins, she rears and no amount of my coaxing will urge her on. Aware of my fragility, I dismount and lead her home. Shadow prances by my side and I can see the triumph in her eyes.

I try again and the pattern repeats itself. Another day goes by and I am afraid to mount her. In this battle of old versus young, youth is triumphant.

I call Anna and tell her I need help. “What have I done? I’m not up to this. All I want to do is walk along the trails.” I am whining.

Anna arrives. There is Shadow, confident, pawing the ground, and me, a scared and quivering lump.

She quickly assesses the situation.
“Go get on her.”
“Me, you want me to get on her? No, no, no, I’m too scared.”
“Take a deep breath and just do it.” Anna says.
I approach Shadow hesitantly and put my foot in the stirrup. Shadow starts to walk away. Anna takes her back to her place and makes her stand. I sit in the saddle for the first time in a few days. My heart starts pounding.
Shadow walks off and immediately starts prancing, spinning, turning.
“No, no, no I can’t do this.” I start to cry.
“Yes, you can just breathe and relax.”
The lesson continues for an hour, a long, grueling hour.
Then, Anna has me do one more final lap around the ring.
“Let’s end here for today.”
I dismount, happy to feel the ground safely beneath me once again.
But Anna has more to tell me.
“It’s a confidence issue. Some people can work through their fears because they love to ride. Yes, they are fearful but they do it anyway. For others the fear becomes too great and they just quit. Shadow isn’t a dangerous or bad horse. She’s testing you and she has the upper hand at the moment. It’s really up to you.”

Anna leaves.
I go into the house and start to cry tears of self pity. Copious tears. “Why me, if I only had another horse it would be better.” I am tired of crying. I start to reflect.
Confidence.
I’ve been totally lacking in confidence this past week. I’ve buckled under to a pushy young horse and I’ve been scared and frightened. Shadow has been testing her boundaries and I’ve been a poor, unsure leader.
I think about how important riding is to me, about my dreams and hopes for the future and the love for horses I’ve had all my life.
Here, in my barn is my very own horse. How lucky am I to have a horse. She is depending on me for guidance and I’m letting her down.
I take a deep breath, acknowledge my fear one last time and say a prayer.
Let it go.
I return to Shadow and put the saddle back on her. I have no hesitancy now. I know what I must do.
We walk up the mountain through our woods. It is beautiful. I think of nothing but the road ahead, where I want to be. Shadow comes along with me.
On the way back, Shadow stops at some deep grass. I urge her along. She starts to spin. I breathe deeply, relax and think about what Anna has told me. I create a mental image in my mind, pull my left rein. Shadow moves on.
Back home, success. But I never doubted the outcome this time.
There will be other days, more struggles as we learn to work as a team.
But I’ll never give up on this dream of mine.
I hope one day I can say that I’m more than the sum of my fears.

Contentment; A Dialog

Today was sunny, warm and just a beautiful day. The grass is overgrown from all the rain and the horses are always hungry so I put a lead rope on Shadow, walked her over to the tallest grass in our front yard and let her loose. I sat and read a book as she mowed the grass in her own way.

Mountain Man came home and found me sitting outside with a large horse by my side and a big smile on my face and once again he told me, "It doesn't take much to make you happy." He's right.

Part of my ability to be content arises from my faith. I have trust always in God's purpose for my life. I just have to listen. Yet, I'm human and I do get sad and anxious from time to time but when I do it's because I need to work on something. I tend to bounce back quickly and keep on going. I enjoy my life and part of life is struggle.

As Henry David Thoreau most wisely stated:

"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined. As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler."

I've read all your comments and I feel I've gotten to know each of you better. Your comments have been very precious to me and I thank you for them.

I'd like to continue a dialog with you so I was wondering if you'd share with me your thoughts on contentment and happiness and living the life you've imagined.

Thanks,
Sara at Red Pine Mountain Farm

A Farm Waits. . .

...for the rain to stop. Endless days of rain; hay needs to be cut, wood needs to be split but there is a beauty to all this water that surrounds us. Here's some scenes from our rain soaked farm.

Water pours from the downspouts.

Rain floods our driveways.

Rain fills the construction site for our barn.



Shadow waits, anxious for dryer days.



Tire tracks are now waterways and filled with frogs.

In between storms, fog encases Red Pine Mountain


But, oh, the green that all this rain has brought.

The Final Chapter

The past two days have been sunny and warm in a summer of never ending rainy days. I've been out trail riding, enjoying the scenery and thinking about this blog.

I recently read a statement that the best blogs were those that provided interaction (which I read as connection) between the writer and the reader. When I shared my story "More of Me," I was overwhelmed by your responses and deeply touched as well. I never imagined when I posted the story how much I would receive in return.

I decided before I move on to other, more current (and happier) events in my life to close the chapter on the death of my husband with this blog post. Some of this will be redundant to those who read my other post and for that I apologize in advance. This writing, however, was my attempt to capture some of the feelings I went through on that horrific day and the long days after.

Life moves us on and nothing is ever static so enjoy all that is good in your life with each moment you have on earth.

Thank you again, my readers, for all your treasured comments.

Here's my essay.

Sunday morning. It’s grey outside but it’s always grey in January. The room is warm. He’s turned on the heat. He knows I can’t stand to be cold. I can smell coffee brewing. My favorite flavor, Vanilla Nut. It’s not his favorite but he’s made it for me, to please me. He is always so good to me, Allan, my husband of almost thirty years. I go to the kitchen and he hands me my favorite mug. We sit down at the table with the Sunday paper and begin a ritual we have shared for many years. It’s an unspoken dance we both enjoy.

I look up from the headlines and see the snow begin to swirl. We have lived in South Carolina for many years and I haven’t seen snow in such a long time. It’s beautiful.

“I’m going to take the dogs out.”

Allan, his eyes barely leaving the paper, mumbles his assent. More like a grunt really. His attention is focused on the Sports section.

The world is turning white. I admire the snow angels made by my tumbling dogs.

It’s getting cold and we go back into the house.

Allan is in the shower getting ready for work.

“Do you have to go in today?’ I ask. Another ritual really because I already know the answer.

“Yes, I have to see my patients.” “I’ll just make sure they’re ‘tucked in’ and then I’ll be back. We’ll do something later today.”

Allan is an old fashioned doctor. The kind that visits his patients at home, that’s never too busy to take a call and who always, without fail, goes in to the hospital to monitor their care. "If he is their doctor and they are sick enough to be in the hospital then they deserve to see him each day not some stranger." he always tells me. His reassuring presence helps them to recover. His patients adore him.

I take a backseat to this career but I don‘t mind. I share his belief in providing excellent care to those in need. I know his love for me sustains him through his long days as my love for him sustains me.

I don’t mind my time alone. I have many interests to occupy me while he is elsewhere.

We engage in more conversation as he gets ready.

Nothing major is said. We discuss dinner plans and grocery shopping. I update him on the progress of the vow renewal ceremony I am busy planning for our thirty year anniversary. Chit chat mostly.

He is ready to leave. He gives me a hug and a kiss and tells me he’ll be home by 3:00 p.m.

I watch his car head down the driveway. The asphalt is hidden by the falling snow.

I turn on the radio while I do my chores. NPR. The voices of the commentators serve as background noise while I do dishes, make the bed and tidy the house.

I’m finished and I luxuriate in my time alone. The peace and quiet nourishes me and I pick up a novel I’ve been reading. I sit in my favorite chair and read while the snow swirls outside.

Time passes. The phone rings. I glance hastily at the clock. It’s almost noon and I know it’s Allan calling me. He calls me off and on throughout the day to let me know he loves me and is thinking of me. It’s our way of connecting when we are apart.

I quickly check caller ID. Yes, it’s the hospital. I answer the phone and start to say “I love you.”

A voice interrupts me. Not Allan’s. This voice belongs to a woman with a thick southern accent. I can barely understand her. I assume she is calling for Allan. I start to tell her to try his pager but she interrupts me. “Is this Mrs. K?” she keeps repeating.

“Yes.”

“You need to come to the hospital now.”

“Why?” I ask

“There’s been an accident.” Her words penetrate my brain. I start to become alarmed.

“An accident? Is it my husband? He’s okay isn’t he?” The words tumble quickly out of my mouth.

She repeats over and over again. “You need to get to the hospital.”

I’m becoming annoyed with her. Angry that she won’t answer my questions. I press her harder. “My husband’s okay isn’t he?”

Then, I hear words I had never expected to hear.

“I’m sorry to tell you Dr. K is dead.”

I start to scream. My screams aren’t part of me. I can’t hear myself. I just hear screaming.

From far away a voice on the phone is saying,” Mrs. K, you have to get hold of yourself and calm down.”

What is that person saying? What has she told me? Calm down? What does she mean calm down? My wailing continues.

I set the phone down. I can’t understand. I don’t understand. This can’t be true. She has called the wrong person. Allan is alive.

I pick up the phone again and dial his pager. Surely he’ll answer. This is a cruel joke.

No answer. My hysteria starts to rise.

I call my brother. There’s no one home. I leave a frantic message on his machine.

I call my mother. “Allan’s dead.” I scream. “Allan who?” My 80 year old mother asks. “My Allan.” I keep on screaming. She is shocked. She thinks I am playing a horrible prank on her.

My screams continue, “Allan’s dead, Allan’s dead.” Over and over the words tumble out of me in a voice not my own. She tells me she’ll be right there. Right there involves a four hour plane ride.

My son, what am I going to tell my son? He is leaving for a term abroad. A term he’s earned through hard work. He’s been visiting a friend in New York who is to take him to the airport today. I can’t reach him. I leave a message to call me right away. What am I going to say to my child?

I phone my best friend. I relay the news to her. “I’ll be right over.“ she says.

I am quiet now. I can’t breathe. It hurts. My heart hurts. The wind has been knocked out of me. It is a physical pain beyond description. Am I alive?

I return to the living room and see the snow falling. I sit down again and pick up my book. I begin where I left off. If I keep reading, if I never put the book down, then none of this can have happened.

I don’t see the words. My mind keeps echoing in an unrelenting refrain “Dr. K is dead.”

I hear a knock on the door.

Where am I? The sound seems so far away. I move towards it. It’s the police. They have been called by my mother who worries for my safety. I can’t understand. Why are they there? I act as a polite hostess and send them on their way. They seem perplexed at my demeanor.

My friend arrives. She enfolds me in her arms.

“Is it really true? It can’t be true? “ I beseech her over and over.

She has called the hospital. It is true.

The phone rings again. It’s donor services. “I’m sorry to bother you at a time like this Mrs. K but we have to act quickly if we are going to harvest Dr. K’s organs for donation. “

Are they kidding me? I try to listen. He’s dead.

It has always been his intention to donate organs so I let them continue. The list of questions is endless. It involves all body parts and whether or not I will allow these parts to be received by someone outside the country. How can I think about Allan as parts to be shipped around the world? I can’t. I have to concentrate. What are they saying?

Now, questions about sexual preferences, prostitutes, drugs and needles. I start screaming again. “I’m sorry, we have to ask these questions.”

I am about to throw up but I continue answering their endless questions.

I put the phone down. I’m finished. I have done what he would have wanted done.

But it’s not true. He’s not dead.

I want Allan home. I don’t want him in a cold, sterile hospital. Lying on a table being opened up by instruments to carve him into pieces. This vital, brilliant man who is my life.

I want him home.

No one takes me to the hospital. No point they say. He’s dead. There’s nothing you can do there. It would be too painful for you. We’ll see him at the funeral home. I am numb. I want Allan home.

Family starts to arrive.

My son, my beloved child arrives. I learn he was pulled off his plane just before it took off for Scotland.

I see the pain and confusion in his eyes. I embrace him. Try to comfort him but there is nothing left of me to give.

The phone rings incessantly but others answer it. Food starts to arrive. Great platters of food. As if I can eat anything. I can’t breathe. I see my house. I look at the objects in the house. Objects we picked out together combing antique shops, searching for bargains. These objects now seem so unfamiliar and unreal. Nothing is real.

I hear details. The details make me despair more. He had stopped to help at an accident. Yes, that sounds like Allan.

He was helping the injured and a gawker drove by. She was looking at the accident not paying attention to the road. She skidded on the snow and struck him. The snow I thought so beautiful this morning. He was killed instantly.

I fixate upon this girl. I hate this girl. She is the focus of my thoughts.

I’m too tired to think about her. It’s not real.

Bedtime, I crawl into our big bed. I’m so alone. I haven’t slept alone since I was eighteen. I don’t know what to do in that big lonely bed. I grab his pillows. I can smell him. The linens are alive with his scent.

My Mother crawls in beside me. “Try to sleep” she says. “Take some of that medicine” she says.

Where am I?

I must have slept because I feel a blow in my solar plexus. It wakes me instantly. I’m in pain. I realize I am alone and I start to wail again. I want Allan. My Mother embraces me, rocks me as if I were an infant. I am unable to stop sobbing. I fall into a fitful sleep.

I have gotten through the first day.

There were many other days. The trip to the funeral home where I refused to believe Allan was dead. I lost all hope there. I went to a very far away place that day. Maybe some would call it madness. It was hard to bring my conscious self back. I was outside myself looking down on a room full of sobbing people.

“I want Allan back. How could he leave me?” I hear myself say over and over. The funeral director is crying now. We are awash in tears in that home of the dead. I hear my Mother urging me to think of my son. I look at my child wrapped up in pain. I can imagine him thinking he is going to lose his Mother as well. The sight of my son brings me back to the living.

There were many more painful days ahead. I contemplated suicide. I was in the bathroom one night and I knew I was going to die. I didn’t have the strength to continue. I beseeched God to help me. I returned to my bed and fell asleep instantly. That night, in the form of a dream, I received a visit from Allan. I spoke to him. He appeared to me in a shroud. “They told me you were dead.” I said. “Yes, he said, “but I’m okay.” “I want to be with you.” I said. “You can’t, not right now, you can’t come with me. Your work is not done.” I woke that morning and I was at peace for the first time in many days. I thanked God for answering my prayer.

Faith brought me through Allan’s death. Not the faith that delivers platitudes. Not the faith that says he is in a better place. Oh, how I tired of hearing those meaningless words spoken to me so often. They are only trying to help and at a loss for what to say I realized.

I drew on a deep faith that convinced me all the love Allan and I shared still exists on some other plane. Our love is alive. It’s only in a different form. I have a tangible symbol of our love in the child we both adore. He has his father’s mind. He has my love of words. He is our enduring creation.

I have awakened again. Slowly, I have been reborn.

I have a new life so different from my old life.

Death is not an ending. It’s a passage.

Doors shut, doors open. Love endures.

Brilliant Weblog Award

My blogging friend and mentor, Chris of the Dog/Cat Log, passed on the Brilliant Weblog award to me. I thank her so much for doing so. The rules of the award are as follows:

1) Add the logo of the award to your blog
2) Add a link to the person who awarded it to you
3) Nominate at least 7 other blogs
4) Add links to those blogs on your blog
5) Leave a message for your nominees on their blogs

I enjoy reading everyone's blogs and I would like to pass this award on to anyone who has been kind enough to take the time to read and comment on my blog.

In addition, here are links to seven blogs I've discovered that have inspired me with their stories:

Alan Bamboo
The Fearless Blog
My Funny Dad Harry
From a Yellow House in England
Afflicted with RSD
Surviving the Circus of Life
Life on a Southern Farm

Thanks again Chris.

More of Me

This is not a post about Red Pine Mountain but instead is more of my story.

Perhaps you want to know more about the person behind this blog. If you do, then this story of part of my life will help you to know me better. Perhaps this story is not for everyone but it is my story and I will tell it as it happened.

Grief is a strange and powerful emotion. I’m sure it affects each of us differently and there are as many ways to grieve as there are people on the planet. I was initially in a state of shock when my husband was killed. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and each breath I took was so painful, I could not manage to speak.

Those early days of numbness were almost preferable to the days that followed. I would go grocery shopping and break down in tears because I had no husband to cook for any more. I would look at couples and feel my loss. Every sunset and sunrise only reminded me of the days of emptiness stretching ahead of me. Yes, I had wonderful friends and family and a job that kept me busy. I was physically present but my mind, my heart were with the dead. I wanted to die too. One night, I decided I could no longer endure any more of this suffering. I sat crying in the bathroom and asked God for help. I have always believed in the power of prayer and God, that night, answered mine.

As I lay down in bed, I immediately fell asleep. In my dream (yet it was not really a dream), my husband came to me. He told me I had to go on and be strong and everything would be fine. I then dreamed of my life as it would be in the future. The next morning I awoke with a deep sense of peace and although it was not as simplistic as saying everything was okay, I knew I had once again found my will to live.

I made an assessment of my life. I was 48 years old, overweight and out of shape. I knew I had to start taking better care of myself so I joined a gym. Every day, after work, I forced myself to go. I started by swimming. Long laps in the pool helped clear my mind. After a while, the weight started to drop off and my energy level soared. I began adding the treadmill to my routine. After a number of months, I was swimming three miles a day and running 5 miles three times a week. I had gone from a size 18 to a size 0 and I was in great shape. I was proud of myself too.

In the summer of 2006, I decided to catch a flight to visit my Mother. I threw on some sandals despite the small blister I had on my foot and I went through airport security barefoot without a second thought.
The next morning, I woke with a swollen red foot. I thought perhaps it was a bug bite and didn’t really pay too much attention to it. By lunchtime, however, the redness was spreading and my foot and lower leg were warm to the touch. I called my Mother’s doctor and got an appointment for the same day. I went in apologizing about wasting the doctor’s time but my foot was giving me problems. My doctor took one look at it and immediately admitted me to the hospital. I had contracted a MRSA infection, a fast spreading staph infection that in the past was found only in hospitals. I was given antibiotics and told to prepare for the worst, the possible loss of my foot or perhaps my leg.

Thankfully, I didn’t lose any limbs but my life changed forever. I was put on bed rest for a month and after that month, I could no longer walk. My foot and leg which should have been improving were not. I no longer had the MRSA infection but something had seriously gone wrong. After many invasive tests and trips to a neurosurgeon, I discovered my MRSA infection had turned into Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy Syndrome. I was told I might never have the use of my leg again and not to expect a lot of improvement. Here I had been running on the treadmill, swimming like a fish and now I could do nothing. I was also in unremitting pain.

I was prescribed the usual course of treatment, pain killers, physical therapy, rest and moderate exercise but I was a reluctant patient. I absolutely refused to believe I would never have the use of my leg again nor would I accept a life filled with pain killers and bed rest. I threw away the drugs and took my life into my own hands.

Daily, I’d drag myself on a mile long walk. I’d have my Logan, my german shepherd, with me and if I had to use him for balance I would but I pushed myself on and made myself walk. I’d arrive back home and collapse gasping for breath from the pain but I didn’t give up.

Today, almost two years later, I have the use of my foot again. I walk, I run, I ride horses and I have a blessedly active life. No, it’s not the same. My foot remains numb after prolonged exercise but it is such a minor inconvenience compared to what could have been.

I have learned so much from my experiences. I never take life for granted and I cherish each moment I have on earth. My Mother will often tell me I must have been born under a dark cloud because so many bad things happen to me and I look at her uncomprehending. I consider myself incredibly blessed.

For many years now, my morning routine has been to grab a cup of coffee and head out with the dogs, rain or shine, snow or wind. And as I watch the dogs, I say my prayer of thanks as follows: “God, thank you for all you have given me, for allowing me to have such love and joy and beauty in my life. Thank you for blessing me.”

There is no life lived without suffering or pain. We each have our own stories but it is the beauty of humanity that keeps us striving to make our lives richer.

When Clouds Collide

It's been a summer of storms on Red Pine Mountain. Today's storm was particularly severe with high winds, blinding rain and hail. But tonight the sun tried to conquer the clouds and produced one of the most incredible sunsets over our mountain I've ever seen. Here's my attempt to capture nature at one of its finest moments.

Hay Burners

When Mountain Man talked about horses, that's what he called them, hay burners, or pasture ornaments, that's another favorite expression of his.
There were horses on Red Pine Mountain about fifteen years ago and they left when his ex did and he vowed never again. Horses to him were just a plain nuisance. He explained to me people buy them, don’t ride them and then they just sit in the stall and eat and poop and cost money.
His ex wanted him to ride so he tried it once, even had a horse here for him but all it did was run off with him and try to kill him. He vowed never to sit in a saddle again and he thought anybody who wanted to have horses was just plain crazy.
“No thanks, no horses, no way. You want to go for a ride in the woods, then get a tractor,” he repeatedly told me.
Only problem was I love horses. My first word was horse, I started riding when I was three and as a young only child, I even pretended I had an imaginary horse. (I bet all of you have some embarrassing stories your mothers just love to tell strangers.) But even though I rode a lot during my childhood years, I never had my own horse. Then I got married, we were always on the move with the military, I had a family to think about and there was no extra money to indulge my desire to ride.
But when I saw Red Pine Mountain all I could think about was horses. Never mind it has been 35 years since I did any real riding. Red Pine Mountain cries out for horses. There are miles of logging trails throughout our woods which join to public trails which cover hundreds of miles. I was drooling over the thought of all those trails. And, there was a barn here where his ex’s hay burners had lived so we had ready made living quarters. I WANTED A HORSE!
We were at a standstill over this issue for quite some time. Our neighbors would ride by our house and I would wish I could be out there with them. I tried to explain to Mountain Man if I had a horse at home I would be riding all the time, I wouldn't let it sit in the pasture and I would take care of it myself.
“Sure,” he said,”I know you think you will but that has not been my experience.”
“ I’m not your ex.” I tried to explain.
As our relationship deepened, so did Mountain Man’s understanding of my passion. But, I had to wait some more. I never understood the old saying "patience is a virtue" but it must be true because Mountain Man finally (hurray!) told me I could have my horse.
I wanted to go out that day and find a horse but he explained to me the old barn wasn't suitable for horses any more due to drainage issues and he wanted to build a new barn.
That sounded reasonable, I wanted a healthy place for my horse to live but he couldn't start the barn right away because he was busy with other projects trying to earn a living. Once again, I had to practice being virtuously patient but at long last he was able to begin work on the new barn.
I now have half of a barn with three beautiful stalls and in those stalls are two horses. Yes, two of them. Wow, I have to pinch myself every day to believe they aren't my childhood imaginary pals.
And Mountain Man, he has learned that not all people are the same. The first day I brought home Moose, I started to cry. I couldn't believe I was so lucky to actually be living my dream and there was a real live horse in the barn. I ran out there every five minutes to make sure I wasn't dreaming, to make sure Moose was real. Mountain Man even told me if he had known earlier just how important horses were to me, he would have built the barn a whole lot sooner. Heck, he doesn't even call them hay burners any more.
Yes, I had to wait but I’m not complaining.
All I know is dreams do come true and there are horses once again on Red Pine Mountain.

Red Pine Mountain

Welcome to our mountaintop farm in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. Nestled in the pines, our farm is home to me, a middle aged, transplanted southerner, my Mountain Man, 6 dogs, horses and various wildlife including moose, deer, toads, snakes and a whole lot of other critters.

Although I spent my life thinking I would never leave the warm breezes of the South, thanks to Eharmony, my home is now this beautiful, wild northeast wilderness. How my Mountain Man and I met and came to be a couple, as well as our life on the farm will be featured in upcoming posts.

Maybe you're skeptical and you think you can't find love through an online dating service. Maybe you wonder what it would be like to leave everything familiar behind and totally change your life. Or maybe you are just curious about life on a mountaintop farm. Whatever reason brought you to Red Pine Mountain blog, I hope you will stay a while and enjoy life here as much as I do.