The Witching Hour

As a kid I never took much notice of the moon. It was in the sky at night and when I drew it in a picture it was always crescent shaped. When it could be seen during the day it caused great schoolyard debate amongst my class mates because being niave children the moon was meant for night and the sun for the day. It never occurred to me how much light a full moon could provide either till one night I woke up screaming because there was an "unexplainable" glow on my wall. I became tangled in my sheets and fell in an attempt to get away from the mysterious light. Mum rushed to my room upon hearing my screams but by the time she got to me I had realised what a mistake I had made.
By the time I was 16 the moon was something I began paying reasonable attention too. It would affect my sleeping patterns. On a full moon I couldn't sleep and so I could be then found pulling on my boots and walking off towards the paddock. I had my horse, Shandy, and eight Murray Grey cross Holstien heifers on agistment. I used to visit them on my full moon walks. Shandy was willing for a pat and the cattle never spooked. They were oddly serene with the moon bright in the night sky. We had a major road that passed the bottom of the property and I would play an odd game that I created with the passing traffic. I would walk along the fenceline and when the cars high beams shone on me I would drop in the grass. I don't think I was ever noticed because there were no reports of "ghosts" in the weekly local paper. But I certainly did hope to spook the late night road users to some degree into thinking that they were seeing things.
With the date of Easter being the first Sunday after the full moon, I was naturally wide awake last night. I lay in bed annoying Damian... as you do when you can't sleep. For the last few nights I've had no issue with walking, minus a torch, over to the shed to turn off the generator. The moon doing a good job of lighting the way. Normally I would take a vehicle to shine the headlights into the shed. Walking over in the dark causes me to scare myself silly with the thoughts of what could be lurking in the shadows. On my way back I watch the three resident bats play and swoop and chase each other around the roof of the house. And all this celestial activity got me thinking that once upon a time I would have been burned at the stake for even paying the slightest attention to the moon or being out and about in its light.
Back in the day when the witch-hunts were in full swing it was estimated that 40,000 to 100,000 women were executed by varying means for being found to be a witch. All it took was for something misfortunate to happen (the fail of a crop, the death or illness of an individual or farm animal) and it was always easier to blame a "witchy woman" than find a reasonable explaination. Or it was even as simple as a woman being disliked amongst her fellow village folk.
Witches are said to meet at midnight or "Witching Hour" (between midnight and 3am) when all the most evil of creatures emerge in the night. The only creatures about on this night were the wallabies, the curlews with their creepy calls and the bats, an animal which over time has been branded with a stigma and strongly associated with vampires and witches.
But it is also speculated that the moon and women are linked by cyclic events if you catch my drift. In her book "Witches, sirens and soothsayers" Susannah Marriott suggests that because of this cyclic rhythm that women and the moon share, all women have the potential to be a witch.
The closest thing I ever came to witchcraft and being a "witch" was when the movie "The Craft" came out in 1996 which had a cult following amongst teenage girls (light as a feather, stiff as a board, blah, blah, blah) and the ownership of a pentagram throw-sheet that was gifted to me when Damian and I got engaged.
In this day and age I'm glad we don't live in the dark ages. I still do feel that women are the down-trodden gender but I am glad I can look at the moon without persecution and accusations. Because of course, what would my midnight jaunts be if I could not look up at the full moon?


"Queen of the Night" by Henri Fantin-Latour

http://en.wikipedia.org
Witches, sirens and soothsayers; Susannah Marriott; Spruce, 2008.

Finish On A Good Note

Amongst horse people there is a saying of "Always finish your horse on a good note" whether it be the end of a ride or the end of some kind of ground work. Never finish what you are doing till the horse has done what you have asked it to do therefore rewarding the horse with the end of work for its achievements. But I believe that could even count on a human week. I had a bit of a rough start on this last week and it's a week I would rather leave behind me but it has ended on a good note.
I'm not much of a horsewoman, I don't like riding new horses even though it is part of my job. But I have been known to ride the occassional horse that no one can tell me anything about... Or they've got their facts wrong.
The first horse of mystery was Wonder. He was a big, brown gelding at Legune Station. Despite everything being an absolute "wonder" to him (he was very wary of every rock, log, oddity and motorbike and no thanks to Damian on that last one) he turned out to have a big heart and worked hard.
The next two horses were on Elsey Station. The first being a little chestnut pony that wandered into our camp one night with his mate, a big, chestnut horse. I was informed that it had been bought for the children on a nearby Aboriginal community but it had gone missing three years previous and that since I was small, I could be the one that rode it. Being a kids pony it was a right, little s***. It tried to go any direction that it wanted to go, tried to take me out under every tree within 20 yards of it and the only way to get it going and keep it going was repetitive kicks because keeping my heels in meant I was in for a heap of hissy fit pony bucks. He wouldn't settle down and do any reasonable work if he wasn't in sight of his big chestnut mate so I ended up following Waylond around on the mob all afternoon just so my poncey pony would behave to some degree. Waylond only tolerated a few bucks at the beginning of his ride on the chestnut horse and then that was it for the rest of the day.
The second horse was also another event of "You're small, you can ride it". A little palomino mare was chosen for me. She had hurt her leg while being broken in so hadn't been ridden much at all. Max helped saddle her and helped me get on. She didn't do anything, didn't care that I was on her back. All good it seemed. So we loaded all our horses onto the truck and headed off to muster. When we unloaded I got back on her and everyone started heading south on their horses. I didn't. She took a few steps here and a few steps there then not much at all of any other kind of movement. I began to panic when I lost sight of everyone. Eventually I convinced old Jay to swap with me but even he had no win on her when he got to the mob with only a bridle in hand... no horse. Shame me! I later bailed up the person who I was told had broken in that pony. He had only done basic ground work with her before she hurt herself. So as it turns out she wasn't broken in at all!
The next horse was at Willeroo. People from the year previous couldn't tell me anything about the horse, it hadn't been ridden. The book just said his name was Circus. The person who had been issued with him that year had a bit of a rough first ride on him in the yard and because of it only rode their 4 horses that had behaved on their first ride for the year. I had my first ride on him out in the paddock. Trying to get on him was like trying to mount the barrel of a washing machine on spin cycle. Eventually I got up there. He was energised, excited and ready to go. I definately did not share his outlook on the day. To begin the days work I somehow ended up in the lead of the cattle with him crow-hopping continuously and throwing his head around. Eventually I weasled my way around to the wing of the mob where by the end of the day he was tired with all his fresh energy gone. The next time I rode him there was only half the initial rubbish and by the third ride I had discovered he was actually a lazy horse that had a trick of stopping, spreading his back legs but not peeing. His way of making you think he needs to pee but really just trying to get out of work.
So after all this riding of unknown and unworked horses and being well out of my comfort zone, an ex-friends words stung when she said I was too gutless to ride the horse that had been left behind by the previous caretaker. I'd like to add though that that was not the reason for the end of our friendship.
The previous caretaker loved his horses. He worked his horses and campdrafted them successfully. He came to Providence with eight and left with seven. He left behind Abby with the option for us to buy. But whilst he and I talked about horses he always brought up the topic of one mare he had in particular that used to rear up and fall back on itself everytime the girth got done up. He and his wife think that something went wrong inside the horses' head after suffering a snake bite. So me being me I added one and one together and got ninety. For many months I did not want to ride Abby for fear she may be the horse that was crazy. But upon my return to Providence I decided that perhaps I ought to give Old Mate and his horse the benefit of the doubt.
After deciding that Saturday would be the day that I ran the horses in and we would check their feet and treat them for flies it would also be the day that I finally got the guts up to ride Abby. I made sure Damian was there as if anything went wrong it would be noticed straight away not hours later after lying in the sun all that time. I also asked him to make sure I was doing everything the right way. After cutting corners on Charger for 6 years I knew I'd be doing something wrong somewhere. And of course I was. He wanted me to shoulder the saddle onto the horses back but I discovered quickly that I had no muscles to get the saddle any higher than that. Damian stepped in and got the saddle on but left the rest up to me. She seemed unaffected when I did up the girth. A good sign except my heart was beginning to pick up some pace as this also meant that the moment of truth for me was gaining nearer. I walked her around and put the bridle on and did up the girth a little bit more then stood in the middle of the yard for next five minutes trying to convince Damian to be the one to have first ride. As per usual he refused but offered his words of "Just when you get on make sure you're not leaning forward, lean back". And so after rapping down on the stirrup a couple of times I put my foot in the stirrup, grabbed hold of the pommel and swung on. She didn't even take a step to balance herself out. I'm not even sure she blinked. So relieved I gave her a pat and got a little happy. We rode around at a walk and a trot for about 15 minutes before Damian told me to stop since she was sweating like a pig in a sauna. Too hot in the day for any kind of heavy work for an unfit horse... and an unfit Tigger for that matter.
After dismounting, unsaddling, washing her down and giving her a feed I felt good in myself that I finally got the guts up to ride her. To know myself that she wasn't the horror horse that I was worried she would be. To know that I would now definately like to save up dosh to buy her and have her as my own.
Did I have the Fear in me? Hell yes. But it was conquered. I put my mind to something and as usual achieved it. Gutless? A little. But I did just ride that horse didn't I? So yes, I believe I did end my week on a good note!