Down to the wire

Wow, did we have wind this weekend. The sun was lovely, but stepping outside meant eating dirt, sand-blasting and being pummeled by branch bits. The horses tucked their tails and hunkered in behind the tree grove.

They'd really rather be out on grass, but it's been so cool that nothing's growing like it should in spite of all the moisture we've had. Since we still have lots of hay, they're going to stay confined to the lot until the green stuff is taller, like it or not.

The grass is extremely tempting, however, and unfortunately Sunny isn't inclined to wait. Sunday afternoon I counted: 1 black - 2 black - 3 tri-color bay... No fat chestnut drowsing in the sun. Sunny, drat him, was over the fence in the tree grove contentedly munching away. Not sure how he managed that, and he wasn't inclined to demonstrate once I finally had him back on the right side - we ran electric to keep him from stepping across via a snow bridge this winter, and there weren't any hoofprints in the blocked off section - grrrr!

I'd love to open the grove for all of them, but a) there isn't a gate into it, and more importantly b) the tree grove has all sorts of nasty junked metal things and rats' nests of wire tangled in among the trees. That's why there's no gate.

It's definitely NOT safe for ponies.

Sunny caught a hoof in the roll pictured above as I led him back. He dragged it along behind him for about 10 feet before I heard the wire-slidey noise over the wind howl and realized he was snagged. I stopped, he stopped. Should I back him up, or just try to get him undone where he was - visions of him deciding to panic and flailing about as soon as I stepped away from his head flashing through my mind....

In the brief seconds I debated, Sunny looked around, eased the tangled foot up, stretched it back and out like he was doing yoga and - zi-in-g!! Off came the wire. Down went the leg. And down went his head just in case he could snag another mouthful of grass while we were paused. Twit.

No gate, so the only way to get him back IN the fence was go over it. Once I had it squashed down as far as I could in the lowest section, I walked him up, stepped over and asked him to follow. And he did, one careful, high step at a time.

So I spent an hour or so inspecting the fence for pushed down spots, securing anything that looked weak, and wishing the portable fencer wasn't in Kansas with T.

Other people's fantasies may involve warm sandy beaches.
Mine involve Sunny-proof fences.

New feet!

No new pictures, but the farm five have shorter feet this morning. The farrier came late yesterday and we made good use of the warmer afternoon. Three were good, including Sunny who semi-redeemed himself for his earlier monkeyshines (more on that in a minute), but the last two were antsy.

The wind by the time we finished was really howling, and it was starting to get chilly, which isn't an excuse for bad behavior, but does make the fidgets more explainable.

T cleaned the sediment off the waterer innards - the water flow was down to a trickle again, and then we shored up a section of fence and strung an electric "thou shall not pass" across the upper end of the lot. The snow has drifted to deep and packed so hard where it narrows to the gate into the upper pasture that Sunny has learned he can step right over. And not only over the gate, but over the fence into the tree grove.

We raised the fence, but with no way to raise the gate, ended up running a temporary electric line. I flagged it well, and it should hopefully keep him where he belongs. Things are finally supposed to melt some this week, but this should take care of the problem even if the drifts don't subside.

Unfortunately, no additional riding time this weekend, but even working on the fencing didn't seem like such a chore when I could strip off my scarf, winter coat and hat and work in just my sweatshirt and vest!

Snow

Growing up in Upper Michigan, snow was not a stranger. We had drifts upon drifts. My dad would get up at 0'dark thirty to push snow for several hours before heading off to work, and do the same thing when he got home. We played on snow banks most years from late September until April. But, sheltered by trees and hills, the snow usually came drifting down fairly gently.

Oh sure, we had the usual blizzard and lake effect nastiness you get being near the big lakes. Winds off Superior were bitter, and winds off lake Michigan could chill you to the bone. But there was shelter to be had from the thick forest that covers much of the U.P., and in general stretches below 0' didn't last too very long without breaking.

Winter on the plains is different.

For one thing, the lack of trees makes the wind a LOT more deadly. Fluffy snow turns to ground blizzards or packs into solid, cow-weight bearing drifts, snow creepers wiggle their way out into deceptively deep road blocks to trap cars and block barn/house doors. And the windchill will just plain freeze you.

It's gorgeous, though.

Driving home yesterday - I left early so that I'd be traveling in the "heat" of the day (the temp reached a whopping -11 very briefly after our low of -24) and reached home with the sun still glowing off the wind-polished snow crust. The few minutes more sunshine per day we're accumulating is already making a noticeable difference - one nice thing about the plains: trees don't create an artificially early sunset.

Rather than un-bundle, I collected T and we headed out to do the horses while there was still daylight. Good thing, too. As we bumped down the rutted hill coming up to the farm from the south mile road I could see dark spots against the snow where dark spots had no business being.

Fences that look plenty tall with no snow on the ground appear deceptively low with 3' drifts against them. When the drifts are packed solid, they pretty much are that short. And metal stuff gets brittle when the temps get that low.

Thankfully, a good bale usually keeps the critters where they belong, but not always. Livestock drifts a fair amount every winter, moving away from the wind just like the snow. Sometimes it's the combined weight of the packed herd pushing a weak spot in the fence down. Sometimes they just walk out over it across the snow pack.

Our three escapees had done a combination of the two.

Sunny, Thunder & Pennie were out on a polished spot in the front field pawing through the snow crust to get to frozen pasture grass. They came running when they saw me, demonstrating exactly how and where they'd popped out in the first place, but proceeded to dive right back out again before I could get the hole blocked. Of course, rest of the bunch - the bale had been holding their attention just fine until then - wanted to go with them. Thankfully, with T to block the hole and run interference it was a matter of minutes to get them back in, although I found a few thigh-deep spots to fall into.

At least the effort of staying upright meant I was warm.

We spread hay to keep them busy and then patched the fence and tied some plastic flags to the spot before we lost the light. We'll need to do a better job today, but it will hold them for tonight.

Pictures will have to wait
until it's warm enough
for the camera batteries to function.
It's cold out there.