Cob Jockey

Rhiannon's comment on my last post made me realize I need to revisit the whole "where are we going to live" thing now that the barn is purchased. Maybe the way we've worked through this will help somebody someday as they go through this on their own farm property.

Buying the farm ended up being a 2 1/2 year process from when we went under contract to when we closed. That was by design - I needed the time to get my house in town ready to sell and sold, and it was a complicated transaction in other ways too. Fortunately, the outgoing BO was in no hurry, which was great.

That gave Tim and I time to think about the house. The farm doesn't have a house on it, although it does have a stunning homesite at the top of the tallest hill for miles, overlooking hundreds of acres of farmland. The outgoing BOs needed to "intend" to build a house there to get financing, so it's septic-ready and even has 20 year old blueprints we could use if we wanted.

• We are so close to town, that farm field will definitely be a subdivision someday.
• Boarder traffic means the site is not peaceful, which is especially problematic with a reactive dog.
• It's the opposite of secluded, being exposed on the top of the hill. You can't see the barn from the street, but you'd be able to see the house from the street.
• Horses are LOUD, yo. Even living a quarter mile away from them, I hear their unrequited love screams sometimes (and no, it's never the stallion, lol). I started to think some separation would be nice.
• The crop farm next to the farm has a grain dryer and siloes right next to the home site, and it's loud enough that you can't talk at a normal volume outside when it's running September-November every year.

All the while, I was slowly falling in love with the farmhouse. Or, more accurately, the location of the farmhouse.

Both of the current owners' mothers lived in this house, I cannot take credit for the landscaping.

It's a quarter mile off the street down an easement driveway, and that plus the rolling terrain means even people who have lived here their whole lives don't know there's a house there.  

Just part of our long, long, LONG driveway. The farmhouse is right there on the left, but almost invisible thanks to the hill and trees.

It's almost fully protected from ever having neighbors, except the ones that own the rental house, who also own the 20 acres and the only other house behind the farm.

(It was all one farm at one point before being parceled off into two 20 acre tracts, and yeah, if we win the lottery, I'd love to combine them again and own it all someday. A 40 acre horse farm with a big brick colonial and a little farmhouse is a hell of a property!)

It's surrounded by incredible mature trees. 

Just a few of the mature trees in the backyard

It's Meatloaf paradise - despite being close enough to one of the local high schools to hear the announcers during football games and two minutes from Best Buy and Lowe's, the ravine, the hills, the trees, and the complete lack of traffic mean Meatloaf is the most relaxed out here she's ever been.

I've been enjoying the quarter mile walk across the hayfield to the barn. It's the perfect distance to wear my dogs out before work in the morning. 

The barn as seen from my front lawn.

My neighbors' house across the street from the farm on a misty morning. Currently the only house in that field across the street.

The house itself is nothing to write home about, but it ticks Tim and I's boxes in a few ways: 

• It exists, therefore it's cheaper than building new.
• Whole-home renovations are my comfort zone; new construction - not so much. All of my contractors from the last reno gave this one a thumbs up after inspecting it.
• It's small. We both value having "just enough" house after having big ones previously, and a house that encourages us and the kids to spend time outside. Not because it's unpleasant to be in, but because it has wonderful inside/outside spaces and because this beautiful property is just outside the door, begging to be explored.

The only problem? The owners weren't sure they wanted to sell. But after six months of getting to know me, they started to explore the idea, and as of another year after that, we are finally under contract. And it feels so right.

We closed on the farm today.

Ooooooomg.

This represents so much more than a real estate transaction. The person I was five years ago couldn't have done this - wouldn't have done this. I thought I was a lifetime boarder married to a guy who just wasn't cut out for farm life, and that was that.

But I've learned what feelings are and how to listen to them. That little voice in my head when I'm sitting on the tractor bush hogging that says "This is fun." The realization that shooting the shit with the old farmers at the feed store, and muttering "fucking horses" as I fix the latest thing they broke are actually enjoyable. I grew up on a hobby farm, and it turns out, that's who I still am.

I enjoy this.

I also couldn't have done this without the intense and sometimes painful process of learning what it means to allow people to get close to me, to let them help me, and most importantly, what it means to be deeply in love with a supportive partner that cares about me and the things that matter to me.

It's no coincidence that I didn't start the process of buying the farm until a couple years after the co-op began and until after I started dating Tim. I could not imagine owning a farm with my ex-husband, who once said "We can buy the farm, but I'm not even going to mow the lawn, it'd be all yours." 

(Joke's on him, the neighbor has mowed the lawn for years and plans to continue.)

Enjoying a beverage on the site of where we thought we would build our house after a long day working on the farm in March of 2024

 But we, together, these four ladies and Tim and I, are capable of doing so much more together than I ever could when I was my hyper-independent self. And it changes everything to have a partner who feels as much ownership of the place as I do, someone who sees me for me and loves me for me, and someone who will be shoulder-to-shoulder with me in the mud when the chips are down.

He, thankfully, loves cold weather.

Finally, it represents a lot career-wise too. Ten years ago, I was making barely more than the janitors working in IT for a county government, and I couldn't afford Connor's board without doing 8 hours of barn chores every Sunday. Over the last ten years, I've pushed myself to the very top of my industry, to leadership positions at the company that makes the software I once managed for a janitor's salary. And with a Bachelors in Equine Studies. It's definitely been some luck and some right-place-right-time over the years, but I've earned my position, and I love what I do.

Here's to the next chapter of our lives!

He makes me laugh

"Hello, is this Jenifer?"

"Yes, it is."

"Hi Jenifer, this is Dr. Tanner. I have good news: Disco doesn't need surgery!"

Did you know horses can give themselves the equivalent of a root canal? I didn't either until Dr. Tanner called the morning after Disco's CT scan.

Thought I was dropping him off for an extended stay, but I would be back the next morning, who knew

Turns out, by the time we got Disco to Rood and Riddle (5 weeks after discovering the fracture), he had laid down enough new tertiary dentin to cover the pulp canals, which meant the fractured tooth didn't need to come out.

I was, in a word, relieved. Between closing on the farm (aka paying lawyers), getting under contract on the house (more lawyers), buying a Hay Hut (no lawyers here) and cancer treatment for one of the canine members of the family (just a vet, but damn this was pricey), October has been an expensive month even before you considered Disco's dental adventures. While I haven't received the final bill yet, it should be closer to $2k than $9k, which is a win. 

Fascinating

I also felt less bad about how long it took to get him in. I first called in mid-September, and between the surgeon's schedule and my schedule, the earliest we could get him in was mid-October. While I feel bad for the pain he must have been in for at least part of that, if we had gotten him in any earlier, he might not have had time to lay down that new tertiary dentin, and I assume (I didn't ask) we might have had to do the surgery.

It does leave me with some questions - does this always happen with fractured teeth? Should I always slow roll surgery on a fractured tooth if the horse isn't in immense pain? Did I just get lucky? - but overall, I'm just relieved to put this chapter behind us, even if it hasn't meant I've gotten back on him.

But more on Disco's winter plans later.

I've only ridden Disco once since the Kate clinic, but boy do I have a legitimate reason.

At least it was a good ride.

Just after the Kate clinic, he started not finishing his feed. Long story short, I thought we were either dealing with ulcers or teeth, and started out treating it like ulcers, although I knew he already had a routine dental coming up anyway since he's on a 6 month schedule right now, so we were covered either way.

WELL. Guys. It was decidedly not ulcers. 

Disco has a fractured first molar, tooth 309 in dentist parlance. We have no idea how it happened. We do know that it happened in the last six months because it was normal at his last dental in February. And we suspect based on when he went off his feed that it happened in the last month.

Healthy 409 shown in the lower right for comparison.

My dentist immediately referred me to Rood and Riddle. We are equidistant to Purdue University and R&R, but she said R&R is who you want for this one. Before they saw the photos, R&R quoted me a range of prices between $2,300 and $9,000, because depending on how it cracked, it could either be done under standing sedation and one overnight in the hospital, or it could require the "most advanced extraction type" which requires fully flat out sedation and 3-4 nights in the hospital.

Unsurprisingly, my man has expensive taste. After seeing the photos, Dr. Tanner suspects the that the tooth is fractured in just about the worst way possible, with the root likely still present across the entire tooth, but the above-the-gum part missing across half of it. He needs to go fully under for this procedure which they called a Lateral Wall Alveolectomy.

As you can imagine, that hit me with a big thud. We were supposed to be sending him off to Kate's soon, not dropping almost 5 figures on a surgery. But it makes it feel better to know it's worth it: since the dental we've been soaking his feed, and he immediately started cleaning his feed pan again, so I know he's in pain.

They can't get him in until mid-October, and I have no idea when he'll be able to wear a bit again at this point. So, we're in a holding pattern for now.

HORSES! 

"He's not dull, but the quickest way to make a horse dull and resentful is by shouting all the time,"

There's a common refrain in basically every lesson you hear Kate Little of Better Every Ride (come at me, Google, she deserves it!) teach: horses think slowly but react quickly. Connor reacts quickly and explosively first and then he'll think, slowly and after the fact. New concepts took longer to get confirmed on him because of it - it often took more than one session before he would retain something new from ride-to-ride. 

Connor's part-leaser glowing after her first riding lesson in over 20 years

Disco could not be more different. He has this testosterone-fueled "Nothing can hurt me so I'm not afraid of anything" coolness to him that, at least in him, affords him the ability to think about a situation before reacting. He learns so fast and retains new concepts immediately, but reacts so slowly.

Photo by Liz

I often interpret this in the moment as Disco being dull - even large aids, like a whack with the whip, are met with a shrug. It has made working with him frustrating for me at times, because I'll apply escalating aids until I run out of aids and I'm left feeling like I don't have anything left in my toolkit.

Across four sessions, Kate gave me some incredible tactical advice - new aids and concepts that I'm using immediately with good effect. New ways of thinking about contact and balance even in the green horse. New moments of feeling, like feeling him truly step sideways in a leg yield for the first time and truly shifting his weight back in the halt. 

Working on his sticky "go" button by being "annoying like a chihuahua"

Those were all wonderful, but the biggest thing I got out of the clinic? He's only going to end up dull if I make him that way. As much as I think I've slowed down and softened my asks since I've become Kate's student, I need to go in even slower, even softer. He can back in the groundwork with the pressure of a feather on the knot of the halter, and he can learn to be that light in the rest of the work too, if I allow him the chance.

It all crystallized for me when I saw Kate ride him on Sunday. She got on and did the same exercises I had been trying awkwardly to do for the previous 20 minutes, but she did them differently. Loops in the reins when mine were taut. Escalating aids that moved to 'annoying' instead of 'louder'. Opening outside reins that invited him over warmly rather than tentatively. 

Disco completely relaxed with Kate on his back

She got off and had this huge grin on her face "He's REALLY cool. He's going to be something special." and I knew then that I needed to stick to my original plan of sending him out for training at this point in his career. 

He needs to learn the next set of building blocks from someone who makes learning easy for him and from someone so competent in the young horse starting process, they're able to effortlessly identify what's a phase and what's a career-limiting personality trait. That's not something you develop being an adult amateur that starts maybe two or three horses over a lifetime.

"You don't have to send him out," she said later. "You are capable of learning how to teach him this stuff." And the funny thing about that is that I describe Kate's lesson style as "whatever you feel like you can't do, she makes you feel like you can do it." Every time I thought I couldn't keep a stallion, or couldn't start baby Eva, or anything else, her lessons left me feeling like I could do it. 

There is something about having Kate in your corner that makes so much seem possible, which is why I didn't ignore the feeling of peace and certainty I felt as I watched him melt into the right answers under her on Sunday. That's all I've ever wanted for this horse - to make the right answers easy and to see how far he can go.