01/15/2021
I need to share some sad news about our family and MedicineHorse Farm, beautifully encapsulated by my daughter Maya in her tribute to her horse, Georgia.
Fortunately her account is rather more elegant and succinct than that of her doddering old dad, which you can nonetheless find below if you have the time.
Georgia 2002 - 2021, MedicineHorse Farm
On Tuesday we lost our beloved lead mare, Georgia, suddenly to one of those tragedies that can just happen to horses, a severe colic. I’d known a day like this was coming as they are, of course, inevitable in the lives of people and their four-legged family members, those darkest of all dark days. And sadly it won’t be the last. But I had hoped—assumed, even taken for granted in Georgia’s case—that we would have many years more with her.
Georgia was our daughter Maya’s horse, but also our family’s first horse, who—here on the farm, all our animals are “who”— started us on the journey that eventually led to our purchase of this “in need of much love”, 200-year-old homestead in Peterborough County which, with our horses’ help, we hoped to rehabilitate into MedicineHorse Farm, a healing centre for people in need. Georgia—feisty and opinionated herd boss, queen bee— took her job as lead mare very seriously, and the other horses knew it, in no uncertain terms. But because of her, they also had the confidence to trust that she’d get them where and when they needed to be, to seek shelter, eat (or eat less), rehydrate, show up for feeding time, and bliss out on sunny siestas. We counted on mighty little Georgia to keep our imposing “easy-keeper” Canadian mare Maggie (nearly twice Georgia’s size) moving or away from the bale long enough not to grow too rotund. And when her herd’s humans—for the others were Georgia’s herd, not ours—that is, when we weren’t stepping up to the plate, it was Georgia standing squarely in the man-gate 20 metres directly opposite the kitchen window, whose riveting eyes scolded us to pay attention. She would let us know that it was time to feed our ancient gelding Mission, who needs 3-4 extra daily meals, or that it was time for them to be let out to the paddock for a dewy feast of grass, or that there was a problem with the water, the hay or something else with her herd.
In the FEEL (Facilitated Equine Experiential Learning) work I’ve done to date, she was always new clients’ first choice. And had it not been for the pandemic, that kept us from launching our practice last year, Georgia would almost certainly have become our first healing horse. She loved girls and women especially. Something perhaps about her curiosity in them, her quiet confidence and not-too-imposing, just-right size.
Measuring just 14 hands 2 1/2”, and not a fraction less, Georgia—a Welsh-Thoroughbred cross out of the champion racing stallion Play for Time (aka George) and a reliable Welsh pony brood mare, Misty Morning Skye—was the result an unusual experiment that the breeder hoped would yield a super-athletic sport pony. And Georgia would have been just that, had it not been that fateful fraction. That pesky 1/2 inch which made her too tall for her pony class, technically a horse, not a pony, yet too diminutive to be a contender as a full horse. Which—yes!—made her affordable for Maya to purchase. Maya, who since she could speak, wanted a horse, and since she could wield a crayon added horse to every weekly shopping list on the refrigerator door (not to mention the top of every birthday and christmas list). Maya, who growing weary of her cash strapped parents not fulfilling her dream, scrimped and saved for years, started a small business, and at age 13, bought her own horse, Georgia.
Later Georgia would compete, with courage and try, even against the big horses. And there was that one time we were able to afford to send them both to a hunter-jumper camp. The two week intensive concluded with a big horse show where they also had to compete against their elite coach who presumably was intending to show everyone how it was done. Instead that coach’s clock was cleaned by Maya, on Afterglow, an apt show name for Georgia, whose spunky sparkle hung in the air long after the team left the arena.
…Just as it has now, this week and will for a long time to come in our lives as a family. Since that fateful day, there has been much mournful neighing and shuffling about of her surviving herd-mates Maggie and Mission. Wise old Mission seemed to understand immediately what was happening, and stepped into the breach to fill Georgia’s role and to support Maggie, a role he’d duly retired from in another herd 4 or 5 years ago. Maggie, who despite several visits to Georgia as she lay in state in our barn, has struggled to make sense of the apparent vanishing of her long time best friend. This speaks to an understanding that I’ve been gaining in recent years that what horses see in each other as well as in us, has nothing to do with our physical beings, but rather is pure energy, soul. For on those visits to Georgia’s remains, her soul had gone, and Maggie couldn’t recognize her. It has been heart wrenching, and I will admit I’ve long lost sense of how many times I’ve buried my face in Maggie’s giant flank, rubbing her tummy to console her, and myself, as my inner small boy became overwhelmed with sobbing.
Thankfully, this morning 3 days later, Maggie’s grief and bewilderment seems to be subsiding as some sort of resolute calm settles in, for the horses at least. However, for me this has been shattering, and I can tell this is going to take a while. My own grief blindsided me. After all, Georgia was Maya’s horse, and I, merely her keeper, and this regal little mare rarely wasted an opportunity to show me her disdain for my custodial role. Nonetheless, I expect I shall keep looking for Georgia, and probably keep seeing her ephemerally from the corner of my eye for quite some time to come. I’m trying to take solace by shifting my focus from grief to utter gratitude that we were so very lucky to have her shaping our lives as a family for more than a dozen years.
For now the Horse Ancestors shall be rejoicing that Georgia has come home to them again, where there shall be endless rolling fields of luscious, sweet grass beside crystal streams.
Post Script:
Nancy, Maya and I wish to offer a special word of gratitude to Dr. Leah Knox and her assistant Meghan O’riordan of Gilson Equine Veterinary Services who eased Georgia’s suffering, and gently and professionally helped us all get through that difficult day. I’m certain such days never get easier for them.
Finally, words cannot express how grateful we are to Chief Laurie Carr of the Hiawatha First Nation who mobilized Loni Thomson of their Public Works department on our behalf. When I was striking out on local contractors, within half an hour of my email for help to our largest neighbour, the Reserve, these big-hearted women who just get “it” had an excavator on the road to MedicineHorse Farm. “Clem’s already on the way”, Loni said in a quick phone call. Minutes later the community’s orange backhoe crested the high hill above the knoll which would become Georgia’s final resting place, a sheltered spot in the trees from which most of the farm is visible. And to Clem—who turned out to be Clem Carr, a confident, competent and sensitive heavy equipment operator, thank you. I could tell right away we were in good hands. And that lovely bolder you pulled from the ground and set aside, it turns out to be pink granite and will be a fitting monument for Georgia when the time is right.
