So Wild Mountain

In the last few weeks two blog posts really spoke to me; so clearly, in fact, I feel as if I could have written them.  I didn't though, but you should certainly follow the links to discover the creative souls who did.
"Do you ever find yourself falling in love with the land around you?  I mean, really falling in love, badly, terribly, righteously - like the love for the land might crush you into pieces and you can't really tell where you begin and end when you are walking across it, threading a tight path around aspens and sagebrush, and squinting at the douglas fir as they glimmer in the sun and wind...because the very dirt and root and tooth of it all has become you?  Maybe you feel there's a seamless nature to the interface between you an the stone and the air and the mountain slopes?  Maybe this is what animals feel:  simply and truly a part of it all, born into belonging with their claws, feathers and fur.  I love this land like I'm going to be lost if I lose it.  And I suppose, in a way, I would be.  For right now, I have to be out in it, every day.  Being here makes everything in life so rich and good.  Food tastes better.  Sleep is deeper.  Comforts are pure luxury.  I think this is the way it's meant to be, the way it was always meant to be."

"There is very much a reminder of ones mortality when seed collecting.  Well maybe not for everyone but in my munted mind.  The principle purpose of life as a living organism is to pass our genetic information down to the next generation in the hope that what we are as an animal, our traits, our physical build up, our very being somehow remains on earth in some way, shape or form.  This is all the vegetables are doing by their flowering and seeding process.  It's very much a case of not managing the vegetables but merely facilitating their genetic longevity."


Spring Musings

I'm sitting at Apache Creek below the horse pasture.  It's sunny but cool.  Creek is flowing well and the horses are frisky.  Solid blue sky.

White and Yellow Sweet Clover are beginning to sprout from wintered roots along the banks of the creek.  These plants (kept in check here by my horses) are originally not from here.  They are from Eurasia and are now considered naturalized.  This issue is a book in itself, not a blog post  topic.  But if you're interested about that sort of thing, go HERE.  My horses don't mind; although I won't feed them alfalfa or clover for health issues, the amount they nibble along the creek is really a non-issue.

The Cottonwoods and Willows have fat bursting buds and the wild Apache Creek Mint has begun to push its way up through the moss and last winter's flood debris and old vegetation.

Prescott Lupine leaf clusters the size of dimes.


Tiny unopened mossflowers.


Yarrow the size of my pinky.


The various emerging spring vegetation is allowing the horses more browsing on the 80 acres.  They eat less hay now and I find them on the far side of the pasture eating some very strange (to me) things.  Hackberry twig ends, Scrub Oak tips, Willow and Alfalfa roots and, strangely, dirt.  Yes, the are supplied with various free choice minerals I buy at the feed store.  However, there is something in the clay/dirt that they obviously must not acquire in the store-bought minerals.


I wish we still had this intuitive sense to know what minerals, herbs, twigs and roots to eat at what times of the year.  Sometimes, when I've been sitting with the land and creek long enough, I feel I might be getting a grasp.  Then, I get rushed and caught up in our busy "human" things and it's lost.  The wisdom that is so close is lost.