Big Horse, Small World

Scientific data has proven that the principle of 6° of separation does not exist, but hang out at the farmers market long enough and you are sure to run into a friend of a friend of a relative, often sharing news and information about your shared connection. There have been vendors who show up across the aisle from me whose sister was a high school classmate. And then there was the Ugandan refugee looking for a goat head and it turned out we graduated from the same high school.

Given that I live alone in the middle of nowhere and have mostly livestock to talk to during the week when Sunday rolls around I am ready for some good conversation. Snippets of news stories, conspiracy theories, politics and gossip are exchanged over the transaction. Being a vendor at the farmers market has taught me how to start a conversation with anyone. Walk past me wearing UCSB swag and I am certain to shout out Go Gauchos! Hats with organizations and destinations are another one of my favorite conversations starters so on Sunday when a fairly new customer showed up she was wearing a hat for the therapeutic riding program at Rock Creek Park.

This was my chance to inquire about a draft horse that had lived for several year on my farm after being found at an abandoned Amish farm emaciated, ill, and with overgrown feet. The worst of his afflictions, though,  the one that would mark him for the rest of his life was a nylon halter that had grown into his face leaving a divot and bear spot when it was removed.

The people who had brought him had taken him back. As much as I wanted to keep the sweet old guy, it wasn’t meant to be. I was afraid to think about what had happened to Andy over the years, but rumors of his sighting as a trail horse in Washington DC occasionally cropped up. One customer who had been to the farm on several occasions swore he had seen Andy at the stables while running through Rock Creek Park.  Another time, a high school classmate, now living in Georgetown, posted a picture of herself riding a horse that suspiciously looked like Andy.

But on Sunday here was this woman standing in front of me who could finally confirm that he was indeed the big blonde Belgian whose pasture antics with a group of bull calves earned me the ire of my neighbors one summer. And so I asked.

“Oh, do you mean Andrew?”  As we compared notes about his past, it soon became evident that we were talking about the same horse. What were the chances?

You don’t often think of horses as something that goes with the farmers market, but plenty of farmers have them around because we are blessed with space and the grass. I can count at least a half dozen vendors in addition to myself that keep horses on their farms. While horses may be off the radar of our customers, they are part of our daily lives. 

I have a lifer policy when it comes pets. They live out their lives with me. Andy was one of the rare exceptions and I always worried what became of him. Some horses could care less about their humans, others are outright cantankerous when it comes to being caught, saddled, and ridden. Yet there are those who are social butterflies, always coming to the fence as soon as someone arrives. They are vocal, often calling out for attention. They are full of silly antics earning them a pass on what might be considered bad behavior such as taking a walkabout through the surrounding alfalfa fields and outright ignoring me while chasing in futility with a bucket of measly sweet feed. In the end, I gave up and went home knowing Andy and his partner in crime, a little red quarter horse mare, would come home at their regular supper time. Just as predicted, he came thundering up the road like a locomotive minutes prior to his normal feeding time. Forget the pigs, Andy was the real ham of the farm loving on everyone who would give him the chance and mugging for the cameras.

It turned out that Andy became Andrew, a beloved and trusted trail ride horse, therapeutic riding program horse and also mount for a veterans riding program. When the pandemic closed down the stables, Andy went home with the general manager to her farm in Pennsylvania where he lived out his life. I was sad to hear of his passing, but he lived into the top-tier of his specie’s lifespan. We often think of farmers being the providers for their customers, but sometimes our customers surprise us with the greatest of gifts—peace of mind.