Anyone who actually reads these things may recall me mentioning my problem child horse, Max. He's a gorgeous bright bay, white blaze and one sock. He's mischevious and a little immature for his age (5 years). Like a kitten playing at being a hunter, Max plays at being prey. He will spin off for almost any reason. Riding him can be a little bit scary.

In the past I've tried a bunch of things to try to get him to walk. There have been some stressful times between us - I alternated between being giddy, and terrified when I first get on him. He'll stand still until you ask him to move, then he bolts. He's not afraid, doesn't work up a sweat or anything. He just somewhere along the line got the impression that that was how a ride starts. Changes of bit help - but only for the first few times. I progressively went to a more and more gentle bit, too. If the horse that responds to your line-of-sight to instigate a turn utterly fails to respond to a regular snaffle, upping the severity of the bit won't make him figure out what the proper responses are BETTER. I moved to a french link then a plain bar driving bit, which he seems to like just fine. My riding instructor gave me some amazing advice, but the breakthrough came from JV, a friend with EXTENSIVE dog training experience. She suggested setting up different expectations for the beginning of a ride. ...leading him at a walk.

Worked like a charm. 5 minutes into the ride, he had gone from making a few attempts at speed on the end of a lead line, to plodding around the outside of the arena like a school horse. He even occasionally ignored directional aids like a old schoolhorse too. A few more times of that and I may feel alot more comfortable riding him out-and-about. He responds to habit better than any horse we own. I think he's extremely sensitive, and is looking for rules to live by to make his life predictable. I can do that!

I am looking forward to taking him hunting in the spring.

The second-last hunt was this past Sunday. J didn't feel right attending with his current sprained ankle, so I took a horse for CH, and had a fine time. There was alot of galloping - our field master borrowed an off-the-track TB with 60 G of earnings to lead the field with. It rocked! Unless she was pulling up, Gloucestre couldn't pass her! And the TB is one of his favorite running buddys. With Gloucestre running flat out, Magnus still has another gear.

We have R&L coming out for the closing meet. Should be a good time... Then I will concentrate on work again. Its been a hellish term....

The weekend before last was all about the Wellington Waterloo Hunt in our life. They had a booth at the Royal for the opening day. The Royal Winter Fair was opened by Prince Charles and Duchess Camilla. It was kindof neat. Rumour has it they were in the area to promote us for the PanAm games. Toronto was a potential site, and the final announcement was to happen on the day of the Royal opening. Charles and Camilla visited both Toronto and Hamilton - supposedly because Camilla's great-great grandfather built Dundurn castle. Lame excuse really. I'd believe that a well-disposed future monarch would use their fame and good name to promote a region in their commonwealth. I find it a little harder to believe that they would visit a minor house (compared to ones they own) in an industrial city because of a connection 3 generations ago. Thumbs up to Charles and Camilla for subtle and skillful manipulation, if it was so - Toronto got the bid! Its nice to be Canadian, and have celebrities that have more than their own amusement on their mind. Walking all over the Royal shaking hands is probably alot like work. Camilla was gracious when she came by the WWhunt booth, and mine was one of the hands she shook.

The next night, the Hunt club had their ball. My favorite ballgown is my 1860's ballgown - once my wedding dress. I got it professionally cleaned, and wore that. It was a bit of a hit, I think... or at least J said so. I tried to be somewhat dignified, though I sat at the table with some of the partiers. J and I received our "colours" that evening. You can buy a membership in the hunt, but it is only until the hunt has watched you and decided you are "one of them" that you get to wear the same buttons and colours on your collar that everyone else wears. We were called up first of a bunch of great folk. Nice generation of new members, if I do say so myself. The ball wound up early, due to the hunt the next morning.

On the Sunday we hunted out of Pitcaple once more. Lovely site - stone farmhouse with rolling fields of hay. Truly a lovely place to ride on a mild, sunny morning. Some glorious gallops and a few low jumps. J and Stirling took a tumble, and now he (J) hobbles about with a sprained ankle, poor lad. Stirling landed on his face (rolled up his noseband) and came galloping over to visit Gloucestre. I hear "loose horse" and then realize its one of mine! Luckily he's somewhat herdbound, and came right to me. That evening he was chasing Spike about the paddock, so obviously he had no ill effects from his fall.

I felt somewhat bad for leaving J alone this past weekend to do the chores, but I had a function in Michigan to attend. I've missed several "family dinners" with my SCA family. This was one with no conflicts. Originally we'd planned to have me leave early Sunday and meet up with J at the fixture, but he was in no shape to load horses on his own.

Me, I was able to refit my hunt coat and German Renaissance gown while I was there. Had some good conversations, connected with some cool people, and got a load of Cook's Illustrated magazines....

I don't know if I've had time to mention the Hunt this fall.

We (the Wellington Waterloo Hunt) joined the Hamilton Hunt this past Sunday. Hamilton Hunt is a "live hunt" group (ie actual prey sought) with a professional huntsman. We annoyed him a little, as our group is a bit more casual - ie talking while congregating in groups instead of listening intently for the horn in the distance.

It had rained the night before, and as the footing was clay, it was pretty slick in spots. I had decided to ride Honour so I wasn't on a horse likely to blow by the fieldmaster (a BIG no-no in other groups - a minor misdemeanor payable by booze in ours). CH joined us, as he now appears to be dating one of the hunt members we introduced him to.

We started out the day by getting lost. J hadn't taken the time to groom Stirling at home, hoping to have time before saddling up. We were the last rig to pull in. He was bitchy and stressed, so I was too. Once I got on the horse, though, everything was fine. I'd purchased new reins and a full-cheek double-jointed snaffle with keepers (!) so I was keen to try it out. Honour had only been on a couple hunts before, and her mom, Shady, wasn't the most sure footed of beasts, so I didn't have the highest of expectations for her performance. But when put to the test she was fabulous.

Honour (aka Fatchick) is a bitchy little stump, but she will do what all the other horses are doing. She didn't refuse a single jump (though I took her around a 3' panel at the railtracks) and was more surefooted than either of her parents. ONCE she stumbled - and that wasn't even the footing where the other horse slid and wiped out behind her. We caught two loose horses that day - I guess they weren't as sure-footed. They had fallen in the slick that Honour had navigated without putting a foot wrong, and ended up losing their riders and barreling into her. I didn't even know she would tolerate strange horses near her. She wore a red ribbon the first few times she was out (a sign of a horse to keep your distance from - usually because they kick).

After the panel-jump the hounds scented a coyote, and I got to see them in hot pursuit. They drove him into a cornfield where he promptly lost them. Yay coyote! Though I don't like the idea of a creature being harmed for our entertainment, even if they are pests in this area, I must confess it was a glorious sight.

Poor CH borrowed someone else's horse - a hot TB. He showed up all turned out in a top hat he dropped obscene amounts of money on the day before. The horse fell twice - once into a ATV rut the size of the Grand River, once onto the road. Plus it reared losing him once. The hat got pretty mucky. He ended up wearing my brand-new hunt coat for awhile, as I was suffering from the heat, and, his jacket being soaked, he was cold.

3 hours of riding made her pretty tired near the end. We blanketed her up and she stood calmly at the trailer for a few hours with Stirling while we socialized.

What a different creature from her in the springtime. She's almost uncontrollable in the spring. Next weekend we hunt from Sheffield. I'll see if CH wants to ride Honour, and I'll take Gloucestre. Stirling can take a weekend off.

Its been awhile, but I want to announce a breakthrough in training with Max.

And it wasn't a breakthrough on the horse's part, of course, it was a breakthough on mine. I was doing it wrong, and have been set on a better path for horse and self by my riding instructor.

Max is a bit of ahandful. He's still quite immature, mentally. He frolics and jumps like a foal, instead of his mature 5 years of age. He's been a bit of a problem to get started. J and CH have both wanted to push him. I ride him more than they do, though, and he regularly terrifies me with his behaviour, so, IMO, I get to choose the schedule. I've announced his sale here before, but if you just think of him as a 3yo, then his behaviour seems neither unreasonable, nor inappropriate.

We've been riding him for a couple years now - light sessions. We think he was pretty much unhandled when we got him. This is the horse that didn't know what food in a pan was, and almost fell over when you tried to pick up his feet. Never seen grain or pelleted feed. His previous owners obviously cared about him. He had good weight, and had been backed in a way that he wasn't scared of saddle or bridle. He is so aware of his environment. He looks up when you leave the house and watches you, while the others don't even stop eating until you reach the barn - like he knows what a predator is and needs to be wary. He started this year being a little dancy about being groomed, but not badly behaved. Just nervous. He is now only twitchy about his ears. He is worst when you use a certain green brush....

I'd been using a simple eggbutt snaffle since we got him. I'd tried a number of different saddles, but it didn't seem to matter what equipment you used. I mounted, he started to bolt, and it was a pulling/spinning match to get him under control. UB, my riding instructor, had given me some great advice that made control better, but it wasn't quite enough, given that she had never seen him, to give me comfort... He was frightened, I was frightened, and the whole experience was something neither of us was keen to repeat very often. He always has been wary of being approached in the field. He became pretty hard to catch, in the spring.

He's so sensitive. He steers to line-of-sight, and changes speed when you shift your weight. Just thinking about leg aids gets the response, and if I use them, I rarely use anything much below my knee. He was ignoring the bit, though. Uncharacteristic, given his extreme response to all other aids, so we decided he might not like the snaffle. I tried Honour's Dr. Bristol, a double-jointed bit. He paid a bit more attention, but not enough to make a huge difference. I then pulled out an old levered driving bit of Spike's. Low port, no joints, sweet iron mouth. He was a different horse. Still leapt into action when I asked him to walk, but he came back into control pretty quickly.

So. It occurred to me that changing MY expectations were a good idea. Obviously this "walk calmly right after being mounted" thing just wasn't reasonable with such a hot horse. Especially when the insects swarm any slowly moving object right about now. We tried starting immediately into a trot, and that worked a couple times, but he was gradually ramping up his response until a canter was more his thing. More learning to do.

Then... The Lesson... UB got me up, and told me to let him go, and to just bring him under control as I normally would. He careened around the arena, swerving a little at the soft areas. She urged me to lay off his mouth, and if he was going faster than I'd like, circle him. I kept my hands light - almost a belly in the reins. I let him go, and sure enough, after a few laps and several circles he came in to a nice, rhythmic, forward working trot. He circled readily, and was able to do some very nice trot-walk transitions. We kept him at a walk only long enough to prove that we could get him to respond, and then it was back up to that lovely, forward trot. I don't know how long the lesson was, but he trotted the entire time, and in spite of the warmish temperatures was not sweaty, nor out of breath at the end. He had lost that nervous look, and had only pooped the once, upon entering the arena (horses poop often and runnily if they are nervous).

I am thrilled with him and am keen to ride him again.

What is it about North America that makes public transportation so lame? I travelled alone to Amsterdam from Paris and the journey was wonderful. Comfortable seats, clean surroundings and quiet fellow-patrons. Nothing like the journey I made to Kingston from Toronto the year before, which seemed to be the "single mother express" - full of screaming kids, the luggage racks chock-full of strollers, and the train was by no means clean. Odious comparisons aside, the train to Amsterdam was late - quite late, and the guy in Paris sold me the wrong ticket for the connecting train from Amsterdam to Haarlem where HvdK lives. It was the only time I had issues my entire journey, though, and the issues were all at Paris!

Apparently the Dutch are enough into agriculture that there were plots all along the train tracks - small vegetable patches with a coop at one end, fenced in. I saw many horses grazing in the fields, and almost every one of them were representatives of a breed I could recognise. Intruiging. Perhaps this is why Dutch sporthorses are the best in the world - most competitive horses seem to come from this one, small area.

I arrived in Amsterdam and found a clerk at the train station who could issue me a new ticket and direct me to the platform to catch the train to Haarlem. The station in Haarlem was under construction, so I waited about for HvdK. She walked me back to her place - a block and a half away. It was a sweet little apartment, and she was hosting a dinner for 3 friends. They do a monthly Mexican Dominoes game over dinner - a different take on the old favorite that I have, at this point, forgotten. It was quite pleasant, and I utterly failed to win. Apparently the winner has to ante up 10 Euros towards a bar-trip in the future. HvdK was not drinking, however. She was in a "cleansing process" in preparation for the possibility of starting a family with her new love. Turns out she was already pregnant... good for her! She seems pretty blissful, and looking forward to the future with this guy. I met him a few days later and he seemed nice. HvdK's friends tried fairly hard to include me in the conversation, though sometimes words failed. I am continually amazed how many people speak English, and how, if your first language is English or French, you don't seem to learn any others. Maybe you just don't need to.

HvdK left me alone in her apartment, and stayed at her guy's place at night, so basically I had a superbly equiped hotel all to myself. The next morning I took the train to Amsterdam to check out the city while my host was at work.

It was a fairly dreary day, with erratic bursts of rain. The Amsterdam station had a "tourist" machine that printed out maps to all the major attractions. It was convenient, and so I got the directions to the Van Gogh museum and set off. Dutch architecture is interesting. The contrast between old and new is intruiging. The community completed building a cathedral, and then, within a hundred years or so the Church was reformed to protestant. So they gutted all the statues, removed most of the stained glass. It is now a austere, white interior used for public assemblies. They have a mall that resembles the medicci tower, with plexiglass partitions for the stores between the stone columns. The square outside the 400 yo town hall, where the caleche's stop, had a beachvolleyball court set up in it.

I took refuge in a vintage shop during a rain squall only to find Edwardian and Victorian gowns for sale.

After getting lost at the same 5 way corner a couple times, I made it to the van Gogh museum, where I discovered I really liked Odilon Redon better!

I returned to the train station having completely missed the red light district, to meet H for dinner. I took her to a tappas place - very good food! The shopping in Haarlem was amazing, and they had mounted patrols for their police "presence".

H and I hit the beach the next day. It was 15 minutes down the tracks in the other direction, and, though the weather wasn't hot and sunny, it was a nice experience. We're just not near the ocean here, and the smell of salt water and the sound of the waves was soothing. I tried some herring, and we shopped a bit more. We then found a beach-front bar we were hoping could serve us dessert. All they had on the menu, however, was ice-cream based, and not suitable for the complete lack of heat. We had tea instead, and then dozed in the pale sunlight until I woke myself up snoring. We had dinner at her place with the guy (who's name, I confess, I've forgotten) and it was off to bed. The next day I was off to Brussels.

... Next in the European peregrinations: Brussels and home

This past week I made my annual pilgrimmage to my parents' cottage.

I left on the Monday, made a pleasant drive up the 400-series hiways, to join them for dinner. My Dad is doing moderately well, but is not as mobile, or activity-tolerant as he was just recently. He is active and seems hearty enough, as always, but apparently his heart has reduced in function in the past year since his heart attack, so the doctors are recommending a reduction in body weight to reduce stress on his heart. He is lighter now than he was when I was a kid - in the sturdy but moderate range for an adult male. He's always eaten well, and made a real effort to exercise. His diet, therefore, seems to be to take most of what he would have eaten anyway (healthy, good food) and cut it in half. Mom is matching him, though she hardly needs to lose weight.

Tuesday I went in to the library to catch up on work. The USB key modem I bought recently wouldn't work at the cottage. Cell service just doesn't extend to "the river by Pike Lake in the middle of the Rideau cottage area". It was strong and clear in the local library, however.

When I got home I was informed that I.A., our neighbour had died. At the time we didn't know why, but it turned out to be a heart attack, predictably enough. I.A. had the world's worst lifestyle - booze, cigarettes and inactivity. His food choices were healthy enough - feta was one of his favorite foods - but perhaps the food was erratic and excessive, I don't know. Anyway he died in his living room watching TV with his kids. I feel awful for them. He was a committed Dad, who loved spending time with his kids more than anyone else. They must be devastated.

Me, I spent Canada Day on Parliament Hill with my family - Mom, my brother, Dad and his brothers. We wandered about with Uncle W. and his partner, and ended up at a fabulous S. Indian place with Dosai - my favorite flatbread.

Thursday was rainy, so I made a yellow hunt vest for myself, then worked on refitting my heraldic cotehardie which had never fit terribly well, and fit less well now I've lost a few pounds. Dad was kind enough to go out in the canoe with me that evening. It was overcast, so the light reflecting off the lake was silver, and we got pretty close to a loon before it dove. I can propel a canoe fairly well, but I need someone to steer, or I just fishtail all over the place. Dad may have had trouble paddling with his implant in place and the associated scar tissue, but I didn't notice, if so. The cottage is up for sale, so I may not have the chance to do that again, and I was really grateful he was willing to do that for me.

Friday I went home. When J also got home, we went back to the barn together. The duck was lying there dead, and the chickens were all missing - 11 of them. Apparently I.A.'s dog Lucky, who was responsible for killing our barncat and most of our kittens last year, had worn through her tether yet again, entered our barn, and killed everything it found. My chickens all named Camilla, all gone, save one sad chicken we found at the back, making sounds we'd never heard her make before. I picked her up and she not only didn't avoid being caught, but actually cuddled into me. I am quite upset. I had not been terribly committed to the ducks, which were messy and smelled, but I had truly liked the chickens. They had the softest feathers, and were okay with being held, after the initial shock of being picked up. We bought a 580lb test chain for the dog, and chained her up that night. There was really nothing else we could do. Can we go to the family and complain? Shoot the dog the week the kids' father died? I'm nicer than that, though I did consider it for a few moments.

It was a sad week all around. At the risk of being unkind, I.A. was a heavy drinker, smoker, and so completely inactive we saw him drive to the other side of his backyard fire when the smoke shifted. He was, however, a generous and caring guy, who only wanted to be thought well of. Well, dying young is a sure way of getting that.

There were more than one funny anecdote at the funeral. When his daughter requested that "Dance with my Father" - some C&W song I'd never heard of - be played at the service, I cried. Not for I.A., but for the fact that my opportunities for dancing with my own father may be limited. At J's daughter's wedding my Father spent most of the night dancing, and it was alot of fun. I will, however, make a point to try and set up the opportunity.

So the second full week of my journey to Europe started with a trip to Paris with jouster and stonemason J.S.

We left Verneuil-sur-avre on the train. Since there were trains leaving every 30 minutes between 7 and 9, then none later until noon, we can assume people commute to Paris. We had no hotel booked, as I wasn't willing to put my credit card information into a public wifi laptop under the stairs in a bar, and the phone system... let me rant for a second about that.

There was a payphone in the square in Verneuil-sur-avre. I admit I know nothing about making international phonecalls. There are extra numbers, and I just get confused. Still, after 20 minutes of trying every combination to call H.v.K. in Haarlem, I just asked the operator to help. After talking with me for awhile, he told me that you couldn't make foreign phonecalls from that phone, and was there another number I wanted to call? Huh??? I wasn't calling for the fun of calling, I was actually trying to get ahold of someone... Well, okay, I'll bite. I was in France, so perhaps I'd call the hotel in Paris and confirm a room. I was then informed I couldn't make domestic calls from that phone either. If you can't call out of the country, and you can't call within the country, what is the phone for? He couldn't tell me.

So we didn't have a room when we arrived in Paris at 9:30 AM. J.S. seemed somewhat at a loss, so I made a decision to walk to the nearest hotel and ask for a room. They didn't have one, but could direct me up the road to one that did. It was cheaper too! The room was tiny, but scrupulously clean, modern, with the largest shower I'd seen in france AND a toilet seat - which is something I'd seen little of. I was thrilled. We dumped our bags and set off for the museums. It took us a few minutes to get the hang of the subway, but we made it to the Museum de L'armee with few problems. It was one of the inhabitants of the "hotel de l'invalides", which also contains Napoleon's tomb, and some WWII stuff. The Museum de L'armee was incredible. They had two sets of 15thc armour (complete with horse armour) in the lobby, because it was cool that it was complete, but not fancy enough to be in the main collection. Huh.

The stuff in the collection was gilded, and very fancy. What intruigued me, though, was the storage rooms. They were kind enough to have huge windows into the storage areas, and it was amazing seeing the shelves and shelves of helmets, gauntlets, breastplates, etc.

Very cool.

As our tickets to the Museum de L'armee gained us admission, we swung by the other side of the building to see Napoleon's tomb. Wow they must have dominated the marble market that decade! I took a picture of the floor. It was the only detail that was not too grand in scope for my wee camera. It was a fabulous national monument, but really too much! All of Paris was a bit much, actually.

The Musee Nationale du Moyen Age was to be our next stop (aka Cluny). After searching for it for awhile we determined it was closed. So we went to the Notre Dame Cathedral instead. I had had in my mind that the one in Montreal was a scaled down version of the Paris one. Nope. I was completely on crack. The Notre Dame was started in 1338 I think, and was built for the next couple centuries. It was the most amazing example of what could be done with stone. I've probably gone to cathedrals my entire life. They get more awe-inspiring every time - maybe because I know more about them.

We then walked to the Louvre. There was a moment of blissfull excitement when we realized that it was open until 10pm in the evenings. Dashed immediately when we realized that this did not include Tuesdays, when it, like the Cluny, was closed. We soaked our feet in the fountain in protestation. Then we walked up the corridor of parks, fountains, statues and monuments that was the Champs-Élysées to the National Art Gallery - also closed on Tuesdays.

Apparently Tuesday was not a good day to be in Paris. We hit the Arc de triomph before heading back to the hotel to freshen up and hit a sidewalk cafe/restaurant, where we spent the rest of the evening. I didn't have enough pillows that evening to lob across the room to cease the snoring, so I just hit him. The room was small enough that I could reach his bed from mine.

The next day we got up, made our way to the train station, now much more confident with the subway system, and went our separate ways - me to Amsterdam, and he home to New Zealand.

Next: Amsterdam and Brussels.

We purchased two Rouen ducklings to help control the duckweed on the back pond. They are now about 7 weeks old, and have a full set of feathers. Messy birds, they crap all over the place, and spread wet food, creating a layer of slime over their bedding. We’ve been waiting to put them on the pond. They are the cutest of baby birds, but their habits create a smell and draw flies (much to the delight of the fly-eating chickens, their neighbours). Apparently fuzzy ducklings don’t float as well as adult, full feathered ducks, so it was just this past weekend that I took them over. I walked to the pond, a chuckling duck under each arm, and placed them in the pond. It was quite humorous watching them; one would dive, and half the time you’d see the feet coming to the surface first, struggling to right itself. Apparently, though swimming came naturally, they didn’t know that puddle ducks (their type) don’t dive. J went to fetch them that first evening, so they could spend the evening safe in the barn. We assumed that the long walk through 4’ tall grass on a route they had just been carried 8 hours before might prohibit them finding their way home. The first day was without incident.

Tuesday we weren’t home, so Wednesday (last night) was the next opportunity to put them on the pond. I was sick all day, so didn’t leave the house, but J had put them on the pond first thing in the morning. In the evening, when he went back to find the ducks, he first found only one, and that one looked as if it had something in its mouth. What was, in fact, dangling from its lower face, was its beak – broken in two and held on only by skin. The bone of her jaw was exposed. J came and got me, asking my advice. It was clear that this duck wasn’t going to survive – they can lose a wing, for example, but how does a duck eat with no beak? I can’t think how you’d heal something like that. J got his shotgun and we trudged back to the pond. It was rapidly deepening dusk, so it took awhile for me to find the duck, and in the dark I couldn’t really assess the damage. I trusted J that it was irreparable, and he killed it. In the dark, on the back deck, I skinned and gutted it and put the small carcass in a ziplock in the fridge. I’ll be researching duck soup today. A teenage duck hasn’t much meat. It seems so tragic, but what else could we do? P.F. once said that the reason he and his wife, S.S. didn’t own chickens is that they’d start off with the intention of raising meat birds, and then he’d be getting vet bills for $1000 to cure sick pets. I was considering it…

The other duck had abandoned its clutchmate and was found back at the barn. To my knowledge they’d never been out of each other’s sight since they hatched. We put her in with the chickens. I've taken to calling her Benedict duck, and mocking her for pretending she is a chicken.

I have raised animals to kill them before in my capacity as an animal researcher, but it has always bothered me. Its why I got out of the profession. I hate it. I can’t imagine what could have happened to the duck to inflict such precise damage.

J and I were supporting 46 animals when I got home from Europe – 20 pheasant, 2 barncats with 4 kittens, 11 chickens, 2 ducks, 2 housecats and 5 horses. One of the kittens fell in a bucket of water and drowned. Now we’ve lost a duck. 44 now, I guess. Plus assorted wildlife. I’ve seen many leopard frogs about the place, and hear bullfrogs at night.
J found a small snake in the chicken room this morning. He brought it up to the house to show me. I’m surprised the chickens didn’t kill it, as I’ve been let to believe they will attack anything small and proteinaceous. We let it go under the deck. I truly like snakes, and this was pretty tiny – about a foot long. At this stage of its growth it will be eating bugs for us. I’ll have to look up what type it is. It was a grey brown colour with darker splotches on its back.

The tournament at Verneuil-sur-avre was less jam-packed with activities than that of Seraing, so I was able to sleep in. Friday night we went to dinner in the main square, when it became clear that the sausages our French hosts had acquired for dinner (but not the means to cook them) weren’t arriving any time soon. Once again, French public toilets didn’t appeal to me, so I was actually walking back to the hotel (only 2-3 blocks) every time I needed the facilities. It made it harder to stay out late – bed, or walk back? Saturday morning after the competitors meeting at 9:30, J.H. and I headed to the market area. Saturday mornings is apparently the regularly scheduled market time in Europe. It was truly cool to wander through an open air market in a square that has probably hosted just such a market for 1000 years. I scanned the entire market, then got fresh cheese, normandie cidre semi doux, pastries and the most fragrant strawberries (local, in season!). We wandered back to enjoy breakfast on the lawn.

My only duties were to judge the joust. It was, as with Seraing, a single pass, then wait until the next competitors were ready, and repeat with them. The advantage of this type of joust was that you could do a complete round-robin of the competitors of that pool. The disadvantage was all horses were needed for each show, so it was a lot of work for them. I never remember individual passes, much to the disappointment of the competitors, but I remember the music. For some reason, the organizer decided to play rock music during the tournament. Most of it was archtypal 70’s stuff, but one song, “Liam” by In Extremo, I had never heard and quite liked. I couldn’t find the artist in a CD store in Holland later. I will have to keep looking.

The hosting group, Excalibur, was very hospitable. We got all our meals, though there was a slight repetition of the roast chicken theme. Sausages showed up on the menu, but not the ones from Friday, which I saw stored in an unrefrigerated box under a tree. We learned that "Dinner will be in 20 minutes" means don't wait but order out NOW! The German contingent seems to have less English than other groups, so I hadn't really made contact with them before now. They were kind enough to loan C.L. and I cloaks when cold fell a bit early one evening. The internationals didn't seem to want to leave site very often, so I would wander to the internet-pub, or looking around town. Smokers don't walk much. I think that I was one of three people on site who didn't smoke - the other two also being N. American.

Sunday was the wedding. It started with a tremendously wide, short horse showing up. It had to be a Breton, and sure enough, when in my halting French I questioned the handler, this horse probably shared some lineage with our ¼ Breton, Gloucestre. His job was to pull the Bride’s cart in the parade to the wedding. The parade was fabulous. I was J.S.’s banner-bearer.

Imagine, if you will, a collection of about 10 knights in armour, their horses caparisoned, and banners flying. We were accompanied by the foot-combat competitors, squires, horse-handlers and general staff of the tournament, all in armour or their best medieval clothes, as appropriate. The town festival had more than a few reenactment groups in attendance, and they fell in behind us – one with 8 Irish wolfhounds, and a couple with their own musical accompaniment. Then there was the bride and her entourage, and all the 100’s of members of the general public falling in behind. We were winding through these narrow city streets, with 500 yo buildings on either side. It wasn’t until we got to the church and looked behind that we realized the size of the thing. The streets were full, there were dueling drum-and-pipe bands, and it was a riot of colour. It was one of my medieval moments – you know the ones, where you actually think this is as it might have been. I didn’t attend the marriage itself. Several people stayed outside to oversee the horses, and I joined them. People were quite polite about approaching the horses, but one woman was kissing and fondling Organdy to the point I was embarrassed. I couldn’t help thinking about my mother’s bridge companion C.W., wife to a Fresian breeder-friend of my father’s, saying how some people are way too fond of horses. Her husband’s Fresians had quite the following on the show circuit, and C.W. thought it a little strange.
Anyway, the wedding came off, and the knights emerged to remount and escort the happy couple through town. By the town walls, the donjon, the town square, the merchant booths – one of which was selling tapestries! – and back to the tournament ground. The groom did very well in that afternoon’s joust. He didn’t miss a pass!

There were snacks served on the tournament field before the banquet. Fish-cake featured prominently. I wonder if this was a traditional wedding or medieval dish? It was ...not exciting. It looked like yellow pound-cake with white chunks of fish embedded in it. The ippocras was nice, and the entire affaire was quite civilized. It is, apparently, a French custom to not bring gifts, but make a cash donation. I was not sure how it worked and apparently put my contribution in the chest too early – it was to be presented in front of the Bride and Groom at the banquet. Ah well.

I was presented at the banquet by a herald, my hands were washed in flower-water and I was seated beside C.L. The fishcake showed up again during the feast. The food wasn’t as good as the average SCA feast is now, but it included unlimited wine, and music. C.L. and I got up to dance. Droit, droit, gauche gauche… I was never as uncoordinated. I had the room key, so when C.L. left the hall for some fresh air and was denied readmission, she went back to the tourney field. There the group plied her with “Polish water” ie vodka, which she drank straight from a tumbler. J.H. and I left the banquet and found her there. The hangover the next morning suggested that I had been pretty drunk. After some blathering on my part, I decided to head back to the hotel, accompanied by J.H.. We went back into his room where J.S. regailed us with descriptions of stone-breaking techniques - until I just got too tired, and returned to my room, careful not to lock the door for C.L., who showed up by morning, face down on the bed fully dressed, shoes still on. Apparently the vodka didn't hit until she stood up.

As the next day was also a holiday in France, the joust continued. For some reason 3 days of tournament seemed so LONG! I begged permission from L.P. my host to stay in the hotel another night and get the train to Paris in the morning. J.S. decided to travel with me. I had dinner first with the Swedes, then with him, and we finished our evening wandering about the town taking pictures in the fading light of the fabulous architecture - and of period manor house listings at the local real estate office. Anyone with 500 000 Euro can pick up some nice properties...

So J.S. crashed in C.L.'s bed, as she was off to Paris this night. He snored. I'd throw a pillow across the room to his bed, and he'd stop. He ended up with all my pillows that way.


Next stop: Paris

Again, I am posting on something more recent than my trip to Europe, which actually happened a few weeks ago now:

Riding Max yesterday...

Here's a horse that, if you shift your weight, he bolts. Jordan won't ride him, because he says you literally can never let your guard down. The horse spooked at a fly buzzing about his neck (not a biting type either).

Yet I grabbed a spear and threw it - no reaction.

I picked up a lance and lowered it on either side of his neck - nothing.

I knocked the head off of one of our targets. Again, no reaction.

Maybe there is hope for Max as a joust horse yet.

The next day of my trip to Europe was Wednesday, and F.P. was kind enough to drive us to Geoffery De Bouillon's castle. It was on a hilltop in the centre of an oxbow in a river. Extremely defensible! Geoffery De Bouillon was one of the Gentles involved with the first crusade, which means the core of the castle was very old - 11th c. As such a superbly defensible spot, however, it had been used as a military post as recently as WWII, so had been added to and adjusted over 800 years. Original structures still existed, however.

As we arrived they were doing a falconry demonstration. They had a collection of birds - most of which I'd seen before but now knew their names in Belgian (Dutch, I believe). The Condor, however, was a new one on me. Are they ever large!

We poked about the castle for the next couple hours. I was on my own for most of it - I'd duck into this cranny or that hallway and no one would follow - but every once in awhile I'd partner up with J.S. and he'd point out the toilet adaptations in the walls that the labels said were defence structures.

After the castle we wandered to the pub at the foot of the mountain. Kreik (cherry beer) and waffles for me... then it was off to a potential joust site F.P. had performed in before. It was a lovely manor house that was old enough to have used scraps of 17thc tile in the gravel in the driveway.

Then it was off to a take-out place for dinner, and to the barn to try our hand at horseback archery. I'd done it once with Jordan. Organdy was voluntold to carry all of us, and did so, one by one. She's a TB-type mare - long legs! In spite of her almost uncontrollable energy level at the joust on the weekend, she was pretty placid in her own arena. I stopped when my thumb started bleeding from the fletching impacting it each shot. We ran into the Quebec crew on our way out.

Thursday was Laundry day. I made breakfast; omlettes - as us Saxon-dreived peoples seemed to tire of pastries for every breakfast. Later on we went back to the stable to exercise F.P.'s horses while he packed the truck. J.S. and I took out Organdy and Thorgal to a local field. Thorgal's canter was the least comfortable of any I'd ever ridden. It was a combination of a huge spanish saddle with an utterly smooth seat, too-long stirrups and a 23 yo Fresian cross with a bad back that made it so. I actually held on to the saddle to keep my movement down enough to avoid bothering the horse. The day culminated with dinner at F.P.'s parents' house. His mother made the best meal I had in Europe - all for a bunch of people who spoke a language she didn't understand. What hospitality! It must have been pretty dull for her listening to us jabber on in English, when all she speaks is French.

Friday we loaded up the horse-truck and set off for France. It was a fairly long drive, bipassing Rouen, to Verneuil-sur-avre in Normandie. I slept most of the journey, waking to have an ice-cream bar for lunch while we grazed the horses at a rest stop, and discovered the most horrible of things - the French public toilet.

Verneuil-sur-avre is a town where the oldest obvious architecture is 12th century - the church, town walls and donjon. The streets are narrow, and most of the houses seem to be contemperaneous with what we would call Tudor - dark beams with pale plaster in between. The joust was set to be the celebration for a wedding (Jean-Pierre and Florence). It was a based at a street festival, and was free for the public.

I hooked up with C.L. and we went to seek an internet cafe. She asked at the local hotel, and they directed us across the street to a pub. There, nestled beneath the stairs, was a single laptop. It turned out it was available free to those who were drinking, so we did. C.L., being French-Canadian, was quite popular, with people looking at her as a long-lost relative. They asked her about Courier-de-bois, and compared last names. Me, being Anglephone, just went straight to the computer. On the way back we ran into our host, who was escorting the internationals to the hotel. We tagged along, and were subsequently assigned a room together. Once again, she and I were to judge the joust.

Next part - the Normandie Joust

After the Seraing joust was over, I accompanied F.P. back to Ans when he dropped off his horses. Thorgal is quite thin now - probably due to age and lack of mobility. He makes a great companion for Organdy, though, and I think he'd be bored staying at home. He got to be the "marshal's horse" in the Historic joust. He's 23 now!. Got to hear alot about the current politics of the International Jousting League on the trip. Wow. Why can't people just get along???? Or... why don't assholes keep to themselves? It reinforced my determination not to follow any online forums. Yes, it allows you to feel connected. It also seems to embroil people in discussions about issues that, in the real world, may not matter. That didn't seem to be the case here. The issues were real. I wish F.P. the best of luck with them.

We (the internationals) were dropped off at the Curtis Museum in Liege while the Hackamore group tore down the joust. The museum was oddly organized. You'd find pockets of medieval stuff in several different collections. It was also the most politically correct of museums. The HUGE collection of firearms had a sign saying that none of them were actually -used-. I'm no fan of firearms, but they had some neat little revolver adaptions - The walking stick revolver, the working pen revolver, the wallet revolver... Their political correctness extended to their labelling of their quite respectable collection of reliquaries. They didn't mention that the purpose of a reliquary was to house some dude's body part for the odd purpose of worship, so they didn't tell us what body part it was. That took away the affirmation part of my anatomist's game of "name the body part". Though the 3rd molar in the gold triptic-style one wasn't a big challenge....

I ended up walking though the museum at a completely different pace as my colleagues. J.S. and J.H. had alot to discuss about armour, and I was interrupted or ignored if I made any comments, they were so engrossed, so I just wandered on. Its not like I had anything useful to add anyway *grin*.

The museum backed onto a courtyard that, in turn, had another museum forming the posterior wall. it was full of modern art, true, but the building itself was cool - the ceiling were all dark wood beams with plaster, and the woodwork was lovely. I left the boys in the courtyard while I quickly walked through it.

We then went downtown for a drink (Sangria for me!) and then for a bit of perambulation through the town. There were more than a couple churches in town. Liege had been burned by Charles the Bold in the 15th c (he died in 1477, so just before that) but he had left the religious buildings intact. They were intact no longer. One had scaffolding on it that had been in place almost 20 years. The biggest was closed, and apparently was in poor shape, according to J.S. the stonemason. The civic statue - the huge errection that is used as the symbol for Liege - is held together with shipping straps. According to F.P., repair of monuments is a huge political issue, and the government is bogged down with those sorts of issues. Who pays? Which party's cronies do the work? So nothing, ever, gets done. Its a real shame to see these structures that have been in place for over half a millenium, rotting due to lack of attention.

F.P. volunteered (?!?!) to host J.S., J.H. and I for the week between the tournaments, so we retired to his place.

Tuesday we went to Bruges by train. F.P. dropped us off at the station with great instructions. We disembarked from the train and started walking. Bruges is a lovely city, with cobblestone streets, horse-drawn caleches, and enough history for any person. The Charles the Bold exhibit was on until July. Charles the Bold was one of the Dukes of Burgundy, once part of France, but then independent and including Flanders, and the Low countries. I believe that today it is mostly the area covered by Belgium and the Netherlands. The display was amazing. Fabrics, tapestries, luxury items, armour... you name it it was there. I bought the catalogue. We met the Quebecois on the way out, and then went to lunch. Pizza Hut, of all things. At least we had a pizza based on local cheeses.

One of the contemporaries of Charles the Bold had a museum in his house next to the one hosting the exhibit we'd just seen, so we popped in there. The ceilings were magnificent. It backed onto the canal, and shared a wall with the cathedral. This meant that the family had a bay window into the church, so they could attend services without leaving their home.

F.P. picked us up and we went to one of the beer places that stocks several hundred selections. I asked the server to recommend a cider, and he picked Strongbow, which brought him down in my estimation. I ended up picking something quite good, + a selection of grilled meats. Yum.

I think it was that night that, after getting my few minutes on the computer with the purgatorial Belgian keyboard, I came downstairs about midnight to find the boys sitting up and drinking gin. Straight out of the bottle and warm to boot. I declined. An hour later into the discussion, however, found me tossing it back with the best of them and actually feeling like I was contributing to the conversation for the first time in days.

This will make my journal somewhat out-of-order, as I am trying to post of my peregrinations in Europe, and these are my comments on this past weekend, but here it goes:

Every little Sountern Ontario community in the area has some sort of festival in the summer, to draw in visitors, like the Smithville Poultryfest. Dunnville's is the Mudcat festival. There is a kid's fishing derby, but for the most part, it has nothing to do with mudcats (otherwise known as catfish, I guess). Things I didn't attend: the midway, the car show, the community garage sales, the free child identification booth (and what is this? "yep, what you have here is a child of Asian descent. ...You're welcome ...No charge, Ma'am.")

On the Saturday morning, I decided to give the weekly farmer's market a try. I wanted a couple tomato plants, and I had been struck by the open air markets in Europe. I discovered that I wasn't carrying enough cash, but there was a parade between me and the bank machine, The parade consisted of a bunch of organizations on foot and desperately needed the addition of horses in armour, but didn't get in my way for long. The farmer's marked of course didn't compare to Europe's open air markets. The food _may_ have been local (are peppers actually ripening in S. Ontario in mid-June??), but was much more expensive than grocery stores, and there were a total of 6 vendors.

The street dance at the firehall on the saturday night was quite cool, however. Free admission, it featured live music, a good view from the dance area of the fireworks at dusk, food and drinks. It was almost romantic to be dancing underneath the stars to a live band with fireworks going off in the distance.

Must attend next year. Maybe the parade too.

Much of this posting will involve observations on the joust that will be boring for those not in the sport, but because these postings are only for my own recollection anyway, I’m making them, and any reader finding them tedious can skip to another post.

Friday in Seraing, Belgium we participated in a parade, handing out flyers for the event on the weekend. Apparently I was one of the few international visitors that actually spoke at least menu-French, so people looked to me to order food. Final arrivals were trickling in – J.S. from New Zealand showed up, as did the Germans and French. There was a competitors and Judges’ meeting where I met the other judges, and discovered, yet again, that I was the only one who had ever done it before. I question the logic of tournament organizers when they pull people in who have never judged previously, and have no training. Once again we had a judge that had only the faintest idea what a canter is and yet was expected to know when a horse is not in gait, as well as concentrate on all the other aspects. This time, English was only one of 6 languages she spoke, and there is always some confusion about terms when explaining to non-horse people who’s first language isn’t even English.

Saturday was the first day of the tournament. The day was pretty full, with back-to-back events for 3 divisions of jousting, foot combat, baston melee, mounted archery and skill-at-arms. I was judge for the joust, and supposedly for the games, but it rapidly became apparent that I was not required for the mounted skill-at-arms games, so I had some time to sneak off to the internet café in the centre square to check in at work, and home.
The three divisions were 1) Amateur division, 2) Sport division, and 3) Historic division. F.P., the tournament organizer had set up a solid centre-tilt barrier, which is a great idea if all your horses are the same size. It means that any lance dropping below the level of the target will hit the barrier and not the horse or the opponent. It was a bit problematic with the German jouster, I.H.. She rides what are technically, ponies. That was only a slight issue when someone on a tall horse was her opponent. It wasn’t so straightforward when she was matched against M.B. on Jonquille, a mare that was herself no taller than Honour. Apparently you saw the upper tip of the target-shield and little else. It is an addition that can be considered by any tournament organizer as a safety-measure.

Note: It didn’t help poor Segunda, however. Segunda is one of the ugliest horses I’ve seen jousting, where “presence” of the horse seems to be a major consideration by riders who like to get dressed up and parade about in public. She’s an ex-polo pony – scars all over her body and blind in the eye to the outside of the lists. She runs straight and true, though, and all the jousters love her because of her hard-core work ethic. She got hit in the face, and if she hadn’t been wearing a chamfron, which caught the lance tip in the straps, she may have lost her only good eye. The offending competitor was pulled from the tournament, and she was retired for the duration of that tournament. Her owner was seen icing her face and making a big fuss over her. She ran again without complaint the next time it was her turn. J.S. donated his chamfron (which included mesh harness-racing eye covers and leather full-face coverage) to her owner, so she couldn’t be hit the same way again. She was hit in the shoulder the next tournament, though. She could probably be called accident prone…

If I were to add another note about safety – given I broke my arm on a solid rail, I am not fond of fences that don’t give, but using 2x2’s is not an option. A horse can easily break them, and then there is a sharp point that horses in New Zealand and Sweden have both impaled themselves on.

The Amateur division of the Seraing tournament used B.L.’s pool noodles, and once again, the only way you could score on your opponent was to punch with the lance; very very bad practice. I applaud F.P.’s desire to instigate a beginner’s division that is common between Europe and other areas and I think there is room for improvement of the lance on both sides of the pond. F.P.’s girlfriend, A.L. was the winner of the division. A cynical person would suggest that the reason she won is that she had access to the lances beforehand, as they are quite different from real lances. She was, however, doing a great job with the horse she was riding – who was being problematic – and had superb lance control.
The “sport” division was open to any jouster who had armour that didn’t meet the criteria for the historic division. This meant that there were about 3 good jousters, and a collection of new competitors, erratic horses, poor horsemanship and bad lance control that made it a tough division to watch.
The Historic division on the other hand, was great to watch. The armour was all 15th c with period adaptations that made head shots more safe – a legal way of scoring in this division. They are an almost impossible shot to get – helmets are designed to deflect lances. This division was not evaluated solely on joust prowess. The competitors also competed at chess, archery and dance, much to the amusement of the audience. The dance competition was done at the Saturday evening banquet. F.P. won his own tournament here.
My views on the Historic division would be as follows: It looks great, but moves the higher end competitors out of the general pool. I don’t know how I’d deal with this – perhaps an invitational joust where only the historic division happened, or perhaps making the sport joust a smaller field, excluding the unproven or unskilled jouster.

The baston melee was kindof cool – the riders didn’t get saddles or armour and the baston was the foam “Renee D’Anjou” club being produced in Australia – great fun! It was down to F.P. and a new competitor E.W. F.P. accidentally hit E.W. in the face. E.W. looked pretty conflicted – he’d just won the match due to an illegal shot, but he’d just been hit in the face!
F.P. fed all competitors and staff for the duration of the tournament, and put us up in a local university residence. Damned nice of him! Most competitors were traveling on to a French tournament the following weekend. I asked the organizer, L.P. if I could be allowed to join them. He was kind enough to say yes, in spite of the fact the tournament was to celebrate a wedding, and I would therefore be a wedding guest, even though the couple had no idea who I was and would be feasting me. Also he would be obliged to put me up in a hotel with the other internationals. Never let it be said that the French are lacking in hospitality! They stepped up to the plate and permitted me to attend…

So I got my flight less than 24 hours before my proposed liftoff, and headed off to Belgium with no plans except to attend the Hackaland jousting tournament in Seraing.

FP, the organizer, was wonderful. He agreed to host me - food and accomodations - for the tournament, and in return I agreed to judge the joust. I flew in to Brussels, and it was only while I was waiting to be picked up by a guy I'd never met that I wondered what airport I was supposed to have gone to. I'd never told FP - just assumed. It worked out - JH from California was coming in at the same time, and I'd spent a week sharing a cabin with him in New Zealand, so it was nice to see him again.

FP's trusty companion, M, drove us to the joust site in Seraing. Seraing is a fairly disreputable looking town, but there seemed to be a fair amount of interest in the tournament, and FP got a nice park with walls on 4 sides. I didn't get to help him set up at all - their local crew seemed to have it all in hand. Australian TB, the Norwegians JH and I wandered a couple blocks to grab food and drink at a local cafe. This is where I dicovered the joy of lambics. I think they may be the only cold drink available in Belgium. Ice seems to be precious, so not readily handed out to the public. Cherry beer. MmmmMmmm.

When we got back to the site, I got to meet C & M from Quebec. We have been talking back and forth for awhile now, but never got off our asses to visit one another. Now we have met in Europe, it will be much easier to plan our next meeting. FP assigned us rooms at the local university dorm. He told us that the passcards for the door only worked until midnight, which was a blatant lie. The rooms were small, alcohol was forbidden there, the showers were on only 2 of 8 floors and there were no common areas. Fine for a weekend guest that was going to spend only their sleeping hours there, but purgatorial for a student that actually wanted social contact. I was thrilled to have a roof and running water, but I felt sorry for the regular residents. The view from the windows was fairly industrial, and had one of those towers that are more famous from pictures of 3 mile island.

The Swedes showed up - all in matching uniforms - jacket and trackpants with liquor logos on them that they completely didn't have as sponsors. They set up a pavillion that ended up being the central social spot for the weekend.

JS from New Zealand had failed to show up on his expected plane, so was lost somewhere in the world. His travel agent had forgotten about the international date line, and had booked him on a plane from Germany to Belguim that coincided with another flight he was on the same day. I hope he gets his money back from that one.

I don't recall what we did the first evening. Likely we hung out at the Swedes tent, drank Petter's booze (port, I think), and socialized. I met the Polish contingent. Great folk!

Its been pretty hectic finishing off my first year of work.

This past week has been pretty cool, though. I was asked to help out at D.G.'s grade 4 educational sessions as a jouster. Now you must recall I was never a good jouster in the first place, and haven't picked up a lance in 3 years. J has been helping me design a lance that my severely weakened right arm can handle. We took some lighter lances and counterweighted them. After a single pass on the Sunday night before I was to leave, I was "ready".

4:30 AM Monday saw me on the road and off to Gravenhurst. My mission was to help with the Arms & Armour station, then do three passes against D.G.. I was to ride his son's mare, Maggie. Maggie has had an aversion to travelling faster than a trot, but was nice and steady. I have a habit of flinching at the moment of impact when jousting. Monday I missed wildly, all three passes. Tuesday I missed wildly all three passes. Wednesday the weather was a bit windy, and I had trouble with lance control. D.G.'s horse didn't like the wind, and tossed him into a fence. Thursday it was too windy (and wet) to joust - so we did a swordfight. I have never used a two-handed sword before, though I have done SCA heavy combat. I figured in full-plate steel, what could happen? Apparently choreographed swordfights don't involve the use of helmets, and Dale clocked me up the side of the head when I failed to block. It was just above the ear, so the thickest part of the skull, but I still am ouchy there. And my scalp was sunburnt.

Friday was our last chance. I had saved the show a few lunches by failing to break any lance tips. The first pass, I missed. My end-squire said it was by mm's. I realized I had never seen it miss. I had looked away at the moment of impact again. This time I was determined. I leaned into the lance and watched it strike D.G. His lance hit my ecranche and skipped up into my face, swinging my helmet around and dislocating my jaw. Needless to say, I went back to flinching for the next pass. My jaw popped back in, and I am fine now. Still, it was no way to desensitize me to the strike!

I had a great time, though, and got to hang out with J.G., D's wife. She is usually left holding the fort while he galivants off, so it was nice to spend most evenings with her. They are an extremely interesting pair!

C.H. had suggested we attend Pimlico for the Preakness in Baltimore Maryland. I had been hemming and hawing as I was reluctant to drive another 8 hours after just getting back. I decided to go.

Pimlico is a TB track that has been there for more than 100 years. We were actually unsure that the GPS was taking us to the right spot, as we were arriving. We had infield tickets - which sounds cool until you realize every place where you could actually see the finish line or starting point was barricaded off so they could ding you for 125$ access. The infield was just a beer-swilling party with a big screen, 3 bands and betting on horses you could only see for about 8 seconds on the backstretch. Even given these limitations, I had a fabulous time - talking with the locals, observing the spectacle and making a few unproductive bets on the horses involved.

The 12th race was the big one. There was a beginner's race afterwards, making the card 13 races, but it ended up raining just at the 12th race, and we wanted to get on to dinner on the pier. Rachel Alexandra was the favorite. She had won the Kentucky Oaks, and her jockey, who had also ridden the Kentucky Derby winner, had opted to ride her in this race. If you looked at her record, she hadn't lost a race since he became her jockey. The other horse that I thought interesting was one toted as the "Canadian Champion". I'd never heard of Mine that Bird, and he is currently owned by a farm in New Mexico. Apparently he won "best 2 year old juvenile" at Woodbine. He, a gelding, had won the Derby coming from behind in one of the biggest upsets in sporting history. Still, the jockey decided to ride "the girl" instead. An interview with the trainer quoted him as saying they had just hoped that he wouldn't embarrass him in the Derby - and that the last 30 seconds of the race where he pulled ahead from a trailing position to win was the most exciting of his life. I can understand that! I bet an exactor box with him, and her, and another horse that seemed promising.

We finally moved to an area where we could just see the back of the starting gate. It also allowed us to see the horses as they were waiting for their turn to be loaded. And they were off! Rachel Alexandra, from a 13 post position, pulled ahead immediately and held a considerable lead until the last few seconds of the race, when the gelding, Mine that Bird, made an effort to challenge. If the race had been a few more strides long he may have won. But he didn't. Wire to wire, they beat out 11 colts, and won me 39 dollars. The filly, however, was victorious. The first filly to win in 85 years. If you look at the lineups, however, there were only 12 fillys who have been entered in that time, so given an average field of 15 horses, this mightn't have been so rare. She is, however, a spectacular contender. She has won most of her other races by an average of 20 lengths.

C.H. and I then went down to the pier to have a seafood dinner before we turned around and drove back. Best tasting seafood ever, and a reasonable cost to boot. I wish I could remember the name of the restaurant. I'd be able to find it again, though, as it was attatched to the Pier V Inn... As we drove off, the skies, which had been clear enough to give us a spectacular sunset over the water, opened up and it rained.

We tried to make it back to Canada that same night, but couldn't. I made it back about 3pm Sunday - in time to get ready for the Hunt on Monday morning. This was the last Hunt for J and I for the Spring Season. I had been riding Gloucestre ever since the first cubbing, where Honour lost me 2ce. He was hot, and hard to hold in, but fun. J had been riding one of our new geldings, Stirling. J had used Gloucestre in a horseback archery clinic on Sunday, though, so we grabbed Honour instead. I rode Stirling, as my confidence on Honour isn't good. He did fine with her - though tired her out so much that she barely ate her dinner. Stirling was fine, though pretty pooped as well. The scenery was spectacular. They did one drag we watched from a local hilltop - the hounds ran around a peaceful pond where swans were swimming, then stopped to frolic in the water. It was magnificent.

Its been a fabulous week, and tomorrow, if I can get a flight, I'll be off to Belgium.

So its Monday again, and once more I am reflecting on the activities of a fabulous weekend. Today it is raining - something the ground actually needs in spite of the prolific precipitation of the past months, but the weekend was warm and often sunny.

It was pretty much the wrapping up of my 40th birthday celebrations. Friday I had invited my family and friends to a dinner at the Faculty Club at McMaster university. In spite of the lack of interest some had in the theme, "Oyster night", we had a great turnout. I even had three of my friends travel in from the 'states! It is gratifying to know that, in spite of our diminished communication over the past few years, they still hold my friendship dear enough to travel many hours to visit. The dinner itself was pretty good. I tried raw oysters with horseradish, and was surprised that I liked them. There was a selection of salads, asparagus, paella, and other dishes... all consumed to jazz music. I kept the wine coming, and charged everything to my members account! How civilized.

We retired to "Chester's, beers of the world" for a drink afterwards. I had water, and then conveyed my passengers home. One decided to forgo the 11 year old girl's birthday party the next day and came back to my place. In the morning, after a breakfast of omlettes, we decided to do some archery, from the ground and from horseback.

I got to try out the new bow that had been made from me from a tree taken from our property! There are things I have to learn in order to shoot it properly, but had a fine time trying. Then we pulled out the horses. Stirling had never done horseback archery before, and Gloucestre was a bit jazzed about the idea, so we took a while to get started. J set up the lane. Everyone got to try. J started with Stirling to get him used to the idea. Gloucestre and I walked down the lane first to give Stirling direction. L.F. was the first new rider for Stirling. He was fine, though he did try to trot back to the starting point - a fact that seemed to instill the watchers with trepidation. Everyone took their turn at shooting their bow from horseback - even G.W. got up, though not with a bow, and she had been sent to the hospital by the last two horses she had sat on. Stirling did right by her - just walking away and back. She then dismounted. Just a few steps for the horse, but it was a triumph of self-will over fear for her. I was thrilled, as I have a small understanding of the core of panic you get when putting yourself back in a situation that hurt you so badly previously. Me, I have 1000's of successful rides and years of habit to get me through it. She had nothing of the sort.

I got off a couple shots from Gloucestre at the canter. He had been a complete joy to ride - quiet, responsive and calm. Not at all the horse he is when J is on top. Gloucestre and I get along well. He did a nice, long-limbed canter that allowed me to try out J's old bow. I didn't actually hit anything, but over all, we only lost 2 arrows over the session. L had even done a long shot at a pair of geese on the other side of our property. He missed, but the geese were surprised. We let the horses out into the pasture while we prepared snacks and opened up the liquor cabinet. Boy, we can drink alot when we try! We opened several brand-new bottles of liquor, yet there was nothing more than half-full after a few hours, and one was even emptied.

I made steak, burgers and beef ribs, salad and peppers. It was an earlier evening for most, as J and I had the hunt the next day. The previous one hadn't gone too well, and I had made J promise to allow me to ride Gloucestre this time out. He brought Stirling - a new first for him. Stirling likes dogs (and people, and other horses - generally just a good-natured guy). He is pretty placid, to boot. He even walked right onto the trailer when I had a bowl of grain as a bribe! So few horses are bribable when it comes to loading. It was a really pleasant surprise to discover that he would load. When we brought him home, we had had a flat tire, so the horses had spent an hour in the feedmill parking lot being jacked up and down while we changed the tire. I figured the unpleasant experience would have calmed his enthusiasm for a repeat.

We bade our guests goodbye, and set off for Puslinch, where the hunt kennels are.

We groomed and mounted the horses by the side of the road at the Kennels, me on Gloucestre, J on Stirling. Stirling took his cues from Gloucestre, and though he needed to stick close to the only horse he knew, he was friendly to all others. He was perfect, as far and I could tell, though J told me mid-way into the ride to stop harping on the fact. We started with the second field, but that group stays pretty far away from the hounds, and doesn't do much more than trot. After we determined that Stirling and Gloucestre were in control, we asked to move to the first field. This one did some pretty fun gallops. The best was watching a pair of riders side-by side, galloping through the woods, dodging trees and keeping up a conversation at the same time.

I didn't pay too much attention to the hounds. Apparently they weren't keeping together as a group, and, in the periphery, I could see the whippers-in galloping madly around trying to keep them as a pack. We were supposed to do some manuvers to help control them. We ended up standing about on horseback drinking brandy and socializing. When we left the site, there were still 2 couple of hounds outstanding. Some of the ground-crew were picking them up in cars.

I was thrilled with Gloucestre - he didn't dance or pull on the reins. He was nervous from the time we tried to load him on the trailer in the morning, until we unloaded him around 4pm, but was responsive to every aid I offered. What a great guy.

The funny part of it all was that when we put Gloucestre back in the field with Honour, she kicked him - her bosom buddy and protector. She had been standing away from the other horses at the fence and it had looked like she was waiting for the trailer to come home. J proposed she was jealous that she was left behind, and no other explanation fit. In spite of the fact she had been a complete pill the entire time, she had, apparently, wanted to go. Mind you, her misbehaviour on the previous hunt wasn't fear, or anxiety. Her misbehaviour had been that she completely ignored the fact she had a rider and didn't respond to any aids, which could have been, I suppose, high spirits. The irony was that Gloucestre hadn't wanted to go at all, though may have had some part of him that had enjoyed it. He does, after all, love a good run. I'm looking forward to the first official "hunt" of the year - on Sunday.

Okay, I am probably not going to make my little mare into burgers. I rode her last night and though she still had some issues (slows down when you put on leg, no left lead) she tried. J had purchased a pilates ball, and, aw well as some basic riding, we were trying to get Honour and Spike to play soccer. Neither was very keen on the idea of kicking the ball, but neither really objected to the ball itself. It was more a case of "You want me to do what? ...You're kidding, right?" instead of "What the hell is THAT!!!"

I had switched her Dr. Bristol's bit for Spike's high-port mylar. She didn't salivate as much with the new bit - that foamy saliva that horses get when they are playing with the bit is a GOOD thing in English riding. It means they are aware of the bit and are playing with it. She was obviously feeling this new bit, in spite of the decreased salivation, as she was trying out different head positions and sometimes came up with a pretty one. Apparently in Western riding, salivation and playing with the bit means that the horse is paying attention to the bit (same as with English) but that is considered a _bad_ thing. I figure it is because they use a loose rein, and should use the bit as little as possible when riding. It shouldn't be irritating the horse enough to make them pay attention to it. English riders should be using the bit to give a bunch of very subtle cues. I guess that's why English bits are (and this is a real generalization) less severe - less leverage, fewer contact points. Both disciplines make extensive use of the snaffle bit, though. That bit can be documented to medieval times, if not before. Spike seemed to like being back in the hollow egg-butt snaffle that he had been using when we bought him. He'd been using the other for years because he was tough to stop when running. He's been pretty mellow recently.

Easter weekend happened to be my 40th birthday this year. I had planned a dinner at the Faculty Club, but every time I tried to organize something else, J actively discouraged me, saying that he had made plans. I guess we have a difference in scale. I expected something more grandiose than dinner at the neighbours for my 40th birthday. I was somewhat upset, which evolved into being a argument about some fundamental differences we have, and the evening in question, a mere 2 days before my birthday, was shot.

With a distinct lack of harmony, we ended up organizing a social get-together at Flamborough Downs, a local harness-racing track for the Saturday. Friday, my actual birthday, we kept to the original plan of dinner. In the morning was the first get-together for the fox-hunting group I wanted to join.

Thursday evening saw us trying to clean two very muddy horses so they would be presentable the next day. Friday morning we got up at 6:30 for a 7:30 departure, which ended up being closer to 8. We were there just after 9 am, still the first to arrive. Honour was quite calm during the tack up and stand about part of the day, but was a complete pill on the ride. It was like she had forgotten what the aids were and was just doing what all the other horses did. Except no one else acted so badly. She threw me, dragged me, and stepped on me within the first 5 minutes of the ride. Way to make an impression - muddy and with the sleeve ripped out of my hunt coat. Later, when we held back from the group to keep her from the dogs, the dogs took an unexpected path and, as a pack, came right at us. More understandably, she pitched a fit, and, though I almost recovered, she bolted into a tree and lost me again. I was unimpressed, but that one I understood.

Note to self: If I ever ride Honour in a hunt again, I will use my whip EVERY time she fails to respond in an appropriate manner. And I will use a "yes Ma'am" bit. One that makes her realize there are repurcussions to poor behaviour.

I was in some serious pain by the time we got home. After getting the horses squared away, I took a long, hot bath. Then it was over to J.T.'s the neighbour for daquiris and fish. J had dropped off breaded sole for them, and I got a salmon steak and 'tater tots. It was a pleasant evening, if a little low key. It hadn't been my original intention, but after the hunt, a casual evening was a fine idea.

By Saturday I was pretty stiff. The leg Honour stepped on wouldn't bend, and I was pretty tired from Friday. We hit the track about 12:30, and spent a fabulous afternoon, then evening, then night, with friends. I didn't win anything, but L put $20 on the final race, and it paid off - so off to St. George for a round of ciders, and dinner. We then headed over to the Jerseyville house for more socializing.

Sunday, I wasn't sure if I could ride, due to my leg. I tried Max out before my riding lesson. After a little bit of energy displayed on the end of the lungeline, he was a complete doll under saddle. I will CERTAINLY be taking him to the hunt - perhaps for the fall. My riding lesson was on Sandheide Farms top dressage mare, Haley. She is no longer "show sound" due to injuries years earlier, but is just being incorporated into the lesson program. She is a fabulous ride! I managed to ride for a full 40 minutes before we both flagged.

On the way home, I got the car washed and vaccumed out. I mention both because it is so rare for me to do, and because for once, apparently, I was doing the popular thing. There were LINEUPS at the coin-operated car wash, on Easter Sunday. Maybe its a tradition to get your car cleaned? Me, I had broken a jar of screws behind the driver's seat after loaning brass screws to a student to screw a ACL replacement into a cadaveric knee, and needed to vaccum up the glass. Since I was there, I gave the car a quick wash. Didn't have the change to make it a longer one.

Off to dinner at the folks' place. Almost 180 years between my parents and my brother, and in all that time none of them had ever had crab legs before. The mind boggles. Anyway, that was my requested dinner, and they were happy to oblige. I wish that my diet had allowed me to drink more. As it was I went WAY over the food budget over the 3 days of the weekend. Wonderful food, drink and company. And its not over yet! I've planned a birthday dinner this Friday at the Faculty Club.

Oh well, you only turn 40 once. I hope. I couldn't take another weekend like this one. Honour is in disgrace, and every time I see her now, I wonder what she'd taste like. I'm sure I'll come around, but I'm still pretty mad.

For the past couple years J and I have attended Equine Affaire in Columbus Ohio - though last year I was just off of sugery, so didn't go. For 12 bucks admission/day, you have access to world class clinics (included in admission price) given by names even I have heard of. Its a great educational experience, and there are literally 100's of vendors.

In previous years there have been "themes", though I suspect they were unintentional. There was a year when saddle fitting was a priority, another where fine-tuning performance in various disciplines was the focus. This year they had a bunch of the "natural horsemanship" guys who couldn't teach. They'd start a sentence that was pertinent and interesting, then stop mid-sentence to delve into an anecdote, and never return to the thought. I was quite dissapointed with the rank and file. They all seemed to have a product to sell- there was one guy who claimed to have invented the halter/ bridle combination that I've seen used in the jousting world for a decade - I first saw it provided with the Aussie stock tack. He claimed to have "discovered" the running martingale as a training aid - and was using it incorrectly. Monty Roberts casually "mentioned" several products during his seminar, and actually cued the cliche'd stirring music when he started his little speech about non-violent ways of teaching horses and humans! Only one guy was able to talk clearly and keep to the point. Mark Rashid (pronounced in the flat N. American way, not the lyrical East-Indian way). We actually bought one of his training DVD's about how to time aids so the aid comes just when it can cue the specific limb.

This year Equine Affaire included something called the "extreme coyboy race" which was basically a skill-at-arms gauntlet with a cowboy theme. There were some fabulous rider/horse combinations - including Valour, Honour's daddy. The competition was open to all horse breeds, and the Fresian stallion was a big hit with the crowds. He didn't get in the finals, though.

The lady who won was an inspiration. Riding a grade horse, Ghost, she'd trained herself, she was obviously an amateur with a horse who trusted her and was willing to do what she asked. She was 57 years old. She beat out athletic professional horse types at their own game. She had to stand on the horse to put a tennis ball in a bucket on top of a roundpen gate, jump, rope, spin, back through a U-shape, walk over tarps, gallop freely, and basically show control of the horse at all times, in front of a 1000 cheering people.

I'm thrilled.