If you believe in destiny – I am learning to do that – then tomorrow is a day to take some note of. Rocky, a 34-year-old Appaloosa Pony who led me and Maria to our new home, our New Bedlam Farm, is going to meet our farrier Ken Norman, who trimmed 41 horses in the last two days and announced on Facebook tonight that he is whipped. Rest up dude, I messaged. Hope Ken has some juice left. Florence's grandson told us that Rocky has not had his hooves trimmed in a good while and the last time anybody tried it, they got dragged halfway across the pasture.
I've known Ken Norman for years, and he is a big and strong man. Rocky may be old and blind, but he has a mind of his own for sure. I think I need to be holding my camera and some lenses while this encounter occurs, far from horse or man. Put the wife up there with the farrier, I think ("like you usually do," she jeers.) Someone has to record the history of things.
I have not quiet yet absorbed the journey that began for me when I stopped to photograph the pony in front of his collapsed barn. Half the Internet wanted to rescue him and then I met Florence, his owner and then she died and one day Maria and I were standing by the house and we looked through the windows. We both realized at the same time that we wanted to live there. We have a contract to purchase the Rocky (Rocky comes with it) and are waiting to sell Bedlam Farm. Tomorrow, another step. Rocky get's his hooves trimmed. Ken has been through a lot. He had to tranquilize Simon to get him trimmed, and I haven't seen an equine yet that he couldn't handle. The next chapter. I am eager to see it.