Liam, Pumpkin and Deb (peeking out beneath Liam) have discovered the apple tree in the pasture and are fascinated by it. Liam seems to think he can climb it, but has not had much success. The lambs have formed a kind of brat pack, running amok, exploring, giving their mothers fits. Liam will be as big as the tree soon, he is growing every day.
I hate it when the farm is disrupted or out of order or when things don’t feel right. For the past couple of weeks, we have confined the donkeys to the side pasture after one of them stomped Liam a few days after he was born. When we tried to reintroduce them, Ted the ram wouldn’t let them near his girls or their lambs. There was a lot of butting and kicking.
Yesterday Ted left the farm and this morning, we brought the donkeys back out. There was some posturing and snorting and Lulu was very curious about the lambs, but by late afternoon, things has finally returned to normal – our lambing process began last November. Everyone is in their rightful place, the donkeys are guard animals again, not tormentors and we have nine sheep. It all feels good, it feels right.
Like me, Ken Norman does work that he loves.
Like me, he has given up the idea of security and comfort. He does not talk of retirement.
He devotes himself to his community, he is a First Responder. He is active in equine rescue. He is a member of several farrier associations.
He lives his life in meaning and fulfillment, practicing an ancient art that has not really changed for centuries.
When Ken Norman comes, we trick the donkeys into coming into the pole barn. We put a halter on them, one by one and Ken leaves over and cuts and trims their hooves. We need to have this done every two or three months, it is hard for the donkeys to walk evenly on hooves that are too high. Simon’s hooves stood out for nearly a foot on either side, he had not been trimmed in so long. He was walking on his ankles. The ankles stay together when Ken is working on them, they never abandon one another, they lean into Ken and surround him.
Above is Lulu’s foot, being trimmed down.
The farrier came to the farm today.
I’ve known Ken Norman almost from the first day I came upstate to live with animals and write my books. He is a big man, but he is larger than life, for sure, maybe larger than two or three lives. I consider him a very valued and old friend, one of the oldest in my life. Ken has taken care of my donkeys as long as I have had them, he rescued me from ignorance about donkeys, from thousands of dollars in vet bills, and many dumb decisions about my farms.
Ken has known me much longer than Maria, perhaps better than any person who lives in my county, better than most members of my family, better than almost who has been in my life up here. So many people have come and gone, run or been pushed away, but Ken has always been here, he is important in my life here.
Ken comes four or five times a year, often with his wife Eli, his dog and his enchanting daughter Nikolene, the Bedlam Farm Barn Fairy. Ken has devoted his life to equines, horses and donkeys. He has 27 horses on his farm in Vermont, and two donkeys that once belonged to me, Jesus and Jeanette. Nikolene rides them all over Pawlet, Vt.
It was Ken who helped rescue Simon, who cut the curled hooves off of his feet that black night when he was rescued, who helped pull his infected teeth, who has helped nurse Simon’s legs back as best as possible. Ken has seen me in the darkest times of my life, when I had gone mad and was disintegrating right in front of him. He saw things that make shiver to remember, but I don’t think of them much when he is here. Ken understands life, he doesn’t judge it much.
He never mentions it, when he comes, we laugh and gossip and talk about animals and the crazy things animal lovers and animal rights protesters do.
The donkeys love him, they seem to know he is caring for them. They stand still for him, lean against him, sniff his pockets for cookies, submit to his scraping and snipping. it is brutish work, taking care of donkeys and horses and Ken has shown up with broken arms, bruised hands and legs, and a stooped over back. He is himself as durable as a donkey. I’ve seen him grabbed a donkey’s kicking leg with one hand and hold it while he trimmed their hooves.
It is a curiously peaceful and affirming ritual, Ken is a member of the family, not someone we hire. His counsel has kept our donkeys healthy.
Ken has a great sense of humor, and is a passionate animal lover. He’s big cheese in his local fire department, and has a fire radio and a big hat, he sometimes roars off in his big truck. He is also grumpy and cynical sometimes, he has seen an awful lot in his life. He is large and strong, but his knees are shot, he will eventually have both of them replaced and keep on doing his work.
