It’s been a wet summer here in central North Carolina. Really wet. Freakin’ wet. This is how my neighborhood park looked yesterday afternoon.
I got caught in the downpour coming back from Flintrock Farm, where I was ministering to Mystic. He’s mysteriously lame on his front left foot/leg. Boarders are saying most of the horses have waterlogged hooves, and he probably stepped on a stone and bruised it. I’m giving it a little more time before I freak out. He’s also had a cough, cuts, and has developed a sour attitude due to complicated herd dynamics.
Driving home yesterday in rain as thick as a waterfall, I leaned forward, squinted, and held the steering wheel tighter. None of these actions made any real difference, except they made me feel a little more in control. I passed downed trees, sparking power lines, and screaming fire engines and police cars. I drove through a two-foot flash flood in my tiny car, tightening my hands even more on the wheel. We made it through.
This morning I set out to see the impromptu lake in my local park. The water had receded and the little park creek was back to its small, innocuous trickle.
Although this soggy summer (the most rainfall in Greensboro since 1908!) has not been my favorite, I’m working on merging the attitude of my incurably optimistic father with my own understanding that everything is always in flux.
Friends at the barn are helping me with Mystic. Elizabeth gave me some horse Ibuprofen and balm for Mystic’s bug bites. Alicia offered antibiotic ointment for a stubborn cut. Margaret put fly spray on him last week, and Angela has been taking what I call “nanny cam” photos of him. Farrier James Hunter trimmed Mystic’s hooves at a moment’s notice and carefully checked for potential sources of lameness. I’m blessed to have such good, caring people around me.
And all those rainy days mean the sun has to start shining soon.