[RC] Fw: Riding out in the worst snowstorm since 1772 (was Pictures) - Part 3 - Flora Hillman
Stoically, my pony marched on, warm and comfortable in his
blanket, his footfall silent in the powder, the snowy wind coating his
mane, face, and eyelashes with crystals of white. The mink earband was
warm and comfortable under my helmet, but it limited my hearing so that I
only caught the sound of a heavy piece of machinery rumbling along when it
was fairly close. Glancing briefly over my shoulder, I spotted a big
farm tractor heading down the other road on it's a mission of mercy.
I smiled. The gal would be out in a jiffy, from the look of that
beast. She would be home in no time, out of this snow and blowing
cold.
I turned back around and
peered with slitted eyes into the snow obscured distance, the wind howling in my
ears, the snow stinging my eyes. As the road dropped down into a protected
enclave of trees the wind eased up, but I knew in less than a mile we
would be in the open with nothing to protect us. I patted my pony, and
gave him the reins. He shook his mane in a flurry of sparkling ice
crystals, and dropped his head, relaxing as he continued to march with silent
footfall into the blizzard.
By the time
we were a half mile from home, we had reached a neighboring farm where I
had taken a few digital photographs of their horses and ponies just the day
before, enjoying their antics as they galloped up to the fenceline to meet me,
their hooves kicking up the few inches of snow that had fallen previously.
But now the big field was deep with powder, and totally empty. Through the
blowing snow I could see the big run-in shed at the bottom of the field past the
pond, and could barely make out four equine figures standing under the shelter,
watching me from a distance. They weren't about to go out in this weather,
and were content to just observe me from a distance.
We moved on by ourselves as
the road crept downward, hearing nothing but the wind, seeing nothing but
vague shapes as if in a fog, the biting cold burning into the tiny sections of
my exposed face like fire, the wind whipping the fallen snow into dancing
eddies across the fields. At one point my pony stopped and shook himself
like a dog. I laughed and ducked my head as the flying pieces of icy snow
scattered in the air. Several times already I had been glad that I'd left
his winter blanket on him. He was nice and warm, as was
I.
The road had bent so that the
wind finally moved behind to our backs, and I took advantage, snapping
photos right and left as the road dipped yet again to cross over a
ice-covered stream then back up a rise to where the trees would give way to open
hayfields. My pony's hind leg slipped a bit as he moved up the rise,
and he adjusted his walk to step more carefully. He is incredibly
surefooted, yet as an added precaution I had kept him barefoot, knowing the late
February snows could be treacherous on shod horses. Unfortunately, the
fast, icy snow underfoot was making no allowances whatsoever --
barefoot or otherwise. As his hind leg slipped
again,he
moved off the 4-wheel track and into the slightly deeper snow for better
purchase.
But by then we were at the
top of the rise, and the protective trees to our side gave way to the open
fields. I
reined up, standing at the edge of the protective treeline, and stared out in
wonder at a world that had gone completely and utterly blinding white.
