Miracles Find Me

Our first Sunrise in our new cabin home.

Cocooned in a felted wrap, with a handful of steaming tea I sat in the window with Star. Leaning into the massive sheet of steamy glass he was more interested in the morning outside than in here.

Surrendered, I sipped in silence eventually following his gaze to a curiosity of movement in these first notes of morning light. Forms in full panorama, all over the property, ghostly figures all faced in our direction.

Seconds shift from what you think you see to focused and just a few seconds, yet again, to realize a miracle.

I looked at Star and in a liquid movement, we met each other at the door. “Okay man, slow and quiet is the only way this is goin down”. And with a two eyed wink, I figured he was in agreement so I opened the door.

Our breaths billowed into sight as it met the cold and in the next breath so did everyone else's in the circle. We stepped out together in a slow-motion that reserves itself for times of miracles and shocking events. That’s how I knew it was a miracle because of the slow-mo built into the few seconds that will surely linger for a lifetime.

I’m scanning the crowd for a leader, the one who will make the first move. I’m smiling and I hear myself thinking, “love, we come in love”. I stretch my gaze without moving my head and see Star sitting at my left ankle. We stand there and so do they, watching as the sunrise fills in the details of our encounter.

A vibration in the nostril and a twitch of the ear is a frequency connecting the herd. In this movement everyone slowly repositioned toward the Painted Male, straight ahead. I was full of more curiosity than he was, through my lengthy introduction. He listened and looked up every so often to make eye contact with me and with Star. Everything was going nicely until Mike stepped onto the deck, “wow Babe, wild horses!” trumpeted out across the canyon.

Streaks of thunder power by in all directions, meeting up with the Painted Male and across the property and out of sight. Amazed I look back at Mike and he’s in a victory pose with tears in his eyes, “cool, woohoo, wild horses” he shouts out over our little paradise.

Days would pass between introductions. Our dirt road climbs ten miles out of town twisting in and out of ecosystems, abandoned fence lines, and homesteaders' dreams. Five-mile-marker must be safe enough to emerge from the blackberries and they appear there once or twice a week. The early morning fog and in the shades of the hills coming home are the best times to park and just listen.

Our first full moon at Stonesthrow, a Midnight Male and two Blond Females trotted out of an overgrown driveway, right in front of the car, frolicking and flirty as if I wasn't there. They trotted off into a hole in the bushes off to somewhere else. A few miles up, a mini herd of Pure Whites stood motionless in an old orchard as I passed slowly by. I got a twitch of a tail just as I looked away to take the curve of the road. I’m still not sure if it was movement and since it’s all way too steep to turn around, I put both hands on the wheel and said, ”expect giraffes, Girl”, out the open window.

That ten-mile commute through six seasons was brutal on our economy cars but the photo journals of the various herds make up for the loss of horsepower. I took a mass of panoramic shots with my cell phone and they’re stellar. Those photos inspired illustrations and the first draft of a children’s book full of wild horses who teach wisdom to humans.

Back four or five generations an old-timer living alone had a massive heart attack while moving his small herd to a higher pasture. I picture them grazing all around him till their need to follow water moved them on. A neighbor stopped by to borrow a tool, months later, and filled in the story with what little he'd found. Now some 70 years later I’m counting maybe 30 horses, in all, living along our ten-mile stretch.

Trust is built from a healthy distance with all wild things so I was honored that first Spring when six females appeared in the orchard with their new babies. Maybe it was the apples in the snow or the water troughs we filled last Summer that inspired them to show them off. “Look, we made it”, I could hear, in their whinnies.

One morning ten Pure Whites appeared altogether. I’d seen them in smaller groups and mixed with Paints and Blonds in bigger herds but today only the Pure Whites came. Star and I sat on the stairs and Mike turned up the volume to Stairway to Heaven, opened several windows, and joined us with a coffee and his air guitar.

These meetings from the observation deck became routine and often the herd would surround the cabin grazing and observing us while we sat on a blanket fully entertained.

A crisp Fall day attracted a larger herd of about 20. I remember cleaning the cabin, windows open, and sitar music echoing into the hills. What unfolded that afternoon was a rare and sacred encounter with sentient beings, unforgettable and simply comical. There was some commotion under the purple flowering tree, off the driveway. Some valuable discovery that each animal needed to inspect and took turns grazing there while I sat and ate my breakfast. After some dishes and phone call I realized the herd was gone. As I stepped to the window I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. Everyone was on their backs and wriggling around in play. All politics and pecking orders were no longer observed and the Painted Male seemed to be flirting with his competitor. This was a curious mint for sure. What had transpired while I was inside? Then it hit me and I busted out laughing.

Magic mushrooms and a stampede that Star actually survived are our best stories from Stonesthrow. We drove away during the Wildfires of 2018 that thankfully never reached that sacred place. Mike’s gone now, playing his air guitar in the hills anywhere he wants and Star and I took on four goats and another cat just for the fun of it.

By Valerie Adair Slater