Mighty Dawn grazes as Shi-fu shows us her fancy step. Born Feb. 18, 2006.
February 23, 2006
Dear Friends,
If ever an early spring was welcome, it would be to me this year. It will mean grass for the horses, relief from hay shortages for people all over the Gulf Coast, and a return to more normal life for everyone who has been a part of these relief efforts. Of course, this is March—that time when anything can happen. So, we wait and see.
But, we have big news! We received a grant from the American Association of Equine Practitioners (AAEP) to help with our hay and feed purchases. This funding has lifted a tremendous burden from our shoulders and allowed us to focus on getting the hay and feed to the horses. Special thanks to Dr. Todd Cooley, an AAEP member who vouched for us, and to Monica Colquett for directing me to this funding source. I’m saying it again: working together we get it done.
And more big news! Our feed run to Lakeshore was held up for several days by the arrival of our new Shire filly, Shi-fu (shee-foo). Oh boy, what joy!
When we were finally able to tear ourselves away and go to Lakeshore, we found more building going on at Ladner’s Feed. Kenny’s cousin Wayne, whom we had met on a previous visit, was busy in the new store constructing a counter for the cash register. Just during the time we were visiting, it went from an outline on the floor to a nearly finished piece. Progress!
Kenny Ray and Teresa were in good spirits and were glad to see us. They were running low on feed and were out of hay. After we unloaded everything, we took a walk into the “back barn” to see what’s next on Kenny’s to-do list. It was the first time I’d seen this barn up close. In the past there was too much debris in the way, but, “little by little” Kenny cleans up, rebuilds. As we walked through the barn, he pointed out how the walls had shifted. Most of the roof is gone, but the cement slab that runs the length of the center aisle is still serviceable. He spoke of the time when his boarders filled over a hundred stalls. He had to move some of the horses to a field down the road when he held week-end shows in order to accommodate all the entries.
Now, he wonders if the horse population in this area will ever come back to pre-Katrina numbers. He tells us about boarders who are ready to move back and people who are buying new horses. But, he says, “I won’t ever do a thousand bags (of feed) a month like I did back then. All those horses just floated away.” His hands rise and drift apart in a sort of sorrowful farewell. Right now, though, he’s concerned about the ones that are still here. “Tommy’s horse colicked and died last week,” he tells us. “He’s so tore up over it. It was a little gaited horse. When they start eating the new grass shoots, they pick up a lot of that sludge the storm dumped. I tell everybody to feed more hay.” I think about this and wonder when the troubles here will end. They need grass, yet the grass is problematic. Hay, ever-scarce, seems the best solution.
We talk again about a big load of hay. I tell him I’ve got the funding in place now and I’m going to go home and try to buy the hay and find someone to haul it in. He nods enthusiastically. “I’ll make room for it,” he says. I tell him we’ll need some people on this end to help unload it. “I’ll get ‘em,” he says.
We check back in with Wayne to say good-bye. Pete and I are planning to head up to The Kiln on our way home and talk to the feed store owners at Dixie Feed. We’re hoping we might be able to swing funding for more hay, and we want to see what their situation is. I can’t help feeling that we should just be sending truckloads of hay to this area well into May.
As we get in the truck I realize this is probably the last regular trip I’ll make to Lakeshore. The funding from AAEP changes things, makes big loads of hay possible—big loads I’ll purchase and arrange to have delivered, but won’t bring myself. I’ll have more time for my horses. I won’t have to take days off from work, won’t have to put these countless miles on my truck and trailer. I won’t have to spend another day sending out the updates, trying to raise money for our efforts. So, I’m feeling happy, right? relieved?
I look back at Kenny Ray and wonder if he’s realized it yet. I raise my hand. It feels like I’m saying good-bye to an old friend, but in so many ways we are still strangers. It’s the sort of friendships forged in hard times, in hurricanes. In these circumstances, when everywhere people are taking advantage of the chaos, it really matters to find someone you can rely on—someone strong, clear-minded, and trustworthy. People have said of Katrina, “It’s an ill wind that blows no good.” But, for me, there’s been this brightness in the wake of catastrophic devastation, in seeing the best of what people can be.
So, Pete and I go to The Kiln and scout the situation. Of course, hay is needed. There is no hay. We go home and, over the next week, start buying hay, find a trucker to haul the load to Lakeshore, put together a loading crew. By now, growers in our area are either out of hay or worried about running out of hay. Most don’t want to sell big lots for fear of not being able to keep their regular customers supplied. Still, every one of the growers I talk to wants to help the horses and people in Mississippi. “I can’t stand to think of those animals hungry,” one told me.
We manage to buy several smaller lots from different farms, but this means loading the hay will require a bit of coordination and some fancy maneuvering by our driver, Bo Wells, to get into some pretty tight places. We’ve also got feed that needs to be packed on the truck, but it’s not feasible to have the big flatbed trailer make this stop, so someone has to go pick up the feed we’ve bought and bring it to a rendezvous point with the flatbed. Then the feed has to be moved onto the flatbed once the hay is packed on.
At the first stop our crew loads a hundred bales. It’s hot, dusty work. We take a break and then head to a farm in the north part of the county to pick up the rest of the load. Bo is very particular about every step of loading. He places every bale and pulls every strap himself. I think because he’s the one who drives these big loads, he knows what a difference the balance makes to a safe trip. He and Mel Harrelson are planning to drive all night and be in Mississippi at daybreak.
Finally, we move the feed from the pick-up onto the flat-bed. By this time, it’s getting dark, and everyone’s tired. I try to say something by way of thanks about how much their work matters, but they’re still cracking jokes—not so tired that they’ll be subdued into seriousness. Still, I can see satisfaction in their faces. And standing there, looking at this load, I am simply in awe of what it takes for it all to come together: all these helping hands, people changing their schedules around to suit us, getting trucks fixed, borrowing tarps; all the folks who have pitched in to fund the feed, hay, transport. And that’s just at this end. Earlier in the week, I’ve been talking with Kenny Ray in Lakeshore, and I know it’s taken a lot of work on his part to make room for this big load and have a crew on-hand to help unload it.
I wish Bo and Mel a safe journey and watch them drive west into the retreating light. As I drive home, I call Kenny and tell him his hay is on the way. “Ok, baby,” he says in his lilting Cajun drawl, “we’re ready.” I tell him I’ll talk to him soon. By the time we get home, I realize Pete and I are already talking about the next load.
Thanks to all of you who made this happen: Megan Gardiner, Peggy Young, Sallie Ausley, Carole Dalton, Grace Jaye, Jean Stippich, Linda Ziegler, Louise Kildow, Jan Fernald, Kathryn Curle, Peggy Creadon, Margaret Richey, Monica Colquett, the Northwest Florida Chapter of DSDCTA, Bernita Broome and the South Georgia Trail Riders, Martha and Sonny Little, Grada Lara-Navarro, Darlene Raim, Rhoda Icerman, June Coles, James Dixon, James Picardi, Julie Picardi, Joanne Shular, Mary Sprinkles, Laurie Kelly and her friends, Jane Nopanen, Tammy Key, Sandra Horn, Lola and Gary Latson, Marianne McLeod and the Montgomery Alabama Dressage and Eventing Club, Patti Brantley, Teena Hammond, Gary and Annamarie Hammond, Connie Tabb, Christine Van Iterson, Pewaukee Veterinary Service, Quincy Animal Hospital, Dr. Todd Cooley, Jeff and PJ Broadfoot, Nita Owens and the Emerald Coast Pony Club, Leslie and Shawn Timmerman, Linda Lambert, Lori Summers, Jimmy Young and the crew at Florida Farm and Feed, Mary Martin, Bonnie Jeter, Sharon Nehrings, Kerrie Townley, Judy Johnson, Virginia Bell, Jennifer Gould, Sandy Filippi, Kim Walstead, Kelly Unglaub, Elizabeth Ralstin, Jan Faircloth, Cleo LeForge, Linda Knetsch, Lawrence Pindar, Ronny Morgan, Sam Morgan and all the folks at Morgan Hay, the staff and donors at the American Association of Equine Practitioners, Bo Wells, Melinda Harrelson, Helen Harrelson a nd the crew from Pappy Tom’s, my husband Pete LeForge, and those of you who have wished us well and lent a hand whose names I never knew.
This effort has formed a remarkable time in my life. I’ve never put much faith in people, and I’ve never been so glad to have my notions about humanity prove so utterly wrong. We’ll still be heading to Mississippi to check on things, and we’ll be sending in hay and feed until the grass is up. But I know many of you have scraped and sacrificed to send money to keep us going, and I think we can all breathe a little easier now. I won’t be writing to you much from here on out—at least I hope there’s never again such a need in our life-times. But I will remember you and what you’ve done.
Cheers!
Sara Warner