So Near, and Yet So Far

Although Dunstable is, compared to Lowell, "the country", there aren't a lot of places to trail ride near where I keep Dusty and Tico.

There are some small trails out behind the back fields, winding through the woods for about a half mile or so, but after a while it just seems a bit boring - even if occasionally, 1 or 2 or twenty wild turkeys show up wanting to share the path.

There is one trail though - out at the far end of the big field behind the Crystal Farm property, across a small street, along the power lines - that has been beckoning, just out of reach.

Over the years we've managed to get through and over the huge logs surrounding a 4 foot high 2 foot wide berm, across a tiny brook that Tico feels the need to leapfrog some - not all - of the time we cross it (he likes to keep things exciting), and onto a small street that people drive on as if they're practicing for the Monaco Grand Prix.

We've crossed the street, ridden down it for about 25 feet, cursing at drivers who won't slow down when they see a horse and followed a rutted, muddy path widened by ATVs,lined by scruffy shrubs and reeds, into an area that's really, most of the time, a nasty swamp.

And usually, we end up turning back because our horses hate getting their tootsies muddy.

Not that we let them get away with it - there would be discussion. Tico would, in his efforts to avoid the nasty black rutted wet goopy dirt on the path (which was at least partially packed down by the ATVs) dance sideways into the nasty black wet goopy dirt OFF the path, which he couldn't actually see was nasty black wet goopy dirt because it was covered with dead branches, roots, swamp grass, sad excuses for bushes, reeds, and other bog flora. It was however, in his mind at least, *safer*. Never mind that he'd sink in knee and hock deep - he'd rather thrash around in the underbrush than walk sanely across Oh My God MUD.

And to continue in the "keep things exciting" vein, he would occasionally walk up to one of the wetter mud patches, nose down and appearing to be mulling actually walking across it like a Big Boy, before gathering all four feet together and leapfrogging that as well.

So far, he has yet to deposit ME in the mud, but it's been close.

Why were we putting ourselves (and our dainty little flower equines) through this unpleasantness? Because, just past one last nasty wet deep pool of sludge and water, just beyond it, are real honest to goodness, DRY trails following the powerlines. Nirvana!

So...

This summer has been very dry and hot. We hadn't ventured out that way for a while -the deer fly population doesn't seem to mind dry heat; as a matter of fact they seemed to thrive on it. Suffice to say, being chased home by swarms of deer flies as thick as your worst nightmare about killer bee swarms is not enjoyable.

But about a month ago one of the other boarders, Elaine, and I, thinking that what with the fact that the other short trails (which had had some muck and water here and there as well) were now bone dry, it might be fun to give the Path to Nirvana another try.

We crossed the log and berm area, across the (now dry) tiny stream, managed to survive the Speedway, and started along the uneven path.

As we came upon the first of the previously formidable horse-eating areas, we started to rejoice. It was dry! The next one, the same. We wove around some more scrappy brush, and again, and again; except that the "trouble spots" were dry dirt and not grassy, you'd have not realized there had ever been a reason for equine vapors here.

But then we came to the Big Kahuna of muck. Not as big as it had been, though big enough to be heartbreaking: brackish standing water, dark mud, and who knows what all *in* the water that could grab hooves and cause injuries.

It may as well have been the Grand Canyon, there was no way we were going to get them into that, and at least in this instance we agreed with them. It's never a good thing to ask a horse to step into water that is probably barely a foot deep but so nasty you can't see what's underneath. At least you can *see* and avoid roots and broken bottles on dry ground.

We turned back, saddened but not defeated: Elaine had a plan...