hunterseat df: Hunter Seat Equitation is a division that is judged on the ability and the style of the rider. The riders can be judged both over fences and on the flat.
Although true, hunters DO eat, at least the skilled ones do, my name derives from the world of horses.
And because the word hunter is in my name, people automatically think I'm a guy. Not even close.
Whenever I meet someone named Hunter I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying "That's my name, too!"
Although true, hunters DO eat, at least the skilled ones do, my name derives from the world of horses.
And because the word hunter is in my name, people automatically think I'm a guy. Not even close.
Whenever I meet someone named Hunter I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying "That's my name, too!"
What doesn't kill you....
Posted 04-21-2018 at 09:31 PM by hunterseat
Go ahead. Finish that as you roll your eyes and think how stupid that phrase always seemed. At least in the moment. Like when you complained to your parents about having to do something unfair at one time or another in your life, admit it, you heard "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
AAARRGGHH! Who came up with that little nugget of wisdom?
Like raking leaves. I hate raking leaves. I've spent the past 4 weekends and a fair measure of Tequila raking leaves. (and burning some of them but let's leave that buried in the annals of cdf history) I thought it would kill me. But it didn't. And guess what? I was out there today and noticed that my core muscles are strengthening. NO WAY! It didn't kill me AND it made me stronger. Don't you hate it when they're right.
I contemplated the implications working my way around the yard where lazy-man-with-leaf-blower (that should be his Native American name) left mounds of leaves in all corners last fall. And now I get to clean it up and tighten my core. Thanks honey! I have to thank him again for his skill with a weed wacker.
Anyone who orders from a seed/plant catalog knows the feeling when you open your mailbox and see that your $85 worth of plants is wedged inside in one small mailing envelope. I optimistically planted each tiny sprout in it's designated location, trying to remember what the mature plant is supposed to look like full grown. Like those "shade garden combinations" that are a lush ground-covering jumble of decorative leaves and deer resistant flowers (in the catalog).
Let me pause for a word about deer resistant plants. Those plants don't even THINK about those deer. They resist beautifully. HOWEVER...deer. When a plant is that small, how in the world is a deer supposed to know that it doesn't really taste good unless she tastes it? Between the drought and the deer, my little plants barely hung on. Then the weed wacker.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger but when it does kill you, you're dead. The weed wacker didn't kill the butterfly bush the first time and I had hopes that it would be stronger. After all, that spindly stick was gone and new growth was coming up! Until the second pass with the weed wacker. Listen to me. Like it's the weedwacker's fault. About as much as it is a gun's fault when a person is shot.
I gave up on planting stuff. We had some viney ground cover with blue flowers that flourished - until the weed wacker got them. But I was able to grab some pieces and plant some around the rocks, away from weed wacker territory. They stand a pretty good chance. The forsythia is a pretty yellow right now. So is the corn that I pour on the ground for the deer. Along with apples. They show up every day and, if I can't have flowers to look at, I'll have deer. And when the deer haven't arrived yet I have a whole herd of fat little squirrels grazing out there. And if all that corn doesn't kill them, they should be herculean.
Epilogue: I was furious at my rebellious son who knew that and was hiding behind a neighbor's house, despite an ongoing thundershower. She called and asked if I wanted her to go out there and tell him to go home. I said "OH no. He knows he should be here. He's just digging his own grave" She called back a few minutes later and said quietly "he thinks you're going to kill him"
I hope she didn't take that literally because if she did she probably told him he better hide the shovel. But I didn't kill him. And, a dozen years later I'd like to think I made him stronger. 
AAARRGGHH! Who came up with that little nugget of wisdom?
Like raking leaves. I hate raking leaves. I've spent the past 4 weekends and a fair measure of Tequila raking leaves. (and burning some of them but let's leave that buried in the annals of cdf history) I thought it would kill me. But it didn't. And guess what? I was out there today and noticed that my core muscles are strengthening. NO WAY! It didn't kill me AND it made me stronger. Don't you hate it when they're right.
I contemplated the implications working my way around the yard where lazy-man-with-leaf-blower (that should be his Native American name) left mounds of leaves in all corners last fall. And now I get to clean it up and tighten my core. Thanks honey! I have to thank him again for his skill with a weed wacker.
Anyone who orders from a seed/plant catalog knows the feeling when you open your mailbox and see that your $85 worth of plants is wedged inside in one small mailing envelope. I optimistically planted each tiny sprout in it's designated location, trying to remember what the mature plant is supposed to look like full grown. Like those "shade garden combinations" that are a lush ground-covering jumble of decorative leaves and deer resistant flowers (in the catalog).
Let me pause for a word about deer resistant plants. Those plants don't even THINK about those deer. They resist beautifully. HOWEVER...deer. When a plant is that small, how in the world is a deer supposed to know that it doesn't really taste good unless she tastes it? Between the drought and the deer, my little plants barely hung on. Then the weed wacker.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger but when it does kill you, you're dead. The weed wacker didn't kill the butterfly bush the first time and I had hopes that it would be stronger. After all, that spindly stick was gone and new growth was coming up! Until the second pass with the weed wacker. Listen to me. Like it's the weedwacker's fault. About as much as it is a gun's fault when a person is shot.
I gave up on planting stuff. We had some viney ground cover with blue flowers that flourished - until the weed wacker got them. But I was able to grab some pieces and plant some around the rocks, away from weed wacker territory. They stand a pretty good chance. The forsythia is a pretty yellow right now. So is the corn that I pour on the ground for the deer. Along with apples. They show up every day and, if I can't have flowers to look at, I'll have deer. And when the deer haven't arrived yet I have a whole herd of fat little squirrels grazing out there. And if all that corn doesn't kill them, they should be herculean.
Epilogue: I was furious at my rebellious son who knew that and was hiding behind a neighbor's house, despite an ongoing thundershower. She called and asked if I wanted her to go out there and tell him to go home. I said "OH no. He knows he should be here. He's just digging his own grave" She called back a few minutes later and said quietly "he thinks you're going to kill him"
I hope she didn't take that literally because if she did she probably told him he better hide the shovel. But I didn't kill him. And, a dozen years later I'd like to think I made him stronger. Total Comments 0
