By Lisa Boonstoppel-Pot

Standing in the corner of his pasture, next to the pony pen, it was hard to know if the gelding was sullen and cantankerous or lonely and forlorn. I was trying to figure this out from my position in an adirondack chair, on a small deck, in front of a tastefully decorating Air B&B near the Cambria coast. The room, washed in whites and greys, was on a working cattle ranch in the coastal mountains of California and the first view upon waking was of green hills stretching up in all directions. In our direct line of vision was a pen with two hungry ponies constantly pulling at their feed. Beside them stood the gelding, a bay with one white sock, hardly moving. No grass grew under his feet, the dusty patch indicated this place was well trampled. He backed into it like a skilled parallel parker, tucking his bulky rear end perfectly into the corner. Perhaps he was meditating on the verse, “I lift up my eyes to the mountains— where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth,” from Psalm 121. Nope. That was me. Perhaps he was a horse of habit, retired to enjoy his remaining days living amongst the cows? This early in the morning, awake before 6 a.m. on Ontario time, there was no one to ask. Coffee almost finished, I opted to sidle up to the fence and scratch his butt. Horses like being scratched in this spot, oddly enough. I gave him a good ol’ rub but there was little response. Leaning in further, I could reach his neck. Still nothing. I wondered if he might be one of those calm but vicious horses who suddenly swing their head around to chomp on your unsuspecting hand. Nope. Nothing. Just a casual weight shift from one hoof to another. I still couldn’t decide if he was bored or contrary. Neither seemed likely, given the proximity of the horses and the cattle grazing in the field. I felt a little bad for the fella. I returned to my chair to finish the last, cool swallows of coffee and take in the peacefulness of the scene. Birds were nesting, calves followed their dams searching for sweet grass on the hills and the wisteria waved in the gentle breeze. These simple moments were making the vacation for me. While I had been in awe of California’s new and exciting attractions – elephant seals (mere metres away) throwing sand on themselves, the extravagance of Hearst Castle, new concepts in mindfulness at an Esalen leadership retreat, stories from women all over the United States at said retreat, hot baths on the cliffs, gardens filled with exotic tropicals and delicious vegetarian dishes – this was being in the moment. All senses engaged. No interruption. Mindfulness encourages deep breaths to continue awareness and I was sucking in the air and the experience, realizing these moments of peaceful bliss are rare indeed. As all this was building inside me into a quiet eruption of pure joy, the horse continued to stand. Quiet. Alone. Alive. But not really living (in my human estimation). What a contrast! Then a little calf came by. Why this calf was different than the others I do not know but as the brown-black Angus walked up to the horse, there was a shift in the horse’s demeanor. He stood up straighter. His ears perked up. He stretched his neck forward just as the calf reached up and without any more preamble, the horse proceeded to lick and nibble the calf all over his head and neck. The calf seemed to love it, arching his head as if to say “now this spot.” A few others calves were standing close by with their dams. This one seemed alone yet judging by its full belly, I’m certain this little calf had a mother as well. Nevertheless, it was clearly taken with the horse and the horse was obviously delighted with the calf. The horse was lavish with his affection, dousing the calf like an exuberant mother washes her toddler’s face. The questions I had! Was this a common occurrence? Did the horse. pick a new calf every season? Did it lick any calf willing to stand for a horse-tongue treatment? Was this calf curious and inviting the horse’s salivic attentions? Or did the horse genuinely like the little calf and lick and “lip” him to say “good morning, I love you”? All these human thoughts likely don’t cross the equine consciousness. It might be just that the calf was salty. Whatever the reason, they were doing their own thing without worrying about being judged. With no one around to answer my questions I contented myself with the inter-species display of connection. Isn’t this the best part of a vacation, though? Those unexpected moments or finds that you didn’t have to google on TripAdvisor or buy a ticket for? Just something that touches the heart in a moment of appreciative presence of place. Connection. As spring finally arrives to Ontario, these secret scenarios are happening all around us. All we have to do is take a moment to breathe, be still and open our eyes. Better still if we find the courage to be lavish with our affections. It’s so heartwarming. Maybe even salty!! ◊