It’s Hard to Say

We lost our beautiful Chester horse in June and everything feels filtered through this loss, like looking at the world from underwater. I’m learning that how we grieve is often shaped by the circumstances of death and this was a hard one. 

Chester, the first summer we had him

I don’t know if I could rewind to before the pandemic, that this loss would be any less overwhelming, but I know my reserves are low, and even little upsets can feel threatening, as if the precariousness of it all looms just around the corner. 

Coming home across Rye Bench

And I struggle to get my balance, to center, to get my feet solidly under me so I can go on doing what is required. I think of so many circumstances that others in the world are laboring to survive, and I see the beauty and abundance around me, the love, and I still feel marooned and undeservedly so. 

On the Zumwalt

When I feel grief cutting into me, and I need to calm myself, I remember all the things I loved about Chester. 

I remember the two of us working alone on the bench, herding cattle back where they were supposed to be, and afterward taking the long trot home, his big stride eating up the ground, carrying me willingly, both of us knowing our job was done and satisfied to be heading home. I can feel the rhythm of that long trot, almost like a heartbeat, hoof fall by hoof fall, my body almost a part of his body, his four legs almost like my own, and it calms and soothes me. 

A snuggle with Chester, getting ready to pack protein 

I honor you Chester. You didn't have a mean bone in your body. You had heart. You always wanted a good scratch, and if I wasn't looking you'd try and rub your sweaty itchy head on me so hard you'd almost knock me over. You were a pain to get on because you were so dang tall.

 

Taking a breather 

You could have been around a while longer Chester, but it wasn't meant to be. We'll all miss you and we'll try to tell the good stories with you in them. And I'll think of your soft silky neck against my cheek, and the horse-sweat smell of you, and the way you carried me across the river picking your way through the rocks in the strong currant and climbing the bank on the other side to catch up with the cattle and poke them on down the trail.  

Trailing back from Pumpkin Creek

From Sara at Magpie Ranch home of Bunchgrass Beef