A Strawberry Coat

One of the many critters on our hilltop is a 10 year old Strawberry roan Belgian mare.  Not being overly imaginative when it comes to names, we call her Strawberry.

Every winter this big mare grows a very thick coat covering her back, hips and neck.  This is the thickest winter coat I've ever seen on a horse, so it probably relates to her genetics and that her breed comes from Belgium.  One can only assume they have bitterly cold winters there.

As long as it's cold during out winter, Strawberry is fine. When the weather begins to warm, she has a problem.  She's got to get rid of that excess hair. Every spring we find patches of bare earth in the horse pasture, literally covered with white hair.  She's rolled and scrubbed off some of the thick coat.

Even though she rolls and rids herself of some of the excess, it often takes a little help from a curry comb.  In fact, it often takes several mornings of being scratched and curried before the comb begins to come off her back with clean teeth.

When I take a curry comb out and begin scratching Strawberry's back, the comb begins to look like dust mop.  By knocking the comb against my hand or a nearby post, I can clean the teeth and return for another load of hair.  Eventually, she will get back to "summer-slick" but it takes serious effort by both Strawberry and us.

Strawberry looking sideways at a curry comb full of her winter hair.

My Column is Back

The header for the column.

Seven years ago I was contacted by an editor of a small local paper, asking if I would write a column about the history of the Springville area.  This locale is rich in logging, cattle and sheep history, along with the Tule River Indian Reservation.  Since I was raised in the area, currently living on the same hilltop to which I was brought from the hospital when I was born, I quickly agreed.

The first Post Office in Springville was in the General Store of the Daunt family, located at the lower end of this small community. Nathan Dillon owned a beautiful area of Redwood trees surrounding the headwaters of the Tule River which runs through Springville. She suggested therefore, the title of the column should be Daunt to Dillonwood.

After about 2 years, the small paper folded, but the editor got a job at the Porterville Recorder.  She took several of her columnists with her, and I started writing Daunt to Dillonwood for the Recorder.

The subject of the column began to slowly change as I began to run out of historical tales. I began to write occasionally about the animals that share our life on that hilltop, many of which have unique personalities.

I married a city girl, who didn't have any choice except to become a country girl, and espouse my life and all the animals.  Today, she and the critters she treats on a daily basis, are a big part of my subject matter.

Then on March 1, 2017 I had to start my column with the sad words, "Thank you, and goodbye." The owners of the Recorder, in an effort to minimize expenses, eliminated all paid columnists. This was a very sad day for me, as I thoroughly enjoyed writing about the critters on the hilltop, their reactions with my wife, and even discussing the weather, and rainfall or lack of same.

On Monday of this week, I was notified Weisenberger's Hardware in Porterville had agreed to sponsor my column, so that I could be paid for my work, and they would get an ad on the page near my column.  Since they are a regular advertiser in the Recorder, they felt having their ad and sponsoring Daunt to Dillonwood was good for everybody concerned.

On Wednesday, March 14, 2018 my first edition of a sponsored column appeared on Page 7, in the Heritage section of the paper.  This was the exact spot it appeared before.

I'm so honored to have Weisenberger's think highly enough of my work to sponsor my column.  But the greatest feeling is to be able to write for my many faithful readers once again. Many people have approached me in the past year, saying they missed being able to read my column.  And I received a bevy of "Welcome back" notes yesterday,