#american quarter horse foundation

[cuttinghorsetrainingonline]

Mastering the Art of Cow Horses: Essential Tips and Techniques

From Beginner to Pro: A Comprehensive Guide to Mastering the Art of Cow Horses

Are you ready to saddle up and embark on an exhilarating journey into the world of cow horses? Whether you're a novice equestrian enthusiast or a seasoned rider looking to refine your skills, this comprehensive guide is here to transform you from a beginner to a pro in no time! Get ready to dive headfirst into the captivating artistry of cow horses as we explore everything from choosing the right horse, honing your horsemanship, mastering cutting techniques, and much more. So grab your hat, tighten those reins, and let's gallop through this ultimate guide that will have you riding with confidence like never before!

Introduction to Cow Horses

A cow horse is a type of working stock horse that is used for herding cattle. They are also known as ranch horses or stock horses. Cow horses are usually bred for their athleticism and ability to work with cattle. 

The term "cow horse" can refer to a specific breed of horse, such as the American Quarter Horse, or it can describe any type of horse that is used for working with cattle. There are many different types of cow horses, and each has its own strengths and weaknesses. 

Some cow horses are better at herding cattle than others. Some are better at cutting cows out of a herd, while others excel at roping or chasing down strays. It takes a special kind of horse to be good at all aspects of cow work, and these horses are often the most valued by ranchers and rodeo cowboys alike. 

No matter what your goals are with your cow horse, it's important to start off on the right foot. This means choosing the right horse for the job, and then training him or her properly. With patience and hard work, you can turn even the greenest beginner into a pro at cow horses.

Gear and Equipment Needed for Cow Horse Training

If you're looking to get into cow horse training, there are a few things you'll need in terms of gear and equipment. First and foremost, you'll need a good quality saddle that's comfortable for both you and your horse. You'll also need a halter and lead rope, as well as a variety of other bits and bridles depending on your horse's individual needs.

In terms of other gear, you'll need a set of spurs, some chaps or chinks for protection, and a lariat or lasso. You'll also need access to cattle - either through owning your own stock, or being able to borrow or lease some from someone else. And last but not least, you'll need patience and perseverance as you learn the ropes of this challenging but rewarding discipline.

Basics of Working with Cow Horses

There are a few basics that are important to know when working with cow horses. First, it is important to have a horse that is properly trained and has the necessary foundation skills. Secondly, you must be able to read and understand cattle behavior in order to work them effectively. You need to know how to handle your horse during various situations that may arise while working cows.

If you have a horse that is properly trained and has a solid foundation of basic skills, then you will be off to a good start. Your horse should be able to stand quietly at the hitching rail, be familiar with being saddled and bridled, and know how to respond to your cues. In addition, your horse should have a good understanding of basic maneuvers such as turning, stopping, and backing up.

In order to read and understand cattle behavior, it is helpful to spend some time observing them in their natural environment. Watch how they interact with each other and pay attention to their body language. This will give you a better understanding of what they are trying to communicate when they are around humans and horses.

When working cows, there will be times when things can get tense or even dangerous. It is important that you know how to handle your horse in these situations so that both you and the animal stay safe. For example, if a cow gets aggressive or starts to charge, you will need to know how to make your horse turn away from the threat while still keeping control

Exercises to Improve Performance and Speed

There are a few key exercises that can help improve your cow horse's performance and speed. One is to work on their starts. This means getting them used to being explosive out of the gate and keeping their speed up throughout the run. You can do this by setting up barrels or poles in a line and having your horse race through them as fast as they can.

Another important exercise is working on their turns. This is key for cow horses because they need to be able to make quick, sharp turns while still maintaining their speed. You can work on this by setting up cones or barrels in a circle and having your horse navigate around them. As they get better at this, you can make the circle smaller to really challenge them.

It's important to work on your horse's endurance so they can keep going strong all day long. This can be done by gradually increasing the length of their rides or runs, or by adding some hill work into their routine. By doing these exercises regularly, you'll see a significant improvement in your cow horse's performance and speed.

Working through Difficult Maneuvers

Working through difficult maneuvers can be daunting for any cow horse, but with proper training and practice, it can be a fun and rewarding experience for both horse and rider. Here are a few tips to help you get started:

1. Start small - don't try to tackle the most difficult maneuvers right off the bat. Work up to them gradually by mastering the basics first.

2. Be patient - both you and your horse will need time to learn and perfect each maneuver. Don't get discouraged if things don't go perfectly at first - just keep practicing!

3. Pay attention to your horse's cues - he knows what he's doing and how best to do it, so trust his instincts and go with the flow.

4. Reward your horse often - let him know that he's doing a good job with plenty of praise, pats, and treats. This will help him stay motivated and willing to try new things.

Advanced Techniques to Master the Art of Cow Horses

If you're looking to take your cow horse skills to the next level, there are some advanced techniques you can learn to really impress your friends and family. Here are just a few:

- The Figure 8: This is a more advanced version of the basic circle work you learned as a beginner. To do it, you'll need to be able to control your horse at a trot or lope while also moving laterally. This will come in handy for things like cutting cows out of a herd.

- Rollbacks: These are another great way to show off your control and Horsemanship skills. To execute a rollback, simply ride up to a cow and turn your horse around in a 180 degree turn so that you're facing the opposite direction. Then, ask your horse to back up while still maintaining control of the cow. This is a great move for heading cattle in the right direction or separating them from the herd.

- Flying Changes: These are definitely an advanced move, but they look really impressive! To do flying changes, you'll need to be able to trot or lope smoothly while also changing leads (the front leg that's moving). This is usually done by cueing with your reins or voice, and takes practice to perfect. But once you've got it down, it's sure to wow anyone who sees it.

Conclusion

Cow horses can be a rewarding and challenging discipline to pursue, but with dedication, patience, and the right knowledge it’s possible to become an expert. This comprehensive guide has provided you with all of the information you need to get started on your journey from beginner to pro. Now that you understand the fundamentals behind mastering this art form, it’s time for you to put your newfound knowledge into practice. We wish you luck on your cow horse journey!

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[xtruss]

Go to Texas to See the Anti-green Future of Clean Energy! Lessons For Liberals From Climate-sceptic Wind Ranchers

— Business | Schumpeter | January 12, 2023 | The Economist

For more than 140 years John Davis’s family has owned the Pecan Spring Ranch on the prairie lands of West Texas. He has a photo of his great-great-grandmother, known as “the sheep queen of Texas”, sitting in a horse-drawn carriage beneath a tree that still stands in front of the hay barn. It’s a tough business to maintain, even with a valuable herd of Wagyu beef cattle to raise. Yet when a renewable-energy developer offered Mr Davis a large payment to put wind turbines on his land, at first the staunch Republican—and former state congressman—turned it down.

His opposition was knee-jerk. “Clean energy has been branded a liberal technology. People literally say, ‘this is AOC coming into town,’” explains his son, Samuel, referring to Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the left-wing congresswoman whose name pops up with almost flattering frequency among conservative Texans. Eventually, though, economic sense prevailed. As the family points out, at an average return per acre, cattle generate $8, deer hunters $15—and wind hundreds of dollars. It assures the ranch’s future.

Now hosting seven turbines, the family embraces renewables as religious converts would. Samuel is a representative for the Texas Land and Liberty Coalition, which promotes wind and solar energy among ranchers. His parents have bought a filling station, ripped out the petrol pumps, and are converting it into an electric-vehicle charging station (with a farmers’ market on the side). Your columnist sat down with the clan last month over a breakfast of quiche and tomato-jalapeño jam, before bouncing across their ranch in an electric buggy. He learned lessons about clean energy that challenged his own philosophical assumptions.

The first is that you do not have to believe in climate change to support renewables. Quite the opposite. For a portion of conservative America, things like climate change and carbon taxes are still viewed as big-government malarkey. Even greenery is despised as a term co-opted by the left. “When someone says we are embracing green energy, it’s like shoving an ice pick through our ears,” says Matt Welch, head of Conservative Texans for Energy Innovation, another pro-renewables group. “We just say clean energy.”

This is not just Texan recalcitrance. Wind power is abundantly harvested in states run by Republican governments and over land owned by climate-sceptic ranchers. The message they prefer is a more free-market one: that wind and solar are increasingly competitive sources of energy, help reduce electricity costs, foster entrepreneurship, and are no less American than oil and gas.

It is a surprisingly effective mantra. You might think that California, which talks a good game about climate change and green energy, is on the forefront of renewables development. But Texas is far ahead. According to a study commissioned by Mr Welch’s organisation, in the second quarter of 2022 his home state had three times more wind, solar and battery storage under construction than California. The Energy Information Administration, a federal agency, predicts that this year the share of renewables in Texan power generation will for the first time exceed that of natural gas.

That helps explain the next lesson. For all the mockery of AOC, it is from their own Republican ranks that wind-energy ranchers face the most antagonism—especially from fossil-fuel producers who fear being undercut by renewables. Organisations like the Texas Public Policy Foundation (tppf), which lobbies on behalf of oil and gas, and the Texas Landowners Coalition, backed by right-wing beneficiaries of the fracking boom, are fighting tooth and nail to curb wind development. The tppf’s battle extends to proposed offshore wind farms as far away as New England.

Jason Isaac of the tppf says his organisation helped convince the Texas government to let a school-district tax credit lapse on December 31st that encouraged renewables investment in rural Texas. He argues that such fiscal support distorts the power market, though that stance ignores other incentives for oil and gas producers. He blames wind for the blackouts across Texas in 2021 caused by storm Uri, never mind that an official report concluded that “all types of generation technologies failed”, including natural gas and coal. Republicans accuse liberals of “cult-like decarbonisation”, yet their policies hurt some fellow conservatives.

The third lesson is pragmatism. Even though Republican lawmakers unanimously opposed President Joe Biden’s Inflation Reduction Act (ira), which provides hundreds of billions of dollars to curb America’s use of fossil fuels, red states like Texas plan to lap it up. The Davis family do not support the ira, but they hope its expanded federal tax credits will entice more wind and solar to rural Texas. The state also expects to attract big hydrogen and carbon-sequestration projects. Other Republican states like Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina and Tennessee are welcoming billions of dollars of clean-energy investments spurred by the ira. Even conservative businesses that lobby strongly for fossil fuels hope to benefit from the energy transition. For example, Koch Industries, an energy conglomerate, supported a big investment by Freyr, a Norwegian firm, in a battery factory in Georgia that will benefit from the law.

Don’t Waste Your Breath

The upshot is that there are ways to promote clean energy that do not rely on convincing climate sceptics that they are bonkers. A better sales pitch may be to play up the cost advantages of renewables rather than the climate benefits, emphasise their contribution to cutting air pollution rather than carbon emissions, and acknowledge that, owing to intermittency factors, natural gas may have a role to play in power generation for years to come. As Michael Webber, a professor of energy at the University of Texas, puts it, “It’s not unusual for Texas to do the right thing for all the wrong reasons.” In the end, everyone’s aim is a better future. As the elder Mr Davis says, many ranchers lucky enough to have oil under their land have benefited for generations. “We struck wind.” ■

— This article appeared in the Business section of the print edition under the headline "Not Green But Clean"

[hyenasweets3]

The Most Popular Horse Breeds

There are a variety of horse breeds that are prevalent in North America. There are many breeds to choose from which include the Appaloosa and Warmblood horses, as well as the Appaloosa and Clydesdale horses. Learn about these different breeds of horses and their traits to choose one that best suits your requirements. Below, we've provided a brief overview of some of the most sought-after horse breeds. This article will provide you with a better understanding of which breeds are best for novices. Appaloosa The Appaloosa is an elegant, beautiful and athletic horse. The Appaloosa has spots on its coats and is known for its ability to handle long distance riding. The color of the coat is different, and it can also have white spots on the chest and face as well as the legs. To find a perfect Appaloosa, research the breed and speak to appaloosa breeders. To make the purchase of your horse easier, you can hire a mentor. A good coat color isn't enough. You must also look for good bone and foot, as well as a well-balanced, solid conformation. This breed is a strong runner, is compact, and is extremely adaptable to stock work. The Appaloosa horse breed can carry up to 12 hundred pounds and is usually displayed with skin-muzzling. It is a typical characteristic of the breed that shows spots of skin around the eyes, muzzle, the genitalia, and anus. The Appaloosa Horse Club is able to recognize 13 different colors of the base coat however, most horses show various patterns and colors and have an covered blanket with a spotted pattern. Native American tribes used Appaloosa horses, but the Spanish brought their relatives to North America. The Appaloosa breed suffered for many decades after the Nez Perce war in 1877. In 1938, the Appaloosa horse breed was reinstated as a distinct breed registry. Since since then the Appaloosa horse breed has remained its foundation bloodstock, but the Appaloosa Horse Club has expanded the Stud Book to include American Quarter Horse and Thoroughbred bloodlines to make the Appaloosa more versatile. Appaloosas can be temperamental and can make novice riders feel lost. Appaloosas are ideal for advanced riders who are able to maintain their discipline while enjoying a challenging ride. The Appaloosa breed is not recommended to be ridden by novices. However, it is recommended for experienced riders who desire an equine that is versatile. However the Appaloosa might be a good choice. A good Appaloosa can be a challenge so make sure you look for a horse that is experienced in your chosen discipline. Clydesdale Clydesdale horses are among the most powerful breeds of horse. The breed was originally developed to carry heavy loads. It's now 16-18 hands high. Although the Clydesdale horse was originally a working horse they are now used primarily for pleasure riding. They can carry riders up to 280 pounds despite their size. The origins of Clydesdale horses can be traced back to Lanarkshire, Scotland in the early 1800s. Flemish stallions were imported to mate with local mares, increasing the size of the foals. Later they were used to breed in the Lanarkshire area , and eventually were breed in other regions of the United Kingdom and even into northern England. The first Clydesdale breed registry was established in 1877. A variety of new bloodlines were introduced to the Clydesdale. The Clydesdale breed has been a major factor in the development of other breeds such as the South German Coldblood, Australian Draught Horse, or the Campolina. The breed is also frequently bred with warmbloods and Thoroughbreds to create powerful and athletic sport horses. If you're thinking of owning a Clydesdale, make sure that the breeder undergoes a thorough medical examination to ensure there aren't any genetic issues. Although the history of the Clydesdale breed has been awash with ups and downs, the breed is still in the process of growing. The breed was originally bred to work on farms and in fields, the Clydesdale has recently found a new place for it in parades and pulling competitions. The Clydesdale, despite its short history is an important part of Scottish culture. Warmblood The Warmblood horse breed is a favorite for a variety of reasons. They are medium-weight and originated in Europe. They are typically registered with organizations with open studbooks. This allows them to be distinguished from true breeds that require two purebred parents. While the majority of Warmblood registry allow breeding breeds from other populations of Warmbloods however, the Trakehner exception does exist. The Rhenish Warmblood breed is originating from several different bloodlines. These horses are popular for competition or work, but they can also be used for dressage. The Rhenish breed is also considered a popular option for hunting and endurance riding. Oldenburgs are German workhorses that have a great athleticism and attitude. The Dutch Warmblood is also one of the most popular horse breeds in dressage competitions. They are an excellent choice for pleasure riding and competitions, general riding and general riding. The Welsh horse is a breed of horse that originated in Wales. It is a kind-natured and athletic horse. They are natural jumpers with a friendly personality. The American Warmblood horse breed is more traditional and is focused on producing top-quality sport horses instead of preserving certain bloodlines. The Welsh breed is still popular as a choice of sport horses. Some people find the Welsh breed of horse too dominant. The German Warmblood is one of the most popular breeds of horses and is also the oldest. The Westphalian was bred from a cross between an Oldenburg horse and an Anglo-Norman horse. These horses were used to pull wagons and plough fields prior to mechanization. They were also featured in the Lord of the Rings movies. They are athletically strong, and they excel in dressage and show jumping. Percheron In the 19th century, millions of Percherons were brought to the United States. They were used extensively for transportation, forestry and pulling travelling circus wagons. They were responsible for nearly three-quarters of all US draft horses in the 1930s, and were the most popular breed of horse used by farmers and teamsters moving freight. Although they were popular in their prime the breed has experienced a decline in popularity. Percherons are a willing learner and are great draft horses. They can work on rugged terrain better than machines. They are gorgeous carriage horses, but they don't necessarily have the capacity to pull carriages. They are extremely intelligent and energetic due to their Arabian heritage. Horse breed are also extremely athletic, which shows their ability to compete in many equestrian disciplines. Below are some of the most commonly used uses for Percherons. During the crusades, Percherons were renowned for their strength and soundness. Percherons were popular among enthusiasts of horses due to their distinctive beauty. However this breed was not developed in the United States. The first studbook was founded in France in 1893, but other societies soon followed from Germany and Canada. Percheron breeders are now recognized all over the world. Is it worth the effort breed Percheron horses? While Percherons are generally healthy horses, they are susceptible to certain conditions. For example certain Percherons can develop Equine Polysaccharide Storage Myopathy, which affects muscle tissue. This condition is curable but requires diet changes to treat it. Other Percherons may develop osteochondritis Dissecans, which is a painful condition that affects joints and triggers rapid growth. Arabian The Arabian horse breed is renowned for its versatility, stamina and toughness. These characteristics make them a great choice for trail riding. Trail riding requires strength, balance, and agility. Arabian horses are able to adapt to various riding styles and can excel in any terrain. Here are some guidelines to help you choose the ideal horse for your riding requirements. Here are some guidelines to take into consideration when purchasing the right horse. The Shagya Arabian is among the most popular Arabian horses. Named after the Arabian stallion and breed, it is extensively used in equestrian sports. These horses can sport white markings on their faces, stockings, and legs. The Shagya is not available in buckskin, palomino , or dun varieties. It is distinguished by its white sabino patter. Arabians were created in dry, hot, and hot environments. The importation of Arabian horses from the United States slowed as the breeding program improved. In the 1950s however, breeders from America discovered European Stud farms. This led to the fact that a variety of mares and stallions from post-war stud farms came into the U.S. Leopard, the stallion, was the first purebred Arabian horse to be brought into the United States. There are many characteristics to the Arabian horse breeds. Some are more refined than others while others are more basic. Their heads are small and narrow, with big eyes and prominent jowls. They're usually between fourteen and fifteen hands high. Their legs are strong and straight. Their heads are usually bay, but some have black or bay heads. In general, Arabians are known for their elegance and endurance. They are among the most sought-after breeds around the world, and their gracefulness make them desirable pet.

[all-the-horses]

Jaz Poco Zorro

Little Steel Dust X Bains Showdown Dun

Quarter Horse, Stallion

15hh

Born 1999

[whattolearntoday]

February 19th is...

Arabian Horse Day -  The origins of the oldest purebred Arabian horse in the world date back thousands of years to the Arabian Peninsula. The Bedouins, tribesmen of Arabia, are believed to be the first to domesticate the Arabian horse, forming a harmonious relationship in times of both peace and war, a horse that is good-natured, quick to learn, and willing to please, while also exhibiting supreme endurance and speed. A symbol of military might, cavalry needs led to the spread of the breed around the world. Still, today, the Arabian horse retains all these desired qualities that made it so coveted. The Arabian is also the foundation for many other familiar breeds such as the Thoroughbred, Quarter Horse, Morgan, and American Saddlebred.

Chocolate Mint Day - One of the earliest mass-producers of chocolate mints was Huyler’s in New York. Their chain of stores spread across the country. Today we find mint chocolate in everything from ice cream to brownies, cookies and candies, liquors and sauces. Girl Scouts first sold Thin Mint cookies in 1953 and are still their most popular cookie. Mint chocolate is also the name of an herb with edible leaves that tastes like chocolate and mint.

International Tug Of War Day -  The basic elements of the game are simple: two teams hold each end of a large rope and attempt to pull the other towards them, over some sort of barrier or line in the middle, in order to win. From humble beginnings, Tug-of-war has become a competitive sport that takes place around the world and has a long and ancient history.

Lash Day -  Eyelashes are a staple item to every makeup look and beauty enthusiast. Lashes have always been known to make your eyes pop and stand out from the crowd. As important as how they make us look, they also help keep dirt or substances from entering the eye and aid in preventing infections. Another important benefit eyelashes provide is preventing eye moisture from evaporating. Lashes shade our eyes in a variety of lengths and colors, too. Needless to say, eyelashes are a true necessity for every person at any age.

Red Sock Day - Did you know leg health can indicate risk for heart attack, stroke, and amputation? One in five adults over the age of 60 have a condition called Peripheral Artery Disease (P.A.D.), and many don’t even know they have it. P.A.D. is caused by plaque build-up in the peripheral arteries, mainly the arteries in the legs. It is the most debilitating disease many people have never heard of, and yet, it is responsible for nearly 200,000 amputations annually. More than half of those amputations are preventable with early diagnosis and treatment.

Vet Girls RISE Day -  Since the Revolutionary War, women have served in the armed forces, and many have not been recognized for their service. Today, the contributions of nearly 2 million women veterans deserve acknowledgment. The day celebrates the bonds they formed and their experiences through military service.

World Pangolin Day -  They are the only kind of mammal that is wholly covered in scales. Their scales help protect them from predators. Pangolins also have very sharp scales on their tail. When they feel threatened, they roll up into a ball and ward off predators with their tails. These animals do not have teeth. They do, however, have sticky tongues that enable them to eat ants and larvae off of the ground.  Because they are so hard to find, it’s unknown how many pangolins are left in the world. However, it is known that each year up to 200,000 pangolins are poached from the wild. This makes pangolins the most trafficked mammal in the world. Their meat is considered a delicacy in China and Vietnam. The Chinese also use this animal’s scales for medicinal purposes.

[politicalprof]

“The Unknown Loyal Dead”

Frederick Douglass

Arlington National Cemetery, Virginia

Decoration Day, May 30, 1871 (the predecessor to Memorial Day)

Friends and Fellow Citizens:

Tarry here for a moment. My words shall be few and simple. The solemn rites of this hour and place call for no lengthened speech. There is, in the very air of this resting-ground of the unknown dead a silent, subtle and all-pervading eloquence, far more touching, impressive, and thrilling than living lips have ever uttered. Into the measureless depths of every loyal soul it is now whispering lessons of all that is precious, priceless, holiest, and most enduring in human existence.

Dark and sad will be the hour to this nation when it forgets to pay grateful homage to its greatest benefactors. The offering we bring to-day is due alike to the patriot soldiers dead and their noble comrades who still live; for, whether living or dead, whether in time or eternity, the loyal soldiers who imperiled all for country and freedom are one and inseparable.

Those unknown heroes whose whitened bones have been piously gathered here, and whose green graves we now strew with sweet and beautiful flowers, choice emblems alike of pure hearts and brave spirits, reached, in their glorious career that last highest point of nobleness beyond which human power cannot go. They died for their country.

No loftier tribute can be paid to the most illustrious of all the benefactors of mankind than we pay to these unrecognized soldiers when we write above their graves this shining epitaph.

When the dark and vengeful spirit of slavery, always ambitious, preferring to rule in hell than to serve in heaven, fired the Southern heart and stirred all the malign elements of discord, when our great Republic, the hope of freedom and self-government throughout the world, had reached the point of supreme peril, when the Union of these states was torn and rent asunder at the center, and the armies of a gigantic rebellion came forth with broad blades and bloody hands to destroy the very foundations of American society, the unknown braves who flung themselves into the yawning chasm, where cannon roared and bullets whistled, fought and fell. They died for their country.

We are sometimes asked, in the name of patriotism, to forget the merits of this fearful struggle, and to remember with equal admiration those who struck at the nation’s life and those who struck to save it, those who fought for slavery and those who fought for liberty and justice.

I am no minister of malice. I would not strike the fallen. I would not repel the repentant; but may my “right hand forget her cunning and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth,” if I forget the difference between the parties to that terrible, protracted, and bloody conflict.

If we ought to forget a war which has filled our land with widows and orphans; which has made stumps of men of the very flower of our youth; which has sent them on the journey of life armless, legless, maimed and mutilated; which has piled up a debt heavier than a mountain of gold, swept uncounted thousands of men into bloody graves and planted agony at a million hearthstones – I say, if this war is to be forgotten, I ask, in the name of all things sacred, what shall men remember?

The essence and significance of our devotions here to-day are not to be found in the fact that the men whose remains fill these graves were brave in battle. If we met simply to show our sense of bravery, we should find enough on both sides to kindle admiration. In the raging storm of fire and blood, in the fierce torrent of shot and shell, of sword and bayonet, whether on foot or on horse, unflinching courage marked the rebel not less than the loyal soldier.

But we are not here to applaud manly courage, save as it has been displayed in a noble cause. We must never forget that victory to the rebellion meant death to the republic. We must never forget that the loyal soldiers who rest beneath this sod flung themselves between the nation and the nation’s destroyers.

If today we have a country not boiling in an agony of blood, like France, if now we have a united country, no longer cursed by the hell-black system of human bondage, if the American name is no longer a by-word and a hissing to a mocking earth, if the star-spangled banner floats only over free American citizens in every quarter of the land, and our country has before it a long and glorious career of justice, liberty, and civilization, we are indebted to the unselfish devotion of the noble army who rest in these honored graves all around us.

[gettingvetted]

Hi, hope you don’t mind getting a question in your asks. I wanted to know if the horse world is similar to the dog world in any way? For example, we have breed kennel clubs and registries, do horse people have stuff like that? Do they have reputable breeder recommendation lists, genetic testing, etc? I'm not sure if they do, as far as I know a horse's breed doesn't impact their behavior much like a dog's.

This is a doozy!

Yes, there are absolutely breed clubs and registries. Some of the bigger ones are the Jockey Club (which registers Thoroughbreds in this country), the American Quarter Horse Association, the American Paint Horse Association, the Arabian Horse Association, and then a variety of warmblood (sport horse) and smaller breed-specific associations and registries. For some registries there are very strict requirements (for example, Thoroughbreds must be conceived via live cover and artificial insemination is not allowed); others have less strict requirements (one or both parents must be of that breed, certain colors are not allowed); others, like those warmblood registries, are simply inspected by official judges at official inspection events and if they fit the breed requirements they can be registered as that breed. For example, the riding school where I grew up taking lessons bred a Thoroughbred/Dutch Warmblood cross and took him to an Oldenburg inspection where he was qualified for registry as an Oldenburg. Some nice warmblood stallions are registered with multiple breed registries so their offspring can be as well.

There is strongly recommended genetic testing for certain breeds, for example if you have a Quarter Horse or a breed that has a foundation in or is frequently crossed with Quarter Horses (such as Paint horses and Appaloosas) then you should be testing it for the “5 panel,” which looks for genetic diseases which are common in the Quarter Horse world due to chronic inbreeding. Most other breeds don’t have any genetic testing recommended, but there are breed standards that dictate what is considered desirable conformation in the breed (and general well-known good conformational standards overall for a horse, such as that a long back is very weak and is not ideal for long term comfort under saddle or with other work). Any match picked for a horse should aim to improve upon their conformation. Additionally, any horse bred should be a purebred or a purpose-bred cross (such as an Appendix Quarter Horse, which is a quarter horse crossed with a thoroughbred to ((ideally)) end up with an athlete that is able to do both sprinting and endurance work, or such as a crossbred warmblood that you desire to register with one of the registries). In any case, you should have access to their pedigree. A horse that was bought off Craigslist with no history other than “rides good, kid safe” should not be bred.

And yes, a horse’s breed absolutely impacts their behavior. For example, Thoroughbreds, Saddlebreds, and Arabians are known for being hot headed, difficult to ride, easily spooked, and always wanting to go fast (of course this is a generalization, and I have ridden plenty of these horses that are perfectly safe lesson horses, or handleable by an intermediate rider). Draft horses are known for being slow, quiet, gentle giants. Stocky breeds like Quarter Horses, Appaloosas, Paints, etc are known for their versatility and “ranchiness” (meaning that they are surefooted, don’t spook easily, will let you climb all over them in an effort to get things done on a ranch, and often have “cow smarts” when working cattle). The sport horse/warmblood type is actually known for being kind of dumb. Gaited horses (those that have an extra gait that other breeds don’t have and cannot be trained to do) are known for being excellent trail horses because their extra gait is comfortable to ride. My horse is a Belgian draft horse crossed with a Thoroughbred, and unfortunately she got the work ethic of the draft horse and the brain of the thoroughbred, meaning that she wants to do what I’m asking but has anxiety about it.

Hope this helps!

[96thdayofrage]

During an interview with a Catholic anti-abortion outlet this September, Lynn Fitch—the lawyer arguing the case that could effectively overturn Roe v. Wade—called reproductive freedom a “states’ rights” issue.

Fitch, Mississippi’s first woman attorney general, is undoubtedly aware of the historical associations of that phrase, which one local outlet noted has been “often invoked throughout Mississippi’s history, including in defense of slavery, segregation and the state’s now-defunct same-sex marriage ban.” Very nearly as a rule, the usage of “states’ rights” seems to presage a curtailing of civil rights, and Fitch’s effort to ban nearly all abortions in her state fits that pattern. It is a legal effort steeped in patriarchy and misogyny, twin oppressions that frequently come packaged with white supremacy.

Those connections likely sprang to mind for many earlier this month when a profile of Fitch mentioned her family’s 8,000-acre farm, known as “Galena Plantation,” aka “Fitch Farms,” where she spent childhood weekends horse riding and hunting quail. The site was originally owned by William Henry Coxe, whom one newspaper in 1894 described as “a rabid secessionist”; another Coxe property website says of the first Galena Plantation house, which was destroyed in the 1950s, that “bricks for the foundation and the chimneys were burned on the place by slave workman (sic), and the fine interior detailing was also the work of slave carpenters.” An African American genealogy site places the number of enslaved folks forced to labor at Galena Plantation at 104, and a 1971 article from Mississippi’s Clarion-Ledger notes “the slave quarters” at the farm “were so large it was mistaken for a village.”

Bill Fitch, Lynn’s father, apparently renovated that once-meager housing, and today it’s likely among the lodgings available to paying guests of Galena Plantation—a sort of Confederate Disneyland on the same site where Black folks were enslaved and subjected to abuses we will never fully know.

According to a 2005 article, Bill Fitch was “a civil war buff, especially when it comes to General Nathan Bedford Forrest.” The Fitch Farms-Galena Plantation website boasts that he “bought, transported, and restored Nathan Bedford Forrest’s old cabin home... complete with old Civil War and Nathan Bedford Forrest memorabilia.” It also indicates that “guests may retire for the evening in one of six recently restored Civil War-era cabins, one of which was once the home of Confederate General, Nathan Bedford Forrest.”

This brief description curiously omits some of the most notable information about whom Forrest was known to be.

For starters, Forrest is today most widely recognized as the first Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, which was founded by former Confederates just months after the end of the Civil War—and the start of black emancipation, at least in name—in 1865. Forrest is said to have praised the Klan campaign of harassment, intimidation, and terror against Black folks and its white supremacist aims by stating, “That’s a good thing; that’s a damn good thing. We can use that to keep the n----rs in their place.” He would oversee the KKK’s growth to nearly half a million members while leading the Klan until 1869, the same year the group was officially declared a terrorist organization by a federal grand jury. In 1871, Congressional hearings concluded somewhere between 20,000 and 50,000 Black folks were murdered from 1866 to 1872 by the Klan and its violent sympathizers.

Also absent from the Fitch Farms-Galena Plantation recollection of Forrest is the notorious massacre of Black soldiers he led at Fort Pillow, in Tennessee, just along the Mississippi River. After Forrest and his troops had overtaken the fort, instead of holding the surrendered Union soldiers as prisoners of war, Forrest’s men went on a killing spree, taking particularly murderous aim at Black Union servicemen. Accounts of this pogrom are horrific. Mack Leaming, a white Union Officer, would later write that “many of the colored soldiers, seeing that no quarters were to be given, madly leaped into the river, while the rebels stood on the banks or part way up the bluff, and shot at the heads of their victims.” He describes one Black soldier, who while attempting to surrender “seemed to be wounded and crawled on his hands and knees. Finally one of the confederate soldiers placed his revolver to the head of the colored soldier and killed him.”

Another white Union naval officer, Robert S. Critchell, penned an 1864 letter to the New York Times in which he described surveying the bodies of dead Black soldiers along the riverbank in the aftermath. “Most of them had two wounds,” Critchell wrote. “I saw several colored soldiers of the Sixth United States Artillery, with their eyes punched out with bayonets; many of them were shot twice and bayoneted also."

Even one of Forrest’s Confederates painted a scene of the immoral violence, writing that “poor deluded negroes would run up to our men, fall upon their knees and with uplifted hands scream for mercy but they were ordered to their feet and then shot down... I with several others tried to stop the butchery, and at one time had partially succeeded but General Forrest ordered them shot down like dogs, and the carnage continued."

A surviving Black combatant, testifying before Congress in 1864, recalled that Forrest’s Confederates “nailed some black sergeants to the logs and set the logs on fire,” and gave a firsthand eyewitness account of seeing Forrest among the violent throngs.

A final report from the House Committee on the Conduct of the War from May 1864 detailed yet more cruelty:

The officers and men seemed to vie with each other in the devilish work; men, women, and even children, wherever found, were deliberately shot down, beaten, and hacked with sabres; some of the children not more than ten years old were forced to stand up and face their murderers while being shot; the sick and the wounded were butchered without mercy, the rebels even entering the hospital building and dragging them out to be shot, or killing them as they lay there unable to offer the least resistance. All over the hillside the work of murder was going on; numbers of our men were collected together in lines or groups and deliberately shot; some were shot while in the river, while others on the bank were shot and their bodies kicked into the water, many of them still living but unable to make any exertions to save themselves from drowning. Some of the rebels stood on the top of the hill or a short distance down its side, and called to our soldiers to come up to them, and as they approached, shot them down in cold blood; if their guns or pistols missed fire, forcing them to stand there until they were again prepared to fire. All around were heard cries of "No quarter!" "No quarter!" "Kill the damned n----ers; shoot them down!" All who asked for mercy were answered by the most cruel taunts and sneers. Some were spared for a time, only to be murdered under circumstances of greater cruelty....

These deeds of murder and cruelty ceased when night came on, only to be renewed the next morning, when the demons carefully sought among the dead lying about in all directions for any of the wounded yet alive, and those they found were deliberately shot. Scores of the dead and wounded were found there the day after the massacre by the men from some of our gunboats who were permitted to go on shore and collect the wounded and bury the dead. The rebels themselves had made a pretence of burying a great many of their victims, but they had merely thrown them, without the least regard to care or decency, into the trenches and ditches about the fort, or the little hollows and ravines on the hill-side, covering them but partially with earth. Portions of heads and faces, hands and feet, were found protruding through the earth in every direction.

And still, there is yet more missing from the Fitch Farms notice about Forrest, whose former property the Fitch family seems so proud to host. Before the war, Forrest made his fortune as a “slave trader.” Samuel Hall, a formerly enslaved man, wrote in 1912 that Forrest “would buy up slaves and keep them in this yard and sell them like people sell hogs today.” Another freedman, Louis Hughes described how Forrest had cruelly sold off his wife’s relatives.

“When they arrived in Memphis, they were put in the trader’s yard of Nathan Bedford Forrest,” Hughes recounted. “None of [her] family were sold to the same person except my wife and one sister. All the rest were sold to separate persons.”

Forrest likely also raped Black women, both those he enslaved and others, and an 1864 article in the New York Tribune stated as much. Forrest biographer Jack Hurst has a verified record of Forrest’s first act as an enslaver being the “purchase” of “a Negrow [sic] woman named Catharine aged seventeen and her child named Thomas. The Tribune article — THE BUTCHER FORREST AND HIS FAMILY: All of Them Slave Drivers and Women Whippers — seems to make reference this same enslaved woman, describing her as Forrest’s extramarital “wife,” a title that cannot be held by someone with no legal autonomy over their body or life.

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part eighteen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7450 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part eighteen: A week later Dean and Y/N are training for the Flagstaff Horse Show, a last repetition for Congress. They are enjoying the honeymoon phase of their relationship, until Bobby calls Dean into his office. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music:  ‘Little Boy’ - Barns Courtney (scene Singer house), ‘The Farm’ - Thomas Newman.  Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: I’m excited for this one, y’all! Thank you @kittenofdoomage​, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​ and @winchest09​ for helping me. You girls are awesome betas and friends. 

Ride With Me Masterlist

     “More leg, Y/N. Keep rhythm in that circle!”      Dean has climbed up on the fence of the large arena. His hands are folded together and his elbows rest on his knees, the heels of his cowboy boots hooked behind the lower bar. He watches a horse and rider in front of him from under his hat, picking up even the tiniest flaw and highlighting what’s done well.      As her trainer gives directions, Y/N pushes her calves a little tighter against Meadow’s flank, her right hand outstretched towards the mare’s ears as they finish their circle at speed. Elevated in her stirrups slightly, she makes sure the circle stays perfectly round while maintaining the constant one-two-three beat of hooves drumming against the earth. She can hear Dean’s strong and clear voice above the noise of the wind.      “There ya go. Nice one!”  

     It’s 6.45 AM and the sun has just risen, its early rays of daybreak warming the headwrangler’s back. The nights are getting colder, even in the valley, so the warmth is pleasantly welcome. Summer has come to an end, which means the ranchers are following a different work schedule now. Downside; their midday siestas are no longer a thing, at least not until spring. Upside, they start an hour and a half later in the morning. When he says ‘they’, he means ‘everyone but him and Y/N’, because they have been training for Congress every day. 

     The perfect final repetition for the big event in Columbus is a local horse show in Flagstaff, coming up this weekend. Gold Canyon ranch is going there with a truckload of horses and both Jo and Dean are competing. The head wrangler  convinced Y/N to sign up as well. They can test the new freestyle and see how Meadow does in competition, since it’s been a while since she last showed. 

     Pleased, he observes the woman who was born to ride. They are ready, no doubt about that. He knows it; the only person who needs to believe it now is Y/N.      “Wanna practise a few stops and call it a day? Wouldn’t wanna overwork her,” he suggests when her horse comes past in a slow canter, or a lope.      “No spins?” she checks, not confident with leaving such an essential element out of her training.      Dean smiles at her eagerness; ever the perfectionist.      “I’ve never seen you two screw up a spin. Don’t worry, they are solid,” he reassures.

     She nods while looking over her shoulder, then straightens her back, following the movements of her horse. When she reaches the short end of the arena, she steers away from the fence, bringing Meadow onto the straight line out of another perfect circle. Y/N doesn’t get the chance to give aid to pick up momentum, because before they are fully straightened out, her partner speeds up already.       “Circle her back. Let her wait,” Dean instructs.      The cowgirl tilts her pelvis slightly and sinks deeper in the saddle, before swerving away from the line. She shakes her head disapproving. Come on, Y/N, you can do better than that.  

     “She keeps taking over,” Y/N ponders, slowing down when approaching her trainer.      “She’s a smart horse. Most of the time that works in your favor, sometimes it doesn't. She wants to anticipate instead of letting you do the thinkin’. You don’t wanna discourage her enthusiasm, so what you gotta do is keep her busy. Give her something to do, vary your patterns. Throw her off her game a lil’ bit,” Dean explains to his pupil, who listens intently.      “Ride down the line again, but don’t do the usual sliding stop at the end. Don’t speed up, don’t even think about the stop, okay? All you’re gonna do is let her wait for your call.”      Y/N nods, feeling a little bit more confident after being given directions. “Okay.” 

     She moves her reins over Meadow’s mane, turning her around, gently aiding her to hustle forward in an easy canter. When she’s back at the short end of the large pen, the rider lets her horse roll away from the fence and onto the line again. She can feel the power under her, so much energy waiting for a release and ready to bolt.      “Steady... Just sit and relax. Let her figure it out,” Dean calls out, loud enough to reach his student’s ears several yards away.      A little confused Meadow pulls at the bit slightly, but Y/N does exactly what she’s supposed to do. Instead of punishing the behavior, she ignores it and lopes down the line, repeating the exercise. The second time around, the American Quarter mare already has her ears perked at her rider, waiting for a cue.      “Change leads. Try the same thing on the right hand.”       Trying to sit loose in the saddle, moving with the thousand pound animal under her, Y/N guides her horse onto the diagonal line and crosses the arena. Normally she would do a flying change in the center, a transition from left to right canter during the brief moment of suspension, almost like the horse is skipping. However, this time the rider decides against it, making Meadow wait until she reaches the other end, where Dean is watching his pupil closely from the fence.      “Smart, well done! That’s riding, Yankee,” the head wrangler compliments.

     With a smile on her face she continues the exercize, working on her horse’s assertiveness and patience instead of the actual pattern. Dean has a point; she can ride the test blindfolded. Hell, blindfold Meadow too and they would still be able to nail it, but only if the mare is willing to wait and follow her lead.      The third time Y/N canters up the simple straight line, the bay mare relaxes, lowering her head a little more and calmly keeping a slow and steady rhythm. It’s exactly the response Dean was hoping for.      “Next straight you do the sliding stop,” he says, just loud enough for the rider to hear, as if he’s worried the intelligent horse might pick up on it and understand what he’s saying. 

     Calm, Meadow turns the corner to the straight line, her breaths even, loose muscles rolling under her damp skin. This time Y/N can give the Quarterhorse an aid before she increases speed, which she does with powerful strides. When the mare is going down the line full throttle, Y/N counts down. Three… two… one…

     The rider sinks deep into the leather of her saddle, pushing her stirrups forward and braces for the sudden stop. She can feel Meadow’s hindquarters lower when she plants her hocks into the soil of the arena. They slide several yards, leaving skid marks in the sand, and when the combination has come to a complete halt, Y/N moves her weight slightly to one side and takes the reins with her as well. The eager horse performs a rollback, a movement right after a stop during which the horse turns on her hind quarters and canters forward in the direction they came from.      “That was awesome!” Dean exclaims. “Cool her down; she’s done for today.” 

     Pleased, Y/N lets her precious four legged friend transition to an easy jog, patting her on the shoulder. She feels beyond relieved that her training went so well. With her former trainer Marcel, the final repetition before a show usually meant bootcamp, pushing Meadow to her limits. But Dean treats her differently. He thinks things through, looks beyond the pattern itself and can really pinpoint what they need to work on, and often it’s not the routine itself, but the preparation and the foundation of horse riding.

     “She felt really good, huh?” Dean looks up at the rider, seemingly content, as they exit the arena and walk back to the tack up area.      “She did. I’m excited for tomorrow,” Y/N returns, halting under the Joshua tree. “Have you seen the starting order?”      Dean nods as he glances up at her, narrowing his eyes when the sun peeks under his hat and blinds him. “I have.”      “I’m fifth on the list,” the cowgirl mutters, not happy about her draw. “Any good riders in my class?”      The head wrangler reads his student carefully, who is clearly fishing for answers. He’s very much aware where this is coming from. It’s a trait of hers, one that used to be much more evident, yet still surfaces every so often, especially in a new situation or uncertain times; she’s insecure.

     “Does it matter?” her trainer reminds her. “Eyes on the ball, Yankee. Flagstaff is just a practice run for Congress.”      “Sure, but I still want to win,” Y/N counters, matter of factly. “Oh, talking about Congress…”       She looks down on Dean, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. “I booked our room.”      His brow perks up, staring at his girlfriend for a second. That seductive look in her eyes is giving him all sorts of ideas. “Our room?”       “Yeah, most hotels were fully booked, and this room is one of the few I could find,” she adds, teasingly, swinging her leg over the front of her horse, making sure her spur doesn’t hurt Meadow’s neck. “And you know what? There’s only one bed.”      “You don’t say,” Dean smirks, stepping closer and running his hand up her denim clad legs slowly.      She nods, not dismounting her horse just yet, but taking off her western hat and hanging it on the horn of the saddle. Instead, she seductively keeps her eyes locked on his green ones, the sunlight bringing out a hint of amber in them. “We don’t have to worry about squeaky bunk beds, or waking half the ranch…”      “Or Garth taking a piss,” Dean recalls.      She laughs, leaning forward now and slipping from the saddle smoothly, but Dean catches her, holding her up.

     The cowgirl folds her arms around his neck. “You know, I read this research paper on how sex actually increases dopamines, which results in the athlete performing better.”       “Interesting,” Dean is barely able to stop his trademark grin from showing, the effort creating dimples in his cheeks. “Would you like to test that theory?”      “I booked us a suite with a queen size bed. What do you think?” she chuckles, so comfortable in his arms.       “Well, in that case I’m more than willing to go the extra mile for my favorite student,” he grins, lowering her to the ground, after which he kisses her sweetly.

     Meadow turns her ear towards the pair when Y/N’s back brushes against the saddle. She doesn’t take advantage of her owner being distracted and waits patiently, even though she’s not tied up to the pole yet. If the cowgirl didn’t know any better, she’d claim her horse has been their matchmaker all along, casually walking a little closer to Dean’s horse whenever they rode side by side, even taking a liking to the wrangler, despite that she has never been a huge fan of men. 

     Dean reels the cowgirl in, letting his hand roam over her hips as he deepens the kiss. He can’t get enough of her, especially now that he has surrendered in the battle he was fighting with himself. Ever since he let his guard down and submitted to the feelings that lay deep, the weight he was carrying seems a little less. To have someone to share his life and his passion with, knowing that she’s his and no one else’s, it’s something he never expected to find. It’s certainly not something he feels like he deserves, but he has managed to push that denigrating voice to the back of his mind. They are in love with each other, that’s all he needs right now.

     Dean watches Y/N after he parts from her, in awe by the joy that radiates from the girl who has such a hold on him. He has seen her beam before, when she’s amongst the crew, when he makes her laugh. But he hasn’t witnessed this level of bliss and fulfillment yet. She’s glowing, and damn, it looks good on her.      Y/N blushes when she notices his captivated stare. “What?”      “You look happy,” he comments, leaving a short kiss on her lips again.      She smiles, her gaze drifting away as she lets her hands slip from behind his neck down his chest, analysing this contentment that she’s experiencing. She’s somewhat stunned by the conclusion; Dean is right.

     “I feel like - like I’m finally at a point in my life where things are coming together,” she realizes. “I spent years of my life in books, riding as much as I could aside from classes, just to get better. I tried to find that ‘click’ with so many horses, fell off, failed...”      She huffs, thinking of all the times she almost gave up. Overwhelmed, overworked. School, ride, sleep, repeat. All while Granddad tried to find her the perfect horse.      “Then Meadow crossed my path.”       She rubs the mare’s withers, earning an appreciative purr as the horse glances over her shoulder. The head wrangler watches the two, the unbreakable bond, the friendship that will last a lifetime. It’s an indescribable feeling to have such a strong connection with an animal, one he knows well. 

     Turning her attention to her horse, Y/N undoes the leather strap under Meadow’s chin and removes the bridle, replacing it with a halter. Meanwhile, Dean takes her hat off the horn and places it back on her head, earning a chuckle. He then continues to loosen the sinch and removes the saddle, humid clouds of warm air coming from Meadow’s back.       “I couldn’t believe it when Grandpa bought her. You should’ve seen me; I went out of my mind,” she says, reminiscing while taking off Meadow’s leg protection.      Dean chuckles at that, able to picture it perfectly. Her reaction to qualifying for Congress offers a good indication. Before he turns the faucet on, he hands the hose to Y/N, noticing the smile fading from her face.      “But then he died. It took me a while to get back from that,” she admits, glad to have something to do to keep her mind occupied. Often the tears still prick in her eyes when she talks about her grandfather, but today she manages to keep them at bay.      Mesmerized, Dean listens. He had guessed before that her granddad had passed away, since she used the past tense whenever she mentioned him. He never pushed her to talk about it, though, knowing that if the roles were reversed, he would appreciate the space too.      “You got back up, though,” he says, hoping she can recognize the willpower it took.       She nods, smiling faintly as she puts the hose aside. “I figured that after everything that he’s done for me, the least I could do was make him proud. I won State, I graduated a year early and cum laude.”      “And then you ended up in this dump,” Dean fills in, trying to lighten the mood.      She chuckles at his joke and shakes her head, untying Meadow.

     “Actually, ending up in this ‘dump’ is probably the best thing that could’ve happened to me,” she states, leading her horse to her box, Dean in tow. “I’m learning a lot here, and not just about ranch work. It has grounded me. Plus, I met this very handsome cowboy, too.”      Dean smirks. “Did ya?”      Y/N hums, turning after she shuts the stable door. “Why do you think I can’t stop smiling?”

     His eyes bounce between hers, only now realizing that he has a big part in her happiness. It humbles him, knowing that he makes her feel this way. Never before has he stood where he is standing now, in a relationship, let alone in a relationship with this one hell of a woman. Most of the time he has no idea what he’s doing, his gut feeling his only guidance, but apparently he’s doing something right. She has a spring in her step when she walks, her eyes shine when she laughs, and he is the reason. 

Wanting to tell her she is his reason too, but not knowing the words to that song, he takes off his western hat to fit under hers and wields his lips to hers. The kiss is less playful than the ones earlier, but all the more meaningful. Her lashes brush against his freckled skin, her hands cup his face, fingertips tracing the stubble on his jaw. The cowboy’s heart grows warm, rising in his chest, the sensation having him light headed. She is everything he never knew he needed, and he’s never going to let her go. 

     They hear footsteps coming around the corner, but both the wranglers are too occupied to pay attention, until a familiar voice puts an end to their private moment.      “Really? Could you not? I haven’t even had breakfast yet,” Jo puts her hands on her small waist and halts when she notices the couple. “This is a lot to muster on an empty stomach, y’know?”      Y/N chuckles after breaking away from her boyfriend, Dean rolls his eyes dramatically at his cousin.      “Get lost, Jo,” he scolds, ignoring her request.      “I’d advise you to get lost, because my dad is hot on my heels,” she returns smartly, before opening the door to the cafeteria, which is situated next to Meadow’s box.

     The cowboy’s eyes grow wide as he quickly distances himself from the woman he held in his arms just a mere second ago, before Bobby turns the corner. Awkwardly, Dean fidgets with the brim of his hat as Y/N straightens out her shirt and wipes her hands on her jeans, hoping her tan will hide the blush that heats her cheeks.       “Mornin’, Bobby,” Dean greets, trying not to act suspicious.      His uncle looks at them now as if he only just noticed them, his weary eyes lingering on the intern for a short second before they focus on Dean.       “Can I talk to you in my office?” he asks the head wrangler, even though it sounds more like an order.      “S-sure,” Dean stammers, gulping nervously.      “I’m getting my coffee first,” the ranch owner announces, before he disappears into the cafeteria. “Meet me there. You can let yourself in.”

     Dean takes an apprehensive breath when the door closes, the tight feeling in his chest not so pleasant now. Y/N’s observing him; he can feel her eyes burning in the side of his head.      “Why don’t you just tell him?” she sighs. “It’s been over a week.”      “I think he might be on to us already,” he says, clearly not at ease with that presumption. “I just wanted to ease him in when he’s not… you know, cranky.”       She frowns at that. “It’s Bobby; he’s always cranky. I thought Ellen--”      “- Ellen said he was gonna be fine with us being together - yes - but Bobby specifically told me not to mess around with you,” Dean recalls, returning his gaze from the door to Y/N.      “Well, I hope what we have going on here is a little bit more than you ‘messing around’ with me,” she returns with a tone.      “Of course it is. Hey...” He lifts her chin up with a curled index finger, pleading to look him in the eye. “This, us… It means a hell of a lot to me. Please tell me you know that.”      Her expression softens. She couldn’t be mad at him if she tried.      “I know. I just wish we wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore,” she admits.       “I’ll tell him.” He presses his lips to hers quickly, glancing at the door before he does, making sure they will not get caught. “Save some bacon for me, will ya?”      “Will do,” she promises, pushing him off gingerly before she opens the door to join the rest of the crew for breakfast.

     He watches her leave, holding on to the sight of her as long as he can. She’s right; he needs to come clean. It doesn’t feel right to go behind Bobby’s back. Plus, with them leaving for Flagstaff this afternoon, he wants to be able to say out loud that he’s spoken for, aware there’s gonna be a few girls who might want to make a move on him. Not by any means is he worried he will not be able to resist the temptation, because as far as he’s concerned, there is none. But he doesn’t want to have to hide their relationship just because his uncle isn’t aware yet. 

     Dean puts his hat back on as he steps outside into the sun, which is steadily rising in the morning sky. Going over different versions of his announcement, he jogs up the stairs of the house, pulling back the screen door before he steps inside. Out of habit, he kicks his boots off and hangs his Stetson on the coat hanger, like he was taught when he moved in with his aunt and uncle at the age of fourteen. 

     The house is quiet, Ellen cooking up breakfast for the crew in the cafeteria at the stables. He crosses the living room and strolls into the kitchen, taking a glass from the cabinet and pouring himself some milk from the fridge. This place still has the same homey feel to it, it even smells the same as he remembered. He still knows his way around, even though he hasn’t slept under this roof since he was twenty. At a certain age, he wanted to be amongst the crew, hang with Benny and the other guys, and have a little more freedom. Jo joined them in the bunkhouse a couple of years later when she got rebellious and never really left, even though she still has a room upstairs. 

     Dean leans against the counter, taking a few gulps of milk. A smile forms on his lips when he notices some of the old photos on the fridge. Ellen always mixes them up, taking them out of albums and putting them in frames, some ending up on the refrigerator or pinned to the board in the office, others are on display in the saloon and in the cafeteria. One of the pictures portrays him on one of the first mustangs he trained, and next to him Jo on her pony, a little fellow called Ghost. He must have been fifteen or sixteen at the time, his cousin not older than ten. There’s another one of him and both Ellen and Bobby at his uncle’s fiftieth birthday; Dean was twenty-one then. The first birthday besides his own where he was allowed to drink, but he has never been a saint. God knows how many times he and Benny and Gabe started the Saturday shift hung over, before he reached the legal age. He grins at the memory.

     His eyes glide over the photos, all seemingly normal snapshots, freeze frames of a country boy’s upbringing. But that’s it, isn’t it? It wasn’t normal to Dean. His life made a complete one-eighty when his aunt and uncle took their nephew in. They did it without question, never once asking for anything in return. They reminded him what it’s like to feel safe, loved, what it’s like to be a kid again. 

     It took him awhile before he could get past the years of worry, fear, and guilt, but eventually he found his way again. Has he forgotten about his childhood, the time he spent with his father and his little brother? Hell, no. He’ll never forget what happened, how the situation escalated and how everyone gave up on family except him, until there was nothing more the loyal son could do to stop the Winchesters from falling apart. But after all the trauma, the lesions on his soul, the nightmares, and endless regret, he found a place he calls home and is surrounded by people who, by blood or by heart, are his family. 

     The hinges of the screen door squeak and rattle when Bobby enters the house. Just like Dean did moments ago, the old man steps out of his boots, knowing very well that his wife will scold him if she finds dirty footprints on the wooden floors when she returns. He hobbles into the house, noticing his nephew in the kitchen.      “Comin’?” he says, nodding at the office, further down the hall.

     Dean empties his glass and leaves it in the sink, following his uncle. When he enters the room, he notices the stack of papers on the desk, open folders littering the flat surface. There’s an open filebox on the floor, numbers and letters scribbled in a notebook. Bobby has never been the person to keep his office tidy, especially with all the extra paperwork that comes with not owning a computer, but right now it looks like a bomb went off in here.       “Take a seat.” Bobby circles the desk and puts down his coffee mug, closing the blinders to prevent curious eyes from peeking inside. 

     Dean does as told, a frown edging lines between his brows. The vibe he is picking up isn’t a pleasant one and he’s sensing this talk will not be about his relationship with the intern. Carefully, he reads the ranch owner, who sits down, rests his elbows on the oak desk and forks his calloused hands together. Bobby doesn’t look up at him, and it’s only now that his nephew notices how the circles under his eyes seem a little darker, his head hanging low between his shoulders, which carry so much weight.       “We’re taking two of the youngsters to Flagstaff,” Bobby announces. “I need you to decide which ones, so I can send in the information to the auction committee.”      “Whoa, what?” Dean says, confused. “I’ve barely haltered a handful. I thought you wanted them under saddle before we sold them?”      “There’s no time for that.”

     His uncle adjusts the worn baseball cap on his head, still not looking at the young man on the other side of his desk.       “What do you mean, there’s no--” Dean stops when Bobby glares at him from under the hat, silencing his nephew with just a look.       “Pick the two who you reckon would go for a good price. And I need you to compete two extra horses as well. The palomino stallion, you think you can show him in the four year old class?”      “Yeah, I - I guess,” Dean says, realizing that riding five horses in competition is going to be a challenge, especially when it comes to time management, but he doesn’t have the courage to contradict the ranch owner.       “Good. I don’t expect them to come home with us,” Bobby acknowledges, picking a folder from the file case next to his desk, flipping through ownership certificates and taking out a file. “I contacted some buyers.”      “Which one’s the fifth you want me to bring?” Dean asks, carefully.      “Joplin,” Bobby states. 

     Dean closes his eyes briefly, cursing internally. He knows Y/N has grown fond of the feisty mare; it’s gonna hurt her to see the little dark horse leave.      “Joplin ain’t the easiest to ride and I can’t use her for the tourists; she’s the obvious choice. She’s good for ranch work and with the cattle, so I’ll sign her up for the cutting competition.” The ranch owner takes out Joplin’s file as well, adding it to the small stack in front of him. “The intern did some cattle work with her, right?”      Dean nods. “Yeah, rode her on the trail too.”      “Y/N can ride her then, they seem like a good fit. Discuss it with her, let me know if she wants to,” the old man decides, looking up at his right hand when he stays quiet. “I contacted Jody Mills; she might have some clients for Joplin.”      “Bobby, what the hell is going on?”

     Dean’s worried eyes study his uncle, an unraveling stare boring through the rancher’s tough armor, who is unable to hold his gaze. The weariness seeps through the cracks when Bobby rubs his forehead, leaning back with a sigh, the old desk chair creaking.      “We’re in bad waters, ain’t we?” the wrangler realizes.      Bobby still doesn’t look up, but nods quietly, admitting to the painful truth. He seems ashamed, as if he - the head of this family - is failing. The man opposite of him can feel the pressure his uncle is experiencing; he knows it well. Just the sheer thought of the ranch being in much more trouble than he originally anticipated has him anxious, his heart rate picking up. These lands, the company, the horses… could they all be at risk?

     “How bad?” he asks firmly, even though he’s not sure if he wants to hear the answer.      “I just ordered stable bedding, hay and pellets without havin’ paid for the last bulk. I can’t pay you or the boys by the end of the month, unless we make a profit in Flagstaff,” Bobby admits. “Then there’s the mortgage, bank loans, taxes...”      Dean leans his elbow on the armrest of his chair, rubs his temple. “What happened to the money we earned on the livestock you sold Rufus?”      “Used it on the electrical bill I was behind on and paid the city and the bank. I owed Caleb a lot of money too.”      The wrangler’s eyes flick up at his uncle again. “So it’s all gone?”       Bobby nods again. “Yeah, ‘fraid so.”

     Troubled, he reaches for his coffee, taking a sip of the hot brew, wishing it was whiskey. From under his cap he watches Dean process the information, the knowledge doing a number on him, even though he acts tough. Bobby knows his nephew. Hell, he’s been living on his land for so long, he considers him a son. He knows how he values this place and the people and animals living here. He knows how much he craved shelter when he stood on the doorstep fifteen years ago. That’s exactly what this place is for him: his safe haven. And now that a storm is coming, now that his world threatens to cave, he’s losing his footing as well.

     Dean leaves his chair, paces up and down the small room twice, his arms crossed and pondering on a solution.      “You can keep my salary,” Dean says, “I know it’s a drop in the ocean, but I’ve got a roof over my head, that’s all I need. I have some savings too--”      “Dean, I don’t want your money,” Bobby makes clear, his voice less stern. “This ain’t your cross to bear.”      “Hell, it ain’t!” he exclaims, raising his arms up in despair. “This is my home too, and I’m not about to lose it!”      “Do you really believe I’m givin’ it up that easy? It’s my life’s work, damn it!” his uncle raises his voice to level with Dean’s, but tones it down when he continues. “No one is losing their home. We’re just gonna have to save and make money before this spins out of control, stay afloat until business picks up again. That’s why we’re gonna bring more horses to Flagstaff, see if we can make some deals.”

     Dean calms down slightly after his outburst, but is nowhere near at ease. He places his hands on his sides now, focusing on the floorboards. After a deep breath he collects himself.      “We can take the large Pinto and the red dun Mustang for the auction,” he determines.       “Alright,” Bobby writes it down, picking up the phone to make the call. “We’re still leaving at three?”      His head wrangler nods, burdened, taking the que and turns towards the door.      “Son?”       Dean halts in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder at the man who has been more like a dad to him than his own father ever was. A few strands of light squeeze through the blinds, illuminating the mess they are in, the rest of the room dark, shadows looming over his uncle.       “We’ll figure it out, okay? Ain’t the first recession this ranch survived,” Bobby reminds him, before he dials the number he wrote down earlier. 

     With a forced smile Dean watches him for a few more seconds before he leaves the office, the mask dropping from his face the moment he’s out of sight. With the unsettling information still mulling over, he puts on his boots again and takes his hat from the hall stand, walking onto the porch. He needs a moment to collect himself and let’s a heavy sigh escape his lungs, his eyes wandering over the scenery before him. Gold Canyon Ranch: sacred ground, their harbor, his church. The barn with the high doors through which he walked countless times, the Joshua tree that has watched over the horses for centuries. The saloon where on a good night laughs roar and beer flows. The bunkhouse, the crooked little prairie shed where he has a room and a bed of his own. And the Singer’s residence, where he knocked on the front door in search of refuge when he was fourteen years of age, standing in the exact same spot where he’s standing now.

     The sun hits him when he descends from the steps, the source of light warming the earth rapidly, despite autumn approaching. A faint headache is throbbing behind his eyes already, the conversation getting to him much more than he wants it to. Bobby tried to lessen the blow and reassure his nephew, but he knows very well it’s ten minutes to midnight. He dismisses the possibility of losing everything all over again; he can’t think like that, it will only slow him down. What he can do is think of a way to prevent this train from derailing. 

     He attempts to leave the worry behind, because he can’t let the rest of the crew know just how grim the situation is. Thankfully, the guys have already started their workday. He can hear the tractor pulling up behind the barn and there’s a wheelbarrow in the stable alley. Garth whistles to a country song on the radio as he empties a box with large scoops, while Jo leads a saddled horse to the arena. A quick glance through the window of the cafeteria tells him Ellen already went to the saloon, probably to start on lunch for the group of eight tourists that are currently accommodating the guest houses, but he does spot Y/N, who’s wiping down the table. When he pushes open the door, a bright smile comes his way, her light burning away the dark clouds hanging over him.

     “Hey! I risked my life defending your bacon, but I managed to save you some. Scrambled eggs and two buns too. Want me to heat it up real quick?” she asks, busy putting away the cutlery and dishes she washed.      “Nah, that’s alright,” he says, slumping down in the chair where Bobby usually sits.       “Here.”       She puts the plate down in front of him, the smell of crispy meat filling his nose. He’s not all that hungry anymore, but he starts cutting the bread either way, knowing she made an effort to make sure he had something to eat.

     “How did he respond?” she wonders after a moment of silence, drying off the frying pan.      Dean was about to take a bite when he freezes, only now realizing what she’s talking about. Shit, with everything going on, it completely slipped his mind why he wanted to talk to Bobby in the first place.      Y/N notices the hesitation, followed by a pair of shameful eyes coming her way. She sighs, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Dean…”      “I know. I’m sorry.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose while he shuts his eyes, feeling like an idiot. “Something came up. He didn’t call me in because of us.”

     The cowboy glances up warely, noticing her disappointment. If anything, he doesn’t want her to think he just forgot, or worse - that he chickened out. But business is blending with personal life here; he’s not sure if he should share with her what his boss just told him.       “Why did he call you in then?” she wonders, unable to hide the discontent in her voice.      “He, uh - he wants me to take more horses to Flagstaff,” he says. “To sell them.”      “Oh…” Y/N puts away the pan in one of the lower cabinets. “Which ones?”      “Two of the youngsters we brought in earlier this month. Bon Jovi - the four year old - and...” Dean hesitates, hating to be the bearer of bad news. “And Joplin.”

     In shock the cowgirl turns to him, staring at the head wrangler. “Bobby is going to sell Joplin?”      “I wish it could’ve been different,” he half apologizes, feeling sorry for Y/N. “I know you like her a lot.”      She hangs the dish towel to dry and turns to lean on the back of the chair. Her airway is closing, but she swallows down the lump that builds. Dean is right; she grew fond of the little dark Quarter. Not everyone can handle her fiery spirit, but the cowgirl could, forging a strong bond between them within a short period of time. Somehow, she never expected Joplin to leave the premises.       “It’s not your fault,” she says after clearing her throat. “I’m the one who gets attached to horses who aren’t my own.”      The wrangler observes her, well aware she’s trying to be professional about this.      “Bobby hoped you could show her at the competition,” he continues.      “I can do that,” she agrees, keeping her voice steady.

     Dean absently eats his bacon and egg sandwich while Y/N tidies up, giving her hands something to do while she processes what he just told her. He watches her rinse a cloth and clean the kitchen counter, rubbing over a spot to make a stain go away. Not sure if he should say anything, he focuses on finishing his plate, but it doesn’t take long before he can’t stand the silence.      “You okay?” he checks, concerned.      “I guess,” she turns to him, finally taking a second to sit down. “How about you?”      Dean wipes his hands down his jeans to get rid of the crumbs sticking to his fingers and looks at her, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m used to horses being sold.”      “That’s not what I mean,” Y/N returns, not at all surprised that he acts like there’s nothing going on. “What’s bothering you?”

     She reads her boyfriend carefully when he looks at her, dropping his gaze the moment her eyes reach too deep into his soul. For a few short seconds he seems to consider telling her what’s going on, but then he shakes his head. Worry swims in circles in her stomach, his inability to open up once again having her question herself.       “It’s not us, I promise,” he says sincerely, reaching for her hand across the table when he notices her doubt. “And I wanna tell you, but I can’t discuss this with anyone other than Bobby or Ellen.”      “Business related?” she guesses.       When Dean nods, it clicks in her head.       “The ranch isn’t doing so well, is it?”

     As if he got caught committing a crime, his eyes shoot up to meet hers. Shit, has he said too much? She might be his girlfriend, but she’s also the intern. She works for Bobby, for God’s sake! This isn’t information he’s supposed to share with anyone.       Unsure of how to respond, he averts his gaze, but she squeezes his hand to call him back.      “Dean, this is kind of my field, remember? I can see the tell-tale signs,” she reminds him. 

     The head wrangler holds his breath, catching his bottom lip with his teeth, but then exhales burdened, accepting she has figured it out. Self-conscious about his own vulnerability, he runs his thumb over the back of her hand as he stares at nothing in particular, focusing on the motion. Bit by bit, the curtain is pulled back, revealing just how much this newfound knowledge worries him.      “Bobby says we’ll figure it out, but things are bad,” he admits after a long silence. 

     She nods slightly, acknowledging his statement. Honestly, she’s not surprised. She wondered how the ranch was able to run on a handful of tourists and trail rides. With only three horses in paid training, it’s impossible to generate an income that covers the dozen others owned by the family, which can’t be sold for a fair price now that the market is at an all time low. She cannot imagine the mortgage on this enormous place. There’s employees who depend on a salary, animals which need to be fed and cared for, machinery that needs maintenance. Selling stock and letting go workers; they seem like desperate measures to her, measures which will not cut it during the economic crisis this country is currently suffering from, one that might drag on for years. It’s a postponement of execution.

     Dean swallows thickly, allowing her to have a glimpse of his crippling concern. He feels weak to admit it, to admit to her that the walls around him are crumbling. But a joke and a laugh cannot save him this time, there is no way he can dance around the fact that he has zero control over the financial situation, and it scares the living hell out of him.      “If we lose the ranch, I wouldn’t know what to do,” he confesses. “This place is all I have.”      Hell, this place is all that I am, he thinks to himself. Because, let’s face it, when you take away the horses and strip him from the opportunities he’s offered here, he’s nothing but a highschool dropout with an old pick up truck. 

     “That’s not true,” Y/N dismisses. “You’ve got family, ranch or not. And you have me now.”      He carefully glances up at her, taken aback by the comfort in her voice. A pair of soft eyes wait for him, strengthening her words. He mirrors the small smile she’s carrying, eased by her promise.      “What if I take a look at the books?” she offers. “If Bobby is okay with that, of course.”      “You - You’d do that?” Dean returns, stunned, his eyebrows raised.      “Yeah, of course. I mean, don’t expect miracles by any means, but I can shed some light on it. Maybe get an overview of the assets and liabilities, set up a balance sheet if there isn’t one, etcetera,” she states, making it sound like it’s no big deal. “I analyzed several large companies for my thesis.”

     Impressed, the head wrangler takes in the young woman who is so wise for her age. He only now realises the intern might be the one who could steer this ship away from the massive iceberg they are heading towards. Of course she can’t magically make money appear out of thin air, but he doubts Bobby has the skill set of someone with a master’s degree in business.      “You’re awesome, know that?” he huffs.      “Don’t you forget it.” She grins at him, getting up from her seat and taking his plate.      Before she can rinse it and reach for the dish brush, Dean’s arms snake around her waist and pull her against his chest, hooking his chin over her shoulder. He kisses her on the cheek, leaning his head against hers and ignoring his western hat when it tilts to the side.      “Thank you.”      She smiles. “You’re welcome.”

     Y/N turns in his arms, trapped between him and the kitchen counter. She looks up to meet his admiring gaze, adjusting the Stetson on the cowboy’s head and letting her hands linger, wrists crossed behind his neck.      “I’m beginning to understand just how much the ranch means to you. And frankly, this place is starting to mean a lot to me too,” she admits.

     The morning light sheds diagonal beams through the set of four square windows, highlighting her hair and her beautiful smile. Dean drinks her in for a couple of solid seconds, before he dips down and kisses her.       How she is able to vanquish his inner panic, just by offering her full support, doesn’t cease to amaze the wrangler. He’s not getting his hopes up, he knows the financial problems are bigger than she can fix with a run-through and a few budget cuts. But she’s trying. She’s doing her part. She’s here to help, not only the ranch, but him as well. And just like that, the future seems a lot less grim than it did a moment ago. They will figure it out and things will be okay, as long as he has her by his side.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part nineteen here

[geopolicraticus]

When Futurism Gets Stuck in the Past

Overcoming the Idée Fixe of World Government

Ever since I first became interested in futurism in the 1970s, and I began to read everything I could find on futurism, I noticed the almost exclusive interest in world government as the political paradigm of futurism, and even at the time I thought it was odd. I still find it odd today, and so I have gone looking for explanations for the political monoculture of futurism. Let me begin with a speculation—nothing that I consider to be definitive, but only one possible explanation among many—and after my speculation I will move on to a more analytical understanding of the world government paradigm in futurism.

Historical thought in western civilization is haunted by the collapse of the Roman Empire. The Romans expanded their political control over the entirety of the Mediterranean Basin and maintained this universal empire for hundreds of years. If we take Rome from its foundation to its last effective presence at Byzantium, its history can be measured in millennia, like Ancient Egyptian civilization. Western historians always have, in their back of their minds, the cautionary tale of Rome: a single, universal civilization effectively dominating the known world, utterly failing and leaving in its wake confusion, social collapse, conflict, and Balkanization. This cautionary tale is often understood as a moral lesson for our time (cf. Manifest Destiny: Roman and American).

No historical narrative that summarizes thousands of years of history into some neat schema could ever be quite true; it is an oversimplification in order to give us a “big picture” view of the trajectory of western civilization, but oversimplifications have their place, side-by-side with soporific detail. Either approach risks alienating some part of the audience, which audience is us, today, inheriting these historical traditions at the same time as we look forward into the future.  

It is possible that this oversimplified narrative of Roman expansion, overextension, decline, and failure is the source of the idée fixe of world government in futurism. World government is what was effectively lost when the western Roman Empire failed, and western civilization ever since that time can be understood as the conscious or unconscious attempt to recover that lost world government of the Roman imperium. Dante was quite explicit about this in his pamphlet De Monarchia (often translated into English as On World Government).  

Whether or not the explanation of the world government idée fixe ultimately is to be derived from the western historical imagination being haunted by the specter of Roman collapse, or is due to some other cause, is not ultimately decisive; it may bear upon the question and its eventual resolution, but I do not think it will be decisive. So let us widen our scope and consider three other sources of the intellectual fixation on world government; specifically, let us consider three ideas that loom large in the idea of world government, even if these ideas are not often made explicit:  

The Political Idea

The Planetary Idea

The Universalist Idea

We will take up each of these in turn.

The Political Idea

If we understand civilization to be a form of social organization, and we understand social organization to be intrinsically and essentially political, then it follows that civilization is intrinsically and essentially political. In brief, civilization is a political phenomenon. And one can further conclude that, when the scattered and diverse civilizations of our homeworld began to grow together in a planetary concrescence, because the world entire is settled and populated, then the emergent planetary civilization, being intrinsically and essentially political, should also be converging on a common planetary political framework. The scattered and diverse political structures of the once numerous civilization of our world would, it seems, also grow together into a planetary concrescence of political institutions.

If, on the other hand, one denies that civilization is intrinsically and essentially political, then the growing together of civilizations originally separate does not necessarily entail the growing together of political regimes originally separate. Civililzation may become planetary (arguably, it is already planetary at this time), but since civilization is not intrinsically or essentially political, the planetary scale of civilization does not entail planetary scale political institutions.

The relationship of civilization to political order is a complex one, so that one might argue either side of the question and be able to produce historical examples of either the coincidence of civilization and political order, or the divergence of civilization and political order. Clearly, one of the emergent properties of civilization has been the emergence of sophisticated political institutions. This has been necessary because civilizations join together a far larger number of individuals than can be found in a nomadic band of hunter-gatherers, a tribe, or a clan, which usually increase to the number of individuals with whom stable social relationships are possible (known as Dunbar’s number), and fission thereafter. The institutions of civilization are a “work around” for the limitations imposed by Dunbar’s number.

However, emergent political institutions of civilization do not necessarily entail top-down unification of peoples in relation to some central authority (and the idea that the unified peoples inhabit a particular geographical territory is a later artifact of the territorial principle in law, which more or less corresponds with the origins of the nation-state). One of the most familiar forms that civilization takes is that of a network of cities bound in relationships of cooperation, competition, and conflict with one another (I call this my pragmatic definition of civilization), all cities of which network share in a common civilization, but not a common government. We find this pattern among the cities of ancient Mesopotamia, swept now into one empire, and then later into another, and we find the same pattern among the Mayan cities of ancient Mesoamerica, as well as among the many cities of the Indus Valley civilization, and so on. We understand that when Siyaj Kʼakʼ installed Yax Nuun Ahiin I as king of Tikal in 379 AD that this was a political struggle internal to Mayan civilization and that it does not represent the conquest of one civilization by another.  

I argue that the identification of civilization with a (single) political regime is reductionist, since civilization is a much more comprehensive conception than that of political order, as seen from rival political orders contending for power within one and the same civilization. That some civilizations have been unified on an imperial basis (e.g., ancient Egypt after the unification of Upper and Lower Egypt about 3100 BC, and China throughout much of its history since Ying Zheng founded the Qin Dynasty after the Warring States period) demonstrates only that imperial unification of one civilization into a single political order is one possibility among many possible political orders that might hold within a given civilization.      

The Planetary Idea

In the distant past, when there were far fewer human beings, the size of Earth was sufficient to be effectively indefinite in extent. Small bands of hunter-gatherers could wander for generations, crossing paths with other bands, but with any band able to seek its own uncontested territory if only that band were willing to migrate further than its neighbors. As noted in the above section, nomadic bands fell well within the limits of Dunbar’s number, and as this number was approached by a growing band, that band could fission and the resulting two or more bands would then be free to go their separate ways, maintaining the effective social order.

Later, when civilizations began to appear—and even before that when nomadic bands began to settle down into patterns of village agriculture—still Earth was large enough that civilizations could expand to the extent of their ability, sometimes impinging upon other civilizations, but also often without opposition. The remaining nomadic bands would recede further from arable land as the settled agricultural peoples expanded, with the last of the nomadic bands either retreating into the mountains and becoming mountain peoples with a distinctive way of life dictated by this distinctive geography, or becoming pastoralists and eventually horse nomads who learned to raid and to conquer the settled peoples through their mastery of mobile fire.

Now the entirety of Earth’s surface has been mapped and claimed and there are no frontiers; all territories are claimed by nation-states, or their administration is agreed upon by nation-states (as with the “Empty Quarter” in the Arabian Peninsula or Antarctica). Territorial expansion is now a zero sum game: one nation-state can expand only at the expense of another nation-state. With Earth being entirely divided up among nation-states, civilization is to be found on every inhabited continent, and many of the institutions of civilization are planetary in scale. The Earth itself is the limit, the natural teleology, of civilization. Or, at least, Earth is the natural teleology of planetary civilization.

Having converged upon planetary civilization, the planetary idea presents iself: the natural telos of civilization is understood also to be the natural telos of humanity, of political order, of history, of society, of culture, and of civilization. Earth is entirely a civilized planet; the natural order of things is that the planet entire will slowly converge upon a consolidation of all institutions of planetary scale, including political institutions.

Needless to say, this unification of natural teleologies into an overarching planetary teleology is strictly speaking a non sequitur; we have no a priori assurance that the events and activities on Earth are “naturally” limited to Earth and find their fulfillment on Earth. Arguably, we have already imagined elaborate futures for civilization beyond Earth, so that even if human civilization fails to make a spacefaring breakout (or, alternatively, to achieve such an inflection point), we can still conceptualize spacefaring civilization, and if spacefaring civilization is not realized in actuality, it becomes an unfulfilled potential—meaning that the fulfillment represented by planetary civilization does not exhaust the meaning of civilization as it has developed to date.

The Universalist Idea

Since the Enlightenment, the idea that there should be universally applicable ideas and institutions, equally valid for all peoples at all times and in all places, has gained the upper hand over a de facto particularism, to the point that one must draw attention to this Enlightenment universalism simply to be aware of its presence as a pervasive influence on our conceptions of political order. Universalism has become like the air we breathe, or the water through which fish swim: it is the unquestioned medium that supports and surrounds everything else that we do.  

Universalism as applied to political thought holds that there is a uniquely optimal political structure through which human beings can best govern themselves. When Francis Fukuyama asserted in his “The End of History?” essay (1989) that this universal political order was none other than liberal democracy, which had won the Cold War contest and proved itself to be the “last man standing” after a global ideological war, this was, in a sense, the culmination of the Enlightenment trajectory toward a new political system that would replace the feudal hierarchies of the past.

It could be argued that the Roman idea of a cosmopolitan order was a pre-Enlightenment conception of political universalism; this may well be true, and, while I do not gainsay this interpretation, I see it in the context of larger developments. The backward-looking character of renaissance humanism, that raised the norms and ideals of classical antiquity as a superior model to that of the otherworldly ideals of the Middle Ages, institutionalized the Roman imperium in the western historical imagination, and it could be argued that the Enlightenment seamlessly took up this idealization of classical antiquity and ran with it in order to create its own norm and ideal of Enlightenment universalism. Enlightenment universalism, then, could be understood as the culmination of a long development in western history evolving from a cosmopolitan Hellenism of late antiquity to the explicit statement and political formulation of an idealized universal form of civilization.  

A Retrograde Ideal  

The idea of world government is backward-looking if we understand it as the attempt to recover the Roman achievement, it is backward-looking if we understand it as a tradition of futurist thought (there are comprehensive articles on world government on Wikipedia and the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, both of which discuss the long intellectual pedigree of the idea), and it is backward looking if world government is simply taken as the default position of futurism, the unquestioned political paradigm of futurism, because futurism has always advocated for world government.  

It would not be at all difficult for anyone who cared to do so, to investigate the possible permutations of political forms that future civilization might take, with an emphasis upon exploring possibilities that have been neglected in the light of the intellectual fixation on world government. That this has not happened in any kind of systematic way is a glaring weakness in futurist thought. The impoverishment of our political futurism is a reflection of an inability or unwillingness to think critically about political institutions, and especially to think critically about the big picture of political institutions in space and time. One must maintain a cultivated blindness to the complex reality of political institutions, and how they have functioned through history, to maintain unquestioned the idea of world government either as a practical outcome of planetary-scale civilization or as an ideal state of human affairs.

This is especially true in relationship to the idea of law. Without studying law one tends to view the institution of law as monolithic, but, in fact, law is anything but monolithic. There are many systems of law employed by many different political entities of overlapping jurisdictions. For one small example, a distinction is made between private international law and public international law, with private international law governing interaction of private individuals from different nation-states, and public international law being a agreed-upon framework within which independent nation-states resolve differences. As war takes place within the framework of public international law, nation-states may choose to resolve their differences through armed conflict and still abide by the provisions of public international law.  

If one conceptualizes world government as a single system of law for everyone, this idea is so out of touch with the reality of law—its tradition, it formulation, its promulgation, its policing, and its enforcement, all of which involve distinct institutions (the legislature, the executive, police, and courts)—it would be difficult to know where to start in pointing out the flaws in this idea.  

The Code Napoléon represented an attempt to formulate an Enlightenment universal civil code that prevailed throughout much of the Francophone world, but, significantly, the civil code was not truly universal in so far as it did not also serve as a military code, a criminal code, or a commercial code, each of which sectors had codes distinctive to each aspect of life. A comprehensive code can be cobbled together by joining the codes for distinct sectors of society and the economy, but when a legal code is assembled in this way ex post facto, it will inevitably involve conflicts that need to be rationalized. This was the situation with Roman law when Justinian commissioned the Corpus Iuris Civilis, which was a compendium and synthesis of Roman law that aimed to rationalize hundreds of years of Roman law into a single system of law.

The Corpus Iuris Civilis was formulated in Byzantium when Roman civilization had already largely failed in western civilization, so that as European civilization took shape in the aftermath of Roman collapse, it eventually came to draw upon the Corpus Iuris Civilis (which haunted the western historical imagination in law as in other areas of life), but it also drew from the traditions of law among the German tribes (the “barbarians”), as well as eventually from the English common law tradition, which represents the other focal point of legal thought in the western tradition, which is bookended by Roman statutory law and English common law, which latter is a body of case law.    

This brief sketch of the prolixity of legal traditions within the context of a single civilization could easily be multiplied. Most civilizations have a multiplicity of legal traditions superimposed upon each other over a long history, so that there are many legal codes that can claim to be traditional, and none that can claim to be universal. This is true for all the institutions of civilization, in each and every tradition of civilization; pluralism is the reality that cannot be wished away. Rather than engage in shadowboxing between the reality of a plurality of legal traditions and the monolithic shade of a pretense to universal legal traditions, we should embrace the reality of pluralism and learn to live with it, both at the level of local institutions and at the level of planetary institutions.

Taking Politics Seriously in a Planetary Context

I have earlier pointed out that one of the great disconnects in western thought is that between philosophy of law and political philosophy. One would suppose that law is the implementation of politics, and politics the sum total of law, so that these bodies of thought would be related as idea to execution, but in fact we find problems in the philosophy of law being discussed in a conceptual framework that only partially overlaps with political philosophy, and vice versa, so that there is no systematic approach to identifying problems common to both, much less resolving these problems. The philosophy of law in Anglo-American analytical philosophy has become tightly focused on legal positivism, while political philosophy remains mired in the presuppositions implied above that follow from unquestioned Enlightenment universalism.

We need to move beyond both the retrograde ideal of planetary governance and the disconnection between legal and political institutions. Taking politics seriously in a planetary context would mean a planetary revaluation of all values (what Nietzsche called Umwertung aller Werte), which in turn would mean a planetary revaluation of law and legal institutions, of politics and political institutions, and overcoming the disconnect between the two. Those who look toward planetary governance as an ideal for humanity have an intellectual responsibility not merely to invoke an empty concept of world governance, but to conduct just such a thorough-going revaluation of legal, political, and civilizational institutions, so that they can offer concrete proposals that transcend the past rather than recreating past follies on a larger scale.  

This is not something that could be accomplished by one comprehensive book, or by a few books. This would require a multi-generational research project that would benefit from the contribution of the best minds of all the world’s civilizations, spontaneously and willingly cooperating in the enterprise because the idea of planetary ideals and values becomes so compelling that one cannot but dedicate oneself to it. Until such time as such a multi-generational research project comes into being and begins to bear fruit, one should not make the mistake of taking the idea of world governance seriously, as in its current state it is merely the province of dilettantes, who have little of substance on offer. Until then, we are better off investing our time in studying permutations of the nation-state and how it is expressed in the anarchic international state system, since there is at least an extant body of scholarship undergirding this context for planetary affairs.

Konstantin Yuon, “New Planet” (1921)

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[kumail-fan]

CIVIL WAR  |  BIOGRAPHY Philip Sheridan

CIVIL WAR  |  BIOGRAPHY Philip Sheridan

Philip Henry Sheridan was once depicted by Abraham Lincoln as "An earthy colored, thick little chap, with a long body, short legs, insufficient neck to hang him, and such long arms that if his lower legs tingle he can scratch them without stooping." Still, "Little Phil" rose to enormous force and acclaim before his inconvenient demise of a respiratory failure at age 57.

He is generally acclaimed for his annihilation of the Shenandoah Valley in 1864, called "The Burning" by its inhabitants. He was additionally the subject of an incredibly well known sonnet named "Sheridan's Ride", where he (and his acclaimed horse, Rienzi) make all the difference by showing up without a moment to spare for the Battle of Cedar Creek.

Like Patrick Cleburne, Sheridan rose rapidly in position. In the fall of 1861, Sheridan was a staff official for Maj. Gen. Henry Halleck. He later became officer general in the Army of Southwest Missouri. With the assistance of persuasive companions he was selected Colonel of the second Michigan Cavalry in May, 1862. His first fight, Booneville, MS, intrigued Brig. Gen. William S. Rosecrans such a lot of that he, when all is said and done, was elevated to Brigadier General. After Stones River he was elevated to Major General.

Sheridan's men were essential for the powers which caught Missionary Ridge (close to Chattanooga) in 1863. At the point when Ulysses S. Award was elevated to General-in-Chief of the Union armed forces, he made Sheridan the authority of the Army of the Potomac's Cavalry Corps. This moved him from the Western Theater toward the Eastern Theater of activities. From the start, Sheridan's Corps was utilized for observation. His men were sent on a key striking mission toward Richmond in May 1864. At that point he battled with blended achievement in Grant's 1864 Overland Campaign.

During the Civil War, Virginia's Shenandoah Valley was an essential asset to the Confederacy. In addition to the fact that it served as the Confederate "breadbasket", it was a significant transportation course. The locale had seen two enormous scope crusades as of now when Gen. Ulysses S. Award chose to visit the Valley indeed in 1864. He sent Philip Sheridan set for make the Shenandoah Valley a "desolate waste".

In September, Sheridan crushed Jubal Early's more modest power at Third Winchester, and again at Fisher's Hill. At that point he started "The Burning" – annihilating stables, plants, rail lines, production lines – obliterating assets for which the Confederacy had a desperate need. He made more than 400 square miles of the Valley dreadful. "The Burning" foreshadowed William Tecumseh Sherman's "Walk to the Sea": another mission to deny assets to the Confederacy just as bring the conflict home to its regular citizens.

In October, be that as it may, Jubal Early found Sheridan napping. Early dispatched an unexpected assault at Cedar Creek on the nineteenth. Sheridan, nonetheless, was ten miles away in Winchester, Virginia. After hearing the sound of mounted guns shoot, Sheridan hustled to rejoin his powers. He showed up without a moment to spare to get everyone excited. Early's men, nonetheless, were experiencing appetite and started to plunder the unwanted Union camps. The activities of Sheridan (and Maj. Gen. Horatio Wright) halted the Union retreat and managed a serious hit to Early's military.

For his activities at Cedar Creek, Sheridan was elevated to Major General in the customary armed force. He likewise got a letter of appreciation from President Abraham Lincoln. The general enjoyed extraordinary Thomas Buchanan Read's sonnet, "Sheridan's Ride" – to such an extent that he renamed his pony "Winchester". The Union triumphs in the Shenandoah Valley came in the nick of time for Abraham Lincoln and aided the Republicans rout Democratic applicant George B. McClellan in the appointment of 1864.

Throughout the spring of 1865, Sheridan sought after Lee's military with hounded assurance. He caught Early's military in March. In April, Gen. Lee had to empty Petersburg when Sheridan remove his lines of help at Five Forks. Furthermore, at Sayler's Creek, he caught very nearly one fourth of Lee's military. At long last at Appomattox, Lee had to give up the Army of Northern Virginia when Sheridan's powers obstructed Lee's break course.

At war's end, Phil Sheridan was a legend to numerous Northerners. Gen. Award held him in the most elevated regard. In any case, Sheridan was not without his issues. He had stretched Grant's requests to the edge. He likewise eliminated Gettysburg legend Gouverneur Warren from order. It was subsequently decided that Warren's evacuation was ridiculous and inappropriate.

During Reconstruction, Sheridan was named to be the military legislative head of Texas and Louisiana (the Fifth Military District). Due to the seriousness of his organization there, President Andrew Johnson pronounced that Sheridan was a dictator and had him eliminated.

In 1867, Ulysses S. Award accused Sheridan of mollifying the Great Plains, where fighting with Native Americans was unleashing devastation. With an end goal to constrain the Plains individuals onto reservations, Sheridan utilized similar strategies he utilized in the Shenandoah Valley: he assaulted a few clans in their colder time of year quarters, and he advanced the far and wide butcher of American buffalo, their essential wellspring of food.

In 1871, the overall regulated military aid ventures during the Great Chicago Fire. He turned into the Commanding General of the United States Army on November 1, 1883, and on June 1, 1888, he was elevated to General of the Army of the United States – a similar position accomplished by Ulysses S. Award and William Tecumseh Sherman.

Sheridan is additionally generally answerable for the foundation of Yellowstone National Park – saving it from being offered to engineers.

In August 1888, Sheridan passed on after a progression of monstrous coronary failures. He was covered at Arlington National Cemetery.

Read more about  Philip Sheridan

[meret118]

In an earlier post I mentioned I see Andy riding Akhal-Tekes, or at least their ancestor. 

Joe would have probably been on a Barb, the native North African breed. 

Characteristics

The Barb is a light riding horse noted for its stamina. It has a powerful front end, high withers, short back, a sloping croup, and carries its tail low. It is hardy with clean legs and sound hooves. It does not have particularly good gaits, but gallops like a sprinter. It was used as breeding stock to develop racing breeds such as the Thoroughbred, American Quarter Horse, and Standardbred.[1]

The predominant color is gray, but bay, black, chestnut, and brown horses are also found. The Barb stands 1.47–1.57 metres (14.2–15.2 hands) at the withers.[2]

. . .

Despite its importance as a progenitor of other breeds, the Barb is less renowned than the Arab, possibly because it was considered a less attractive-looking breed. In other important qualities, the Barb has the same stamina and endurance, the same ability to thrive on meager rations, and the same sure-footedness and speed over short distances. The Barb also was valued for its "strong, short-coupled body, perfect for collection— the posture that makes weight-bearing easiest for the horse—its eagerness to learn and its gentle nature."[7] Because of these characteristics, beginning in the 16th century, the horses were also trained for dressage, in Paris and other European capitals. Sixteenth-century and later portraits of royalty on horses frequently portrayed the latter in dressage positions.[7]

They were a foundation breed for the Andalusian, and based on the pictures look like a slightly smaller, slimmer version of that horse to me. (My HC is that Joe and Nicky spent many happy years in Al-Andalus during it’s heyday, and Nicky fell in love with the Andalusian breed there.)   

@historic-old-guard-lover

[lorem-text]

Reader Request: Top 5 Horse Breeds

There are so many horse breeds that it would take an entire book to cover the subject. A breed for every purpose, horses come in all shapes, colors, and sizes.

Yet, despite the stiff and extensive competition, a number of breeds have become consistent favorites. While we can't give you a cheat sheet for all of them, we enlisted the help of horse expert and employee at Saffyre Sanctuary Maxine Montoya to bring you the Top 5 Horse Breeds in the equestrian world.

5. Morgan

Compact, brave and agreeable, the Morgan horse is best known for its versatility. One of the oldest breeds developed in the United States, all Morgans trace back to the foundation sire, Figure.

Small in stature but big in heart, they are used today as a riding horse and driving horses and excel in the western and saddle seat disciplines. The Morgan horse is also the state animal of Vermont.

4. Tennessee Walker

The Tennessee Walker is a gaited breed of horse that was developed in the Southern United States during the 18th century for use on farms and plantations.

Its smooth gaits, such as the four-beat "running walk," make it comfortable for riding long distances, so it was the mount of choice for many Civil War generals.

In fact, it is believed that Robert E. Lee's mount, Traveler, was part Tennessee Walking Horse. Today, Tennessee Walkers are used as both show horses and pleasure mounts.

3. Thoroughbred

The Thoroughbred is best known for its use in horse racing. Developed in England in the 17th and 18th century, this breed is high spirited and known for its heart.

They make excellent sport horses, and are used as hunters and jumpers, and as mounts for dressage, polo and fox hunting.

2. Quarter Horse

This American breed is arguably the most popular breed in the United States, and the American Quarter Horse Association is the largest breed registry in the world.

Known as the fastest breed of horse over short distances, Quarter horses are popular mounts for both trail and competition. They are often used for western pleasure riding and other western events such as barrel racing, roping, and cutting, but they can also make excellent hunt seat mounts and even racehorses.

1. Arabian

The Arabian horse has long been a favorite the world over. Hailing from the Arabian Peninsula, this breed is easy to spot with its distinctive head shape and high, proud tail carriage.

It is thought to be one of the oldest breeds, and is known for its spirit and endurance. Arabians are used today in many disciplines, including western, saddle seat, and even dressage.

The list of horse breeds is exhaustive but these 5 are the most popular and acclaimed among equestrian circles. Now, you too can spend your time leisurely discussing the finer details of the equestrian world with your friends and colleagues over a nice glass of wine. 

Just remember; never underestimate dressage.

Eliot Wilde, journalist and writer for Night Owl and host of Night Owl FM

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[loretranscripts]

Lore Episode 20: Homestead (Transcript) - 2nd November 2015

tw: racism, slavery, child death, suicide, disease, ghosts Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

[Reminder of upcoming live shows at the time]

“Home sweet home”: for most of us, those words are about as true as it gets. The place we call home can easily become the centre of our universe and is often the source of our feelings of security and peace. Most people who tell you stories about their childhood home do so with wide eyes and a wistful smile. Home is, as they say, where the heart is. Our home is the place where we experience life, we fill each room with our laughter, we chase our passions, we make plans for the future. You might remember holidays in the living room, or breakfast conversations, or exploring the attic on a winter day. These homes, nothing more than buildings that we dwell in, somehow become a part of us, but life isn’t always roses and laughter. Sometimes the things we experience are… difficult, or painful, or both. Sometimes people do things that leave a lasting mark, like an echo that carries on through the years, and upon occasion these dark moments are even experienced within our home. From Macbeth to American Horror Story, from the typewriters of Shirley Jackson and Stephen King, it has been made abundantly clear just how much power the home can have over our lives. Maybe it’s the tragedy or the memories, maybe it’s the dark acts committed in the shadows or the secrets buried beneath the foundations, both metaphorical and literal. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t take a popular novelist or a historian to point out the simple truth: there’s no place like home, and considering what’s been known to happen there, that might be a good thing. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

When Christopher and Elizabeth Crowley built their home in the new South Wales town of Junee in south-eastern Australia, they envisioned a normal, happy future for themselves. Christopher Crowley had caught wind of the impending construction of the Great Southern Railway Line through Junee, and so he built the Railway Hotel across from the station, and it paid off. In 1884, they finished construction on a new home they called “Monte Cristo”. It wasn’t a mansion by any stretch of the imagination, but it did have nine rooms, a stable for his prized race horse, a dairy barn and a separate ballroom, although that eventually became the servants’ quarters. But life wasn’t idyllic for the Crowley family. While carrying one of the little Crowley girls, their nanny dropped her down the stairs, where she died from the injuries. She claimed that an unseen force had reached out and knocked the child from her arms. Whatever the cause, the Crowleys had to go through the ordeal of burying a child, something no parent should have to endure. In 1910, Mr. Crowley’s starched shirt collars began to rub the skin on his neck. The abscess that formed became gangrenous, and by December of that year he died as a result of a heart attack, brought on (they say) by the wound.  After her husband’s death, Elizabeth, already known to be a harsh, disciplined woman, went into a state of mourning that lasted the rest of her life. She converted one of the upstairs rooms into a chapel and spent much of her time there. According to local lore, she only left the house twice before her death in 1933.

Other tragedies found their way into Monte Cristo. A pregnant maid committed suicide by jumping from the top storey of the house; she bled to death on the front steps. Maurice, the stable boy,/ burnt to death in a fire, and in 1961, the caretaker of the house was shot and killed by a local boy, who had been inspired by the recent Hitchcock film, Psycho. Today, many young children feel anxious near the stairs. A dark stain has been seen on the front steps of the house, but it seems to fade in and out of view over time. The shape of a young woman in a white gown has been witnessed passing in front of the windows of the front balcony, and some believe it’s the spirit of the pregnant maid, repeating her final moments over and over. Others claim to have seen a young boy wandering around near the site of the coach house. A few visitors to the house have witnessed the figure of an older man in the upstairs hallway, and most have assumed it to be Mr. Crowley, but it’s his wife, Elizabeth, who is most commonly seen, almost as if she hasn’t fully let go of her home yet. She has been reported to appear in the dining room, where she’s ordered people to leave the room. Others have seen her ghostly figure in the chapel upstairs, dressed in black as if mourning for a lost loved one.

Across the world, in the state of Kentucky, another home became the scene of tragedy and pain. Their names have slipped from history, but in Allen county, one of the families there in the early 1860s owned a number of slaves. According to local stories, most of the slaves lived in their own quarters on the property, but the husband kept chains in the basement of the family home, for times when he wanted to… discipline one or two of them. When the civil war broke out, word began to spread among the slaves of the south that it would be better to escape and run north, so plans were made in their small dormitory over many weeks. Finally, the night came, and the entire group of slaves left the homestead and headed north. All of them, that is, except for the two still chained up in the basement of the owners’ home. Whether it was the noise of their escape or part of his usual evening rounds, the man soon discovered that his slaves were gone. The stories describe how he spent hours that night on horseback with his gun, riding north and looking for his runaway slaves, but they were never found. Instead, the man returned home empty-handed and full of rage. Fuelled by his anger, he descended into the basement, where he shot and killed both captive men. Later, after he had cooled off, he was said to have buried the bodies there in the dirt floor of the cellar, and then, months later, the man was called into service with the confederate army, where he died in battle. The widow never opened the cellar door again – in fact, even though it was in the middle of the house, she had it boarded up. There’s a lot of symbolism in that single action, if you’re looking for that sort of thing. I think she just wanted to make sure no one ever found the bodies her husband had buried beneath the dirt floor down there. She passed away a few years later due to illness, and the house was sold to distant relatives. When the new family began to move in, they opened the cellar and discovered that it reeked with a powerful odour. They vented the space and cleaned it as best they could, but the smell never went away. It wasn’t long before their children began to tell them about hearing sounds at night, that seemed to come from the cellar. They dismissed it as childhood fantasies, but the stories continued. One night, many months later, the husband and wife were both pulled from sleep by strange sounds. She stayed in bed while he went down to investigate. From their room, she claimed she heard a loud cry, and then a crash. She raced out of bed and ran to the cellar door. When she got there, she found her husband. He was lying dead on the dirt floor at the bottom of the cellar stairs, his neck broken and twisted. There are many stories like these, but they all teach the same, bitter lesson. Sometimes, our homes attract tragedy, and sometimes, we create it ourselves.

When Daniel Benton built his small, red, Cape-style home in Tolland, Connecticut, I doubt he imagined it would still be standing today. It’s not enormous like some of the plantation homes one might find in the south, but for a house built in 1720, it was comfortable, and in complete contrast to our modern, mobile life of the 21st century, it stayed in the Benton family until 1932. That’s over 210 years, for those of you who are counting, and that’s a very long time. The family grew, and by the 1770s, Daniel Benton had three grown grandsons who lived in the house with him. One of them, Elisha, had taken an interest in a young woman in town named Jemima Barrows. She was the daughter of a cabinet maker, and in a social station below that of the Bentons, and so Elisha’s family looked down on the romance. They did everything they could to discourage them, but Elisha and Jemima were stubborn. In 1775, an alarm was raised in Lexington, Massachusetts that was heard across the countryside, thanks to riders like Paul Revere. Colonists from all across New England came to join the fight, and among them were the three Benton grandchildren. While Daniel Benton was sad to see his grandchildren go off to war, there was some relief knowing that the separation just might be the thing that Elisha needed to take his mind off the young woman. It is thought by historians that Daniel hoped the war might bring an end to their relationship forever. He was only partly right. A year later, in 1776, all three of the Benton brothers were captured by British forces and taken to Long Island, where they were imprisoned on ships in the sound. These prison ships were notorious for their unsanitary conditions and the diseases that ran wild through the inmates. It was even thought that the British soldiers working the ships actually handed out food and bedding that was contaminated with smallpox. Soon, Daniel Benton received word that the two oldest of his grandsons had died while aboard the prison ships, but no word came of the whereabouts of Elisha. He sent for news, and waited impatiently, but before he could learn the truth, Daniel Benton passed away.

It was weeks later when the answer finally came: Elisha was free, and being bought home, but he was sick with smallpox. This was bittersweet news for the Benton family. On one hand, Elisha was coming home - that was good for everyone - but on the other, smallpox was deadly. Nearly half of everyone who contracted the disease eventually died, and those were not the kind of odds that gave people hope. Soldiers brought Elisha into the house and he was guided straight to a room near the kitchen known as “the dying and borning room”, where those giving birth or sick with illness could be kept away from the rest of the house and cared for. It was a colonial American version of quarantine and intensive care, but the word spread of Elisha’s return. Not every son and grandson returned from war, something even homes today still deal with, and one of those who caught wind of the young Benton’s arrival was Jemima Barrows. She had waited and stayed true to her beloved, and there was nothing she had hoped for more. Elisha had come home. I imagine she ran rather quickly to the doorstep of the Benton home. I would imagine that she knocked, as well, being from a lower social status, after all, but it must have been hard for her not to kick the door in and race to find her beloved. Jemima knew her place, though, and she waited for someone to come to the door. She was told that Elisha was sick, and that she needed to go back home, but Jemima turned out to be a very stubborn young woman. Even when they told her that he was dying and sick with a highly contagious and deadly disease, she wouldn’t relent, and in the end, she won. Jemima was allowed into the house, where she set herself up as his sole care-taker and nurse. After a time, Jemima’s parents became worried. Their daughter hadn’t come home all day, and so they made their way to the Benton home and asked if they had seen her. When they discovered that she was, in fact, in the room caring for a smallpox patient, it is said that they wept. Jemima’s mother said they would go back home and get clothing for their daughter, and then they quickly left the Benton house. They never came back.

Elisha Benton died on January 21st, 1776, after weeks of battling the smallpox that ravaged his body. Jemima stayed by his side the entire time, caring for him through it all, but her sacrifice did not come without a price. In the final days of Elisha’s life, she too began to show signs of the illness. Within weeks, she was also dead. The couple was buried on the Benton family property alongside the stone walls that line the road to the house, but due to burial customs at the time, they were not allowed to share the same plot. Instead, they were separated by about 40ft, one grave on either side of the road. It sounds like the end of a tragic story, and in some ways, it is. Elisha and Jemima were never able to marry, and their young lives were cut short. But in other ways, they live on. According to some, it’s their separation outside that has led to the reports of the restless spirits within the home. The Benton home was sold in 1932, and then again in 1969 to the Tolland Historical Society. It was converted into a museum shortly after, but the influx of visitors only served to draw out more reports of mysterious occurrences. One member of the staff claimed that her dog would not enter the dining room. When she picked the animal up and moved it to the sitting room, it refused to go anywhere else after that. Others have felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding and unwelcome. One woman, after cheerfully asking to visit the second floor, climbed the narrow staircase only to return moments later, telling the staff: “I never want to go up there again”. Noises have been heard throughout the house that are difficult to explain: knocking, footsteps, and what sounds like the snapping of branches have all been reported by visitors. Some have even heard what sounds like distant voices, and sometimes the movement of furniture. Others have heard what they describe as a weeping woman - someone who is mourning a deep loss. Those familiar with the homestead’s past have assumed the woman is Jemima, crying for her lost love. A few have even seen the figure of a young woman in a white dress in various places in the house, searching for something no one else can see.

At times, the home has been used by overnight guests. One couple actually lived there for a few weeks while their home was being renovated, and on one occasion entertained a guest of their own. They claimed that on the night of their friend’s visit, the conversation in front of the fireplace was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, thumping down the hallway from the eastern door of the home. The sounds moved closer and closer to the living room, and then just stopped. According to the woman, their guest was packed and gone within 15 minutes. Another couple who stayed overnight in the Benton homestead reported a very odd experience that happened during their stay. Their hosts had retired to sleep upstairs and they themselves had settled down in the living room, which was serving double duty as a guest room. The wife claims that she was awoken in the middle of the night. It was nearly completely dark in the room, but she felt as if someone, or something, were in the room with her. And then, as if materialising out of the darkness, a pair of legs appeared near the head of the bed. A man, she assumed, was standing there, close to her. Her first assumption was that her host had come down to play a joke on her, maybe that was the kind of guy he was, but the middle of the night is probably the worst time to play the joker, no matter who you are. Either way, she decided to call his bluff, and waited to see what he would do. Nothing could have prepared her for what happened next, though. A hand came out of the darkness and quickly covered her mouth. She flinched but held her ground. If he was going to try and frighten her, she said, he was in for a surprise. She pretended not to care, but after a few moments it became hard to breathe, and in the end, panic took over. Pushing the hand away, she sat up and whispered harshly at the figure: “What are you up to?” Almost instantly, everything vanished; the legs, the hand, all of it, just… gone. The following morning, she brought up her experience at breakfast and asked the hosting couple what the reason was for their prank. The husband and wife looked at each other with confused expressions on their faces. They each made the same claim: no one had come downstairs during the night.

The places we live can take on a certain life of their own. We fill them with our personality, our celebrations, and sometimes even our tragedy, and although we can move on, whether by packing up and moving out, or literally by leaving this life behind, we often leave pieces of ourselves behind. Like a cardboard box forgotten in the back corner of the attic, some of our echoes stay behind where others can discover them. Some call them ghosts, others think of them as “bad vibrations” – I don’t think any of us would be wrong no matter what language we use. In the end, something stays behind, and it’s not always easy to see. Sometimes, though, it is. A few years ago, an architectural photographer visited the Benton homestead with his sister in order to get some pictures for a project they were collaborating on. They wondered the property outside, looking for the best view of the house. It’s gorgeous, really, if you have a thing for antique, First Period homes, and the deep red paint on the wood clapboard is very classy and elegant. The project involved using polaroid cameras, the kind that immediately kicks out a small, white-framed photograph that slowly fades into clarity. When they found the perfect place to shoot the house, very near to the graves of Elisha and Jemima incidentally, the photographer took a picture. Something was wrong with the photo, so he took another. That one, too, seemed wrong. He showed his sister, and they tried a third, then a fourth, and then a fifth and a sixth. Finally, they switched to a backup camera, one that had just come back from a camera shop where it had been repaired, but the photographs that came out of the new camera were the same. It wasn’t the camera, they realised, it was the house. All of the defective photos had the same flaw, as clear and easy to spot as the house itself. There, in each image, the second storey window was glowing, as if something bright and hazy were just behind the glass.

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