Fatti maschii parole femine

Farmwife is in Maryland, where the people live by the motto, "fatti maschii parole femine". I believe this translates roughly to, "strong deeds, gentle brays". 

I am a mule of strong deeds where hay is concerned--I can eat the heck out of those flakes, no questions asked, no hesitation. My hoof- and body-soreness make it hard for Farmwife to assess the strength of my deeds outside the paddock, since most of my surmounting of obstacles, towing of vehicles, fording of waterways, and toting of riders was done before we were acquainted, but I can tell you that Puck's deeds are stronger than mine in the paddock only where food is NOT involved. When he says scurry, I scurry. When he says move away from the fence, I move away from the fence. When he says get away from the hay, I say, "ears to you, buddy" and keep right on eating. 

Farmwife departed WA under the impression that she might see steeplechasers, eventers, or jumpers in MD. The news is even better—she has seen a miniature donkey, not three miles from the house! She didn’t take his picture out of respect for his privacy so we’re sharing this art instead, from Uncle Jody’s dining room. 

Wish Farmwife luck in making it out of the greater DC area without coming anywhere near tomorrow’s inauguration. No, thank you! We’re giving that scene a VERY wide berth. 

2025 State of the Farmlet Address

A red stag photographed by Farmwife in Scotland, from whence the family descends
and to where they voyaged in September 2024. 

Dear Mules and Countrywomen, 

It is my pleasure to report to you today, from my forested vantage point, that the Farmlet is well. 

It has been eight years since my family had a Farmlet to report upon, and this one is among the best. It is 25 minutes south of Casa de Bartholomule-Teaspoon, where you may remember the family lived for a time, and situated on the same verdant island. It is 120 minutes south of Bent Barrow Farm, where the ancient rhododendron still blooms and where FenBar's old barn of many colors still stands and shelters farm machinery. This place has rhododendrons, too, encircling a lawn which slopes down to my barn and paddock. We call the barn Hoofhouse, and it is going to be painted black in the spring to match the house and my companion, Puck. 

My paddock, by design, does not overlap the lawn but instead winds through a mixed hemlock, fir, and alder forest. I am told this is better for my laminitis. I don't believe everything I am told. The humans have intentions to lengthen the track through the forest by several hundred feet next year, after they recover from the energetic and financial expense of installing Hoofhouse and my first 400 feet of fencing. I am not unlike a pony in my ability to test fences, so nothing but the best will do for me. 

The human house, with an attached shop, lies not more than 150 feet from me. My human started visiting this house in summer 2023, moved into this house in spring of 2024, along with her youngest daughter, and married the man of this house in November. During the day the man goes into the shop and builds beautiful things out of metal and glass, and when Farmwife travels for school board conferences he is the one who brings me breakfast in bed. 

The man is very wonderful, and has in fact been Farmwife's friend for years and years. It was only too easy for Farmwife to fall head over heels in love with this man once they noticed they were both single at the same time—a miraculously timed discovery. On their first date, they talked about motorcycles—he had gotten his learner's permit the month before, and she was scheduled to get hers the week after. They just happened to dive headlong into the hobby at the same time, by chance, and now there are 7 motorcycles in the family! 

Do you remember how Fenway used to speak of Larval Human #1? She, who is 20 and in college now, celebrated her 12th birthday at this man's pinball arcade (now closed). Weanling Human, who is 24 and a firefighter now, says one of her first memories is of playing with his youngest daughter in the yard. Their families have been entangled in many ways, with friendships woven among friendships spanning generations. Farmwife is very gratified to be a step mom now, and together they share five adult children and a sixth nearly so. Larval Human #2, the youngest, is finishing her senior year of high school and planning grand adventures for the year to come.

And do you remember when, about four years ago, Farmwife considered a $10,000 riding mule but instead purchased me, Songbird? And remember how I racked up $10k in vet bills in relatively short order without ever becoming sound? Well, that mule's name was Captain. Whether out of regret or whimsy, Farmwife named her favorite motorcycle Captain Fantastic. This is an homage both to this mule and to a favorite movie. Farmwife now rides Cappy whenever she feels like it without worrying about rotated coffin bones or thin soles or stiff knees. She did have some trouble with a gas tank overflow valve, but that was covered under warranty. She is learning to change her own tires, with help from her husband, but still outsources hoof trims to the professional (Auntie Cookie) on account of my Special Needs.

Arrietty G. Teaspoon still lives in Sequim, Washington where she is a companion to an older appaloosa mare and their human steward. We understand that, being the youngest of the trio, she may eventually come home for retirement. In the meantime, we hear reports that she is very well. I've not met her, personally, but being Uncle Fenny's widow makes her uniquely qualified to confirm Farmwife's reports of his impeccable character and flawless beauty. I can't wait to interview her on the subject when eventually we meet. 

It's not hard living in the presence of Fenway's memory—it's less a shadow than a warm glow, a reminder that mules can be among the best of all people and that friendship between an equine and a human can change both lives for the better. Farmwife talks of him as her muse, her adventure buddy, her therapist, and her mentor as she discovered both her writer's voice and her self worth during a rather hard chapter of life. 

Farmwife has been having a particularly great time, lately, in spite of national and international news often boding ill. In part, I credit her orthodontist. For 43 years, she was reluctant to smile due to very crooked teeth. In March 2023, she was single and between jobs. With no one to judge her, she got braces. The next month, she started her dream job as Executive Director of a 38 year old environmental nonprofit. Three months after that, she started dating this motorcycle man. The next autumn, she applied to law school and was admitted to their online MSL program in a remedy of a "path not taken" regret that had haunted her since 2003. School starts next week. The braces come off next month, or thereabouts, and she has smiled more this year than I think at any time in her whole entire life. 

We owe you a new report on the Cast of Characters, which includes old favorites like Clover the Chihuahua (15 and glowing!) and new friends like Roger, aka "Surly Cat". We'll tell you more soon, I promise! 

May your 2025 bring health, joy, and a a great abundance of fragrant hay to you and yours. 

Ears to You,

Songbird Sparrowgrass. 

Being Amazing

 

This sign, which used to be in TL's arcade, now sits in our yard and tells me to Be Amazing. I find this rather redundant since being amazing is as natural to me as eating or breathing. All that aside, I do find the sign striking with its twinkling lights and vibrant colors. 

TL, who made the sign, tells us it might look nice mounted to the roof of my little barn. What do you think? 

That Which Was Foretold Has Come To Pass

 

After some negotiation and exchange of words like "motheaten" and "raggedy", Farmwife talked me into enduring the roaching of my mane, which I had rubbed on the fence while reaching for delectable edibles at my previous home. We both agreed on four things:

1)  it was essential to retain my forelock, which is a thing of splendor that adds greatly to my dashing good looks. I'll get a picture for you tomorrow.

2) once the cut has grown out a bit, she will give me those fancy castle turrets that she used to style for Fenway. 

3) we owe our dear readers a better photo, when I have not just rolled in the mud. 

4) there is no hairstyle capable of making me look anything but marvelous. 

Brayking news

I never got to meet Uncle Fenny but I hear a lot about him and sometimes I think I feel his presence. He would have wanted me to give you an update, as there are some very exciting things happening in our family now—things he would have very much wanted for us. 

Fenway Bartholomule died, as you may well remember, on the eve of Farmwife's 39th birthday. He went suddenly and peacefully and we still don't know why. He was 22. He was living at our good friend's place, since the family home had been sold in a divorce. Those were strange years. Farmwife sometimes thinks he stayed just long enough to help her find herself, and left when he knew she'd be ok.

I joined the family in 2021, and I've passed this time living at a family member's house among myriad horses, ponies, rabbits, dogs, and chickens. I was happy enough there, but Farmwife and I never got to know one another as closely as we both would have liked. Most days, I didn't see her. Farmwife was living in the suburbs, and working full time, and raising her family. Her daughters are now 17, 20, and 24. Her stepchildren are 25, 31, and 34.

Ah, did I forget to tell you? Farmwife is a step mother! She went tumbling, some time ago, head over heels into love. Newly married, she is happier than a pig in straw*. She could hardly adore someone more than she adores her husband. It's a silly thing to see, and I rather like it for her.

Farmwife's new husband, whom we shall call TL (The Love), caused a really splendid little barn—Hoofhouse—to be built in their front yard for me and my best friend Puck. Two days ago, to the great delight of everyone involved, we moved in with the family! So far, we love it here. Our forested paddock has the right mix of edible foliage, dappled shade, sweet sunbeams, soft footing, meandering paths, and a trough full of the most delicious water. TL, despite being new at horse and mule husbandry, has already proven himself by helping stack timothy and teff hay to the rafters.

I was never sure if I should follow in Uncle Fen's hoofsteps as a blogger before now, but after a couple of days of living together here at Hoofhouse I'm pretty sure Farmwife and I have some stories to tell together. I think you should keep your ears tuned, and expect to hear more from us.

Watch for the 2025 State of the Farmlet Address, which will come with updates about beloved family members of yore—Clover the Chihuahua, for instance, who has just one eye and more lipomas than you can shake a stick at but is still a delight—and new ones yet to be introduced. It will be a pleasure to bray to you.

Ears to you,
Songbird Sparrowgrass

*contrary to the more offensive version of this simile, pigs don't like to wallow in excrement.

One person I miss

I have the best of friends around me here at this new home! I have my human Granny and Gruncle (is he a grandpa? Is he an uncle? I'm not sure), I have a horse companion beside me and two other horse companions a little further down the row, and I have a wonderful assortment of ponies, miniature horses, and miniature mules darting about and making adorable little sounds with their adorable little faces at all hours of the day and night. It's really quite lovely. I have chickens and rabbits and cats to befriend, and I have visits from the Woman and her blue dog. 

My friend Scotty, who lives on my right, is a wise old chestnut with a soothing presence. My friend Cadbury, who lives on my left, is a fiery miniature stallion (a rescue, for whom gelding was medically contraindicated) who ensures our life is never boring. 

I miss one person from the boarding barn—a sweet little girl who was the very first person I came to trust in that new place. She was kind to me from the outset, and could always be counted on for a treat and a currying if my own human wasn't available to attend me. 

Perhaps she can come visit me at my new home one day. I will ask my human Granny to prepare a picnic! I should let her taste my new salt block—it's really, really delicious. In fact, I like it so much that I am going to be getting some loose salt so that I can have even more sodium in my diet without wearing out my poor tongue! 

Tunefully yours,

Songbird

The Scoop on Bird

 Human here, to give you the scoop on Songbird.

He is shiny, sweet, and wonderful . . . and a little bit broken hearted. (Fenway was once, too.) As I've gotten to know him more over the last month, I've come to understand that he associates humans with unpleasantness, at least, and suffering, at worst. He has some gnarly scars. He flinches away from touch, though he warms up quickly when treats are involved. He's quite a foodie. He's easily startled. He's alert, and vigilant. He doesn't always feel safe.

He also really likes it at my mom's house, which has a slower pace than the wonderful boarding and lesson barn where he lived in June. He appreciates the predictable routine, the long quiet afternoons, and the retired horses who give him company. He has flattened the grass under the big cedar out back and created nests to rest in. The soft footing at my mom's is better for his newly bare feet. He is starting to believe he'll be ok. 

I have ridden him twice—once when I bought him, where I rode just long enough to tell that he was trained and obedient. Once about three weeks later, for just a few minutes, while I experimented with saddle fit. My saddle fits him nicely, but I don't think his head is in the right space for being ridden. I am going to wait until he looks forward to seeing me—and trusts me to touch him, catch him, lead him out the gate and down the trail for adventures—and then he and I will discuss whether he would like to be a saddle mule. 

I am so very happy I bought him—he is a goodhearted, beautiful boy and he deserves years of happiness after his years of toil. I think we are going to be very good friends indeed.