In this blistering heat, there isn't much to tell about the garden.  Weeds in some places are being mowed rather than pulled to simply survive to do battle when the heat wave breaks.  Articles all across the internet detail how the heat and drought are ravaging the farms across the country.  The wonderful advantage of living in Washington is that while on the eastern side we might not see an abundance of rain, we do have quite a few rivers.  In Prosser, we operate off the Yakima, in Burbank, the Snake, and farms up and down the state draw off of the might Columbia.  When people talk about alternative energy to coal and gas, I have to shake my head.  Most of my life has been spent on water power from dams.  I have heard about the plight of salmon, but not that of the pollution of "clean coal".  Instead, these rivers that never cease to flow, keep us here in Washington going even while others falter.  I have to count my blessings to be so lucky.  Our garden is thriving, even if a few plants have taken a need to be watered twice a day.  The corn, the crop of the Midwest, here is thrilled to be baking.  It helps differentiate between the plant we want and the weeds around it.  The weather people promise a break, but that hasn't been coming.  When it does, maybe I'll be back out there battling weeds with something other than a lawn mower.  Until then, weeds remain the enemy, but I'll wait to fight another day.

Been a crazy busy couple of days, so other than bemoaning weeds, there is nothing more on the farm or sewing front.  I really need to buckle down and get to designing clothes for Rambo.  Don't ask.  However, I'm running around this week, cleaning stalls here and teaching lessons over there.  When that settles, I can finally sit down with some fabric and my sewing machine. 

Speaking of teaching lessons, and this blog is called Ramblings for a reason, let me just say that "lesson moms" are far worse than hockey or soccer moms.  There is a rule at most horse shows that mothers and coaches cannot coach from the rail.  This rule exists for a reason, but it doesn't stop some mothers from coaching during lessons.  Memorably, last week I met the worst of the worst.  There comes a time in every person's life that they want to say something but cannot pull their jaw from the ground.  That was last week for me.  Please, "lesson moms", if you're going to all the effort to bring your kid to a lesson, let the instructor teach.  If not, then get a horse of your own and save us all a lot of heartache.

Sorry for the detour, readers, but if you have any similar stories, feel free to share. Misery loves company, and I have to prepare for battle with the same "lesson mom" again.  Wish me luck, regardless.

BlytheLea L.E.

Just a sec

Rough week for getting the blogging done.  Have been training my own horses, teaching lessons, setting up house sitting, and sewing in the few minutes of free time.  Have to hurry back to all the things piling up, our irrigation is clogged, again, and the pastures need water, but a quick note about the sewing before I go.

Sometimes an idea just takes hold and won't let go, no matter how difficult or trying.  That was Wintersong, my latest creation.  He is an adorable dragon, but the pattern took a week to think through, and a day and a half of sewing to put together just right.  Finally, though, I can go back outside to work on what needs to be done here with a lighter heart.  I have finally finished something!

More later, I promise.

BlytheLea L.E.

Back in the Saddle, sort of

So sorry to have missed out on the blogging world for a few days, but anyone who has ever had horses knows that for all the wonderful things they bring us, they can also put us in bed for days to weeks on end. 

In the grand scheme of accepted superstitions, injuries always happen in 3's.  This year, said injuries have all involved my horses and my back.  First, my injured Thoroughbred (who thoughtfully bowed her tendon Christmas morning), Wish, ran me over and cracked my neck into my spine.  Laid up: 6 weeks. Secondly, I crashed and burned in a 3'6" jump combination on my younger Thoroughbred, Myth.  Laid up: 6 weeks.  Then, just this week, the Standardbred we loving call Bucky Bo clipped my back while trying to get a fly.  Don't ask for details, please.  As it is, well, that's another injury, in yet another part of my back.  This time, though, the recovery time will be shorter.  I'm already considering getting back in the saddle.  It'll hurt, but so far this year, I don't think I've had a day that hasn't.

My family, when this sort of thing happens, tries, in varying degrees of seriousness, to convince me out of riding.  My parents know better, but it doesn't stop from the half hearted try.  I know the sport I have chosen is a dangerous one, but with my track record, I literally have been hurt getting out of bed in the morning.  Better to stick with the devil you know, or something like that.

Where does this put the farm?  Well, luckily, short of a few more weeds, we're at a stage of rest that leaves us time to recover, me in particular.  But, as BlytheLea is about more than just gardening, we are also about sewing and riding, well, I guess everything's going to be on hold for a few days more.

I planned on sharing a photo or two to introduce the culprits, but sometimes my phone just refuses to cooperate about much of anything.  Will have to make sure that is included in a later post. 

BlythLea L.E. rambles on home