Farrier works on Fred

We're stymied for a moment because Fred is gigantic and no, he's not self-conscious. He's a horse, and this time his invasion of space is purposeful, unlike the time we were looking at two satellites circumnavigating the skies and stuff and he snuck up behind us, hoping we won't notice. I had turned and thought, "That's a gigantic chestnut goat!" But it wasn't. "Get back, Fred, we're coming to finish mucking your stall," I said. "Okay Adam," he said in that slow, goofy tone he always says. For some reason, he always sounds like Eeyore to me.

In the normal world, Fred is standing tripod, tied up his door in the aisle of the goatshed, his free leg angled into the black lap apron of a master farrier, his apprentice drinking coffee with us, watching. Fred takes it well as the farrier batters the shoes to fit on an anvil with a glassbreaking, metallic clang, and as the nails come through the bottom of his hoof and come out the front and sides. The farrier also cuts off excess hoof, and apparently the nails are like driving a pin through the dead end of a fingernail, if ever someone wanted to do that.

The farrier quiets Fred a few times before looking squarely at Bramble, who always sways with a quiet energy while she waits to be milked. "I miss the goat that was here," he said, referencing the castrated male––he pulled a cart for Chris, in addition to being a pet without billygoat stink––who died this year. The farrier continues: "He used to tease and mess with Fred and keep him occupied."

Ryan is awed to witness a master and apprentice team, passing down the blacksmithing trade in much the same way as it was done in the Middle Ages. For me, I'm treated to see the rural farming community which Wendell Berry writes about, that which is sadly in decline in the United States. This is the community where local farmers provide local food, local schools provide local education, and local tradespeople whose livelihoods depend upon meeting the business and personal needs of the community. Wendell Berry laments that, in his old Kentucky town where he grew up, the farms are becoming more mechanized and we are caring for land less, the farmers are moving away, and that the schools, veterinarians, etc. are no longer local and serving just that community, but one of these may be miles away and serve many small towns. There are many other points to bring up about Berry's thoughts on this agricultural mechanization and diaspora, but chief among my issues is, when we don't have community we don't have common history, or, worse, we don't have common jokes!

The farrier, though not always the promptest hand on the clock, jokes with Phil and Chris, gets updates on the kids, and answers their questions about his wife and what they've been up to. Apparently, Chris tells me later, the male goat to which he referred earlier used to nibble on Fred and vice versa, because that's the way the only two dudes in the goatshed scratched their issues.