Horse Shit

Yep, that's right...horse shit. I wonder if perhaps I could write an entire blog post around the subject of horse shit? The inspiration came from looking at an old photo. That's me sitting on our pony Sherri - and obviously a great deal of that horse shit was created by that sweet little thing. She was with us for several years, basically grew up with us and lived through many crazy adventures. She was a sweet, stubborn and a very special part of our family. Our neighborhood was also quite familiar with our horses through more unusual circumstances. We stored the grain in old metal garbage can containers to protect the grain from moisture and little critters. However, Sherri being the wiz kid that she was, was very keenly aware that garbage cans meant dinnertime. So sure enough, once in a while our horses decided to escape from the pasture and go on adventures through the neighborhood knocking over all of the garbage cans looking for their oats. Quite a brilliant yet funny little pony I must admit. We eventually bred Sherri and she had a filly (a girl) and we'd watch them run together as fast as they could across the pasture with their manes flying in the wind.

We also spent countless occasions crying over Sherri's bad temper and stubborn pony-ish ways. It was almost a daily occasion where my sister and I were either bucked off, or Sherri just decided it was time to go home and took off like a bandit with us holding on for our lives. Yes - so many adventures and lessons learned from that unique creature.

Last but not least, my other fond memories are of her grazing amongst the tall grass with big purple bur weeds stuck all over her main and tail. It was very obvious that she was in absolute pony heaven as she grazed away all afternoon in the sunshine. And so that brings me back ...to horse shit, which I certainly shoveled enough of when I was a kid. Where therein lies the silver lining in an old saying that I heard years ago, "With all the horse shit, there must be a pony in there somewhere." And yes, there was indeed, with all of that horse shit - a sweet, loving, stubborn and perfect pony.

Don't Take Any Wooden Nickels

So here it is, the first blog for Wooden Nickel - which just so happens to also be Memorial Day. Kind of a little ironic with the blog title, but it truly is just a little coincidence as wooden nickels were so prevalent in the Depression era just before wartime. By the way, I got the idea for the title from the many conversations with my dad, who at the end of every phone call, email or live conversation says "Don't take any wooden nickels." He grew up in the era of The Great Depression which again is similarly another irony at the timing of the beginning of this blog - as our our nations current recession is in full bloom. Anyways, if you are not familiar with the term Wooden Nickel - it was an actual wood coin token issued after the Great Depression from banks or merchants that were redeemable for various items. The actual saying "Don't take any wooden nickels" is more of a jocular reminder to be cautious in one's dealings.

I hear in the news about how Americans are trying to budget and save money, for instance like staying home over Memorial Day weekend. I must admit that my memories of my own Memorial Day experiences cause me to chuckle a bit, only because those memories are of the family packed in the car with several dozen flowers in the trunk and placing them on the gravestones of relatives and friends of the family that passed away. Both my sister and I hated it, we fought as all young siblings do in the backseat of the car, as we begrudgingly went along just waiting for the afternoon to end so we could get home and play outside in the sunshine. In hindsight I must acknowledge that I do in fact have some admiration around the respect and tradition that my parents had for the meaning behind this holiday. They were paying tribute to those closest to them that had passed away through both war and other tragedies. The understanding of this stems through knowing that my parents grew up in a different era, through tougher times (the Great Depression) and living past it to the other side witnessing our very modern and different time in this nation. I guess driving around and putting flowers on the graves for those who experienced such pain and tragedy is a small price to pay on my part. It makes me realize how fortunate I really am - hence the symbolism of the posted picture of the kittens playing - that we are free to run, play and express ourselves ...freely. So on that note, enjoy the rest of your holiday weekend, remember how fortunate we are ...and "Don't take any wooden nickels!"