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A free letter, on the first Sunday of every month

Over the Gate

One letter on the first Sunday of every month: the horse job of the season, written as I did it that week.

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NextSun 6 DecemberFrozen ground, ice balls and the days we do not ride

Valley farmstead with timber barn, poplars and snow peaks
  1. Sun 5 April

    Hooves after the wet: what I look at every morning

    Picking out, the frog, the white line and when I ring the farrier.

  2. Sun 3 May

    Easing him onto the new spring grass

    Twenty minutes a day for a week, then an hour, and the weight tape I keep on the nail.

  3. Sun 7 June

    A Saturday walking the fence, post by post

    Wire, posts, latches and the water trough: the check I do every June, on one sheet.

  4. Sun 5 July

    Flies, sweat and a mane that tangles by Tuesday

    A brush, a sponge and one comb: what I do before and after every summer ride.

  5. Sun 2 August

    A hot ridge ride, and why we turned round early

    Shade, water and the half hour I give him at the top before we walk home.

  6. Sun 6 September

    Cutting back the grass and starting the hay

    The weeks when the grass loses its goodness and the hay net comes back, a handful at a time.

  7. Sun 4 October

    Cleaning a bridle after the summer, strap by strap

    Strip it down, wipe it, oil it lightly and check every stitch before the wet months.

  8. Sun 1 November

    Mud at the gate, and what I laid down to stop it

    A corner worn to soup by one horse, and the stone, the rest and the daily hoof check that made it firm again.

  9. Sun 6 December

    Frozen ground, ice balls and the days we do not ride

    Next
  10. Sun 3 January

    Brushing a thick winter coat without making him sweat

  11. Sun 7 February

    Dry leather in a cold tack room

  12. Sun 7 March

    The first trail ride back, and how short it should be

Newsletter

Latest letters

Duncan grooming his horse in a timber yard below mountains

About

Hello, I’m Duncan

I keep one horse, a dun Criollo gelding called Rio, on a few small fields in a valley with snow on the peaks above us. I came to horses late, at forty-one, and I learned the daily jobs by asking my neighbours and writing down what worked: grooming, feed, hooves, the tack, the gates and the fences.

The letters follow the year. Each month is one ordinary job done at the right time, from the spring moult to the first frost, written as I did it that week. Nothing here is clever. It is the care one horse needs, done the same way every day.

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