“You can blame it on my pedigree

But I can't help my heredity

I'm unapologetically country

Country as hell…”

~ Hardy

Frozen mist hung over the freshly harvested hills roughly at my knee’s height, with no wind to clear it. Frost peppered everything it touched, from the tips of the spruce pine needles, to the very ends of the fur on the cattle’s backs. Paper-thin ice floated freely on the surface of the puddles in dips within the white gravel drive. The sun had just risen for the day, but was already beginning to burn through the pale slate sky. Dew drops formed on the blades of green grass in the lawn and pastures. A few violet wildflowers sprouted from the soil, their petals dripping freshly thawed frost. 

Dressed warmly in my sherpa, wool-lined boots, weatherproof gloves, and foxhide hat (well, it’s actually more of a mountain man headdress), I stood on the concrete porch listening to the yelps and screeches of a pair of warring blue jays, as they argued over who got to eat the half slice of bread I’d tossed to them. A cat that looked just like Garfield poked his head through a gap in the granary door, testing the waters before miraculously managing to squeeze through the narrow opening. Instead of hunt mice, he was after that slice of bread on the gravel, and made off with it as fast as his legs could carry his orange, fluffy ass. The blue jays weren’t far behind. 

Garfield escaped the attacking birds by ducking under the fence and disappearing below the cattle, who were circled around the round feeder, chewing on a new bale of cattle corn. The cattle paid no attention to the cat or the angry birds. Instead, they simply stood around, their ears relaxed as they chewed their breakfast. However, as soon as I began to approach them, all but one of the cattle scattered. The one who stayed, a small black angus bull, wandered up to the fence curious as to who, or perhaps what, I was. I’m certain having an entire dead fox draped over my head and shoulders was confusing to the young bull. But, the allure for a face massage seemed to override his unsureness towards my warm, pet (dead) fox. 

As I was running my glove firmly up and down his forehead, a sharp whinny startled both me and the bull. In a smaller paddock adjacent to the pasture, a buckskin horse stretched its neck over the rusty red gate towards me. Clearly, it was jealous of the fact that I was paying attention to the bull and not it. I gave the bull a goodbye pat on his poll, and trudged across the frozen driveway to say hello to the muddy buckskin with the braided mane.

The horse nickered as I cautiously lifted a hand to his muzzle. It sniffed then pressed its nose against my hand, asking for scritches which I gave. With one hand, I rubbed the buckskin's nose. With the other, I rubbed the inside of an ear. The horse leaned into my chest and closed its eyes in delight, just in time for another horse, a chestnut paint, to interrupt us. The chestnut paint came cantering over, her ears pinned in disapproval. I immediately let go of the buckskin and stood back, while the buckskin turned tail and trotted out of the chestnut mare's way. 

The mare stretched her neck over the gate and whinnied, her ears aimed at me. She was friendly, and just wanted me to give her my undivided attention. Again, I stretched out a welcoming hand to the mare. She pressed her muzzle against my palm and we stayed there for several seconds as we established a connection. Then, with my other hand, I gently reached to scratch her cheek, brushing off some mud (she had just rolled in some dirt, like all horses do). In response, the mare lowered her head, guiding my hand into her ear, where I gently rubbed out dust.

Of course, just as I got to petting her, I heard a truck engine fast approaching me. I turned around just  in time to see my cousin Andy stepping out. He had a thick, red beard and a mullet. His hoodie and jeans were caked in mud. He had just made it home from the rig. 

"Hey!" I called out, "How's it been?"

"Not bad, not bad." Andy smiled, shaking my hand, "Just comin' by for lunch."

"Cool!" I said, "Gramma's just inside. Her friend dropped off some soup for us."

"Sounds delicious!" Andy shouted over his shoulder as he and his girlfriend headed to the house, arm-in-arm. 

I didn't follow my cousin and his girlfriend into the house, as I still needed a break from the indoors (and people). I turned back around to hang out with the horses, who were still standing over the gate, stretching their necks for more pets. 

I clambered up a couple rungs of the rusty, bent gate a bit to make it easier for me to reach the horses. Meanwhile, the gentle creatures came around either side of me, nuzzling my sherpa in hopes of finding treats. My uncle Wade must've seen me with the horses, because he came out of the house with an arm full of apples. 

"Here, feed them these and they'll be your best friends for life." my uncle smiled as he handed me a couple apples. 

I then turned back to the horses, and in a sing-song voice asked, "We got apples. Who wants apples?!"

Both horses whinnied and danced in their places, tossing their heads and snorting. When I lifted the apples to their faces in my flat palms, both horses went for their treat. The buckskin figured out he could fit the whole thing in his mouth, and was quick to take his apple away. But, the mare was much more gentle. She took her time gently nibbling away, savoring in the sweetness of the Honeycrisp. 

Wade stood by the fence too, with a few more apples in his hands ready to be given to the horses. Since the buckskin had eaten his apple in pretty much one gigantic bite, he was already chewing the last of his second serving before the mare had finished her first apple and went to Wade for more.