I Could Build A House With All The Brick I Got

Corn truffles! Sometimes, if the heat and humidity are high, corn can create a fungus that causes the kernels to expand and become the delicious delicacy known as huitlacoche (whee-tla-KOH-cheh). Also known as Mexican truffles and corn smut, when cooked, they taste like a cross between mushrooms, fresh corn and black truffles. While we never end up with many of these, some farms purposely infect their fields to cultivate the truffles. We are so thankful to all of the indigenous cultures and communities that the history and origin of this fungus belongs too!

“wow that must be so terrible” “deserts are so ugly” “I would never want to live in a wasteland like that” “it’s just empty nothingness”

wishing 10,000 exploding hammers upon you

behold New Mexico

[ID 1: tall, snowcapped rocky mountains rising above a plain filled with desert scrub

ID 2: brightly colored banded cliff walls of several mesas climbing their way into mountains

ID 3: a desert prairie

ID 4: colorful hoodoos against a twilight sky

ID 5: white sand dunes as far as the eye can see

ID 6: a collection of hoodoos against a stormy sky at sunset

ID 7: a juniper tree standing with a cliff wall in the background

Have some Utah! too.

So being a horse person seems to be 90% stuff like standing in the stall trying to telepathically Enter The Consciousness of the Horse to try to unlock why the horse is fucking scared shitless of mops

@osedaxworm yeah i think the "why" comes into play when they're trying to figure out what the common thread is in the set of related things that make the horse freak out

I acquired an abused and neglected horse a few months ago. She spent the earlier days of our interactions trying to bite me, kick me, run me over, and buck me off through any means necessary. I empathized with her. I was very gentle with her and showed her that I didn't plan on bringing her any additional harm. She started letting me introduce her to people, and she even started letting the vets I brought in help her instead of trying to fight them.

A couple of weeks ago, I asked her to jump over a scary obstacle for the first time. She was really uncertain and kept checking in to make sure I thought it was fine, and when she realized that I was sure, she did the horse equivalent of saying, "well, okay, we can give it a shot since it seems like you really want to". Lately when she's unsure if something is okay, or when she doesn't want to do something, she's taken to simply stopping instead of bucking. I think she's trying to take care of me. We still need to get through the stopping problem, but I'm beyond grateful to her for trying to keep me safe even when she's feeling strong emotions.

The past few days, she's spent a lot of time licking me from head to toe. Not even just my skin, but my clothes, too. This wouldn't be super significant, except that I have a dissociative disorder, and I've been in and out for the past few days. It seems like she's trying to keep me here.

If you try to understand the horses, they try to understand you. They're truly unlike any other kind of animal I've worked with in how deeply they try to understand their people.

I can sit outside on the ground in my field with my horses, and if I'm feeling happy and relaxed, they think, "Oh, our human is resting here. We will stand vigil." And one will position themself over me. Others will stand watch. And the great thing is, if you take up the position of standing vigil among horses that trust you, they'll say, "My human is here watching over me. I can rest now too." And having a horse trust you enough to lie prone on the ground and sleep is a wonderful feeling.

Alternatively, they pick up when things are wrong too. If I am scared, you can believe they will be wary, which is why it's so unbelievably important to work through fear rather than expressing it uncontrolled when you're around a horse. They will respond how you do. They also can tell if I'm upset. Going back to the situation where I go out and sit in the field. I've done that a couple times while deeply upset. The horses that aren't mine, that I don't share as close of a bond with, are a little unnerved by it. They investigate, but ultimately are more worried. However, the horses that I do have a bond with have seen me and thought, "There's something wrong with my human. They're upset about something. I might be able to help." Now, their version of helping is standing over me, chewing on my hair, pulling on my shoelaces, and chasing off other horses who try to investigate, but those are behaviors that tie back into me being part of their herd. Grooming, play, and protection. And again, getting a bond like that isn't easy, but it is so worth it.

Gordon Parks, Untitled, Alabama, 1956