The Restory Retreat Centre

The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.”                                                                                              - Robert Frost On my 50th birthday, I am sitting on a low stone wall next to Matilda and Jan Badenhorst. It is late afternoon in the Luneburg valley, with the sun low in our backs. Jan is busy telling us about his horses in his gentle, calm voice. The beautiful stallion strides past us, all power and elegance. Photograph by Matilda Clifford In the card Matilda gave me early that morning she quoted Wendell Berry: And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, no matter how long,  but only by a spiritual journey,  a journey of one inch, ...

Photograph by David Chedgy My father worked with a horse-plough,  His shoulders globed like a full sail strung Between the shafts and the furrow. The horse strained at his clicking tongue. An expert. He would set the wing And fit the bright steel-pointed sock. The sod rolled over without breaking. At the headrig, with a single pluck Of reins, the sweating team turned round And back into the land. His eye Narrowed and angled at the ground, Mapping the furrow exactly. I stumbled in his hob-nailed wake, Fell sometimes on the polished sod; Sometimes he rode me on his back Dipping and rising to his plod. I wanted to grow up and plough, To close one eye, stiffen my arm. All I ever did was follow In his broad shadow round the farm. I was a nuisance, tripping, falling, Yapping always. But today It is my father who keeps stumbling Behind me, and will not go away.                            ...

Drawing by E.H. Shepard But Pooh was thinking too, and he said suddenly to Christopher Robin:  "Is it a very Grand thing to be an Afternoon, what you said?"  "A what?" said Christopher Robin lazily, as he listened to something else.  "On a horse," explained Pooh.  "A Knight?"  "Oh, was that it?" said Pooh. "I thought it was a-- Is it as Grand as a King and Factors and all the other things you said?"  "Well, it's not as grand as a King," said Christopher Robin, and then, as Pooh seemed disappointed, he added quickly, "but it's grander than Factors."  "Could a Bear be one?"  "Of course he could!" said Christopher Robin. "I'll make you one." And he took a stick and touched Pooh on the shoulder, and said, "Rise, Sir Pooh de Bear, most faithful of all my Knights."  So Pooh rose and sat down and said "Thank you,...

There are times when I confuse myself. My love and admiration for heavy draught horses is a very good example. For as long as I can remember I have been fascinated by these gentle giants. Whenever I pick up a book on horse breeds, I almost automatically turn the pages to the heavy horses - Shires, Clydesdales, Percherons, Brabants and Suffolk Punches. Friesians are usually classified as a light horse, but somehow their general appearance and height let me regard them as a lighter version of a draught horse. So I love these horses. But somehow I am a little bit afraid of them as well. How is it possible to control that strength, guide that weight? Weibert: Photographs by Gary Loney In all fairness, the main reason for my fear is the amount of actual contact I have had with horses in general. It is almost none. My love has been a book love, my fear grew out of very limited real life exposure. That applies to horses in general, but even more so in the case of ...