There is safety in numbers, but sometimes, someone needs to be a scout.
At Red Willow, the horses know this; accustomed to living communally, many of them spend most of their time living in the embrace of a herd. For those who live outside the old village and its immediate environs, such as ours, the herds are perforce much smaller — those held by an individual family or perhaps two, sharing space and resources in a smaller land area.
Along the highway that leads to the old village are fields, long, wide, and mostly even, barbed wire along the perimeter enclosing its vast open space. It is here that many of the people turn their horses out to graze, a place where they are safe from the dangers of traffic, yet able to range freely across decent pasture land. As the months turn over, some of the mares grow heavy; soon, miniature versions appear, staggering on spindly legs. Mares, stallions, geldings, foals — all grow used to living communally, depending on each other not merely for physical safety but the psychological security of strength in numbers.
There are wild horses here, too: some once domesticated to greater or lesser degrees, now half-feral from having fended for themselves away from human habitation; some born in the wild, or so long it as to be a distinction without a difference; and some are genuine mustangs, beautiful high-stepping, high-spirited wild horses with a fiery temperament and a gait to match. One such found his way to us five years ago next month, and he spent his final nearly-four years in a state of joy before succumbing to the cancer that was already even then poisoning him from within.
Even — perhaps especially — a mustang knows the value of a herd.
Our wild horse, Ice, had to be his own scout and army too; there was no herd behind him. He found us and ours, and simply never left, at least not until he crossed the bridge to the other world. But for the other horses, wild or not, winter brings with it a need to forage more broadly for food and water, and they have learned that, in a place not so very far at all from vehicular and other traffic, not all of the outside world is friendly.
Wings captured today’s photos, four among a small series about twice that size, on film about a decade and a half ago, in the years before he took up digital photography too. He caught the single dark horse making its way downslope around the corner of the ancient building, a solitary scout seemingly volunteering to reconnoiter, the better to ensure the safety of the herd.
Our peoples have always known that to volunteer as a scout is to risk one’s life on behalf of the whole community. That remains as true now as it was two hundred years ago; only the weaponry differs, and as Standing Rock has shown us, not always even that.
Still, on this cold winter’s day more than a dozen years ago, this scout found a safe haven for the herd.
Before long, a dozen or so horses had descended behind him, milling around inside the wall behind the arbor. They were, perhaps, here in search of food, but also water: Winter here frequently means subzero temperatures and those sometimes are the highs. In a place with limited access to electrical power, as is the case with both village and fields, it’s difficult, if not impossible, to keep the water supplies from freezing solid.
There are, of course, ways around that.
Sometimes people will put out troughs or trays or buckets of fresh water, knowing that the horses will know where to come to find them.
And sometimes, fresh clean snow does the trick when nothing can remain unfrozen in the bitter winds.
It is part of communal living, for horses and humans alike, this shared space and knowledge and resources: It is a cooperative spirit, a recognition that we all do better when everyone (every one) does better. After all, there may be strength and safety in numbers, but there are no numbers when each individual sacrifices the others in service solely of self.
It is this deficiency of spirit that plagues the dominant culture, part and parcel of colonialism. It is why the Earth, our Mother, is dying, and too many of her children with her. And it is why we are at risk of dying, too, the entire collective we call humanity: Not only are we are unwilling to volunteer as scouts, we are unwilling to share in our own survival.
There are places where it is not safe to enter; there are also places that are simply not ours to occupy. Colonial culture refuses to acknowledge these simple truths, insisting that, given enough riches and authority, it can control the world.
The horses know better: They understand that the laws of humankind differ from the forces of nature, and that sometimes the former are a greater danger than the latter. They also recognize when the crossing is safe, when movement and even migration are not merely optional, but necessary.
It requires a scout to ensure the safety of the herd. It requires a herd to back up the scout and defend each other.
And it requires a cooperative spirit to ensure the survival of us all.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2018; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
