Beauty's Dark Side

Altamiro, grazing with his family, while keeping an eye on a pair of Sandhill Cranes at the Ravenseyrie Sorraia Mustang Preserve on Manitoulin Island

Three beats to the ground, one airborne and silent--perchance to fly...
All beauty and magic--until reaching down and forward, with his teeth he grasps the foal's hock, never breaking stride, one fluid movement, an angry toss and the filly has somersaulted, landed in a jumbled heap and is immediately back up, running to catch up with the warm side of her dam, several strides ahead.

Pinoteia

I run full at HIM, screaming, "ALTAMIRO!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!" He pauses, and I stop, shaking my fists, wailing like a banshee, hating all that is HIM...completely at a loss to comprehend how he could have behaved so brutishly. Because Bella said "no" to his sexual overtures, Altamiro acted out in frustration by tossing seven day old Pinoteia.

"She could have landed on a rock!!!", I upbraided him.

He looked me full in the eyes, understood my disappointment in HIM...but yet compelled by a wave of hormonal angst, he tossed his handsome head, shaking off my rebuke, and ran his harem off into the far forest north.

Altamrio...

He is larger than life for me, and even as I am repulsed by some of his rock star, bad boy attitudinal outbursts, I find myself enamored by his incredible charisma.


Was it this way even before we met?

I surely projected A LOT of hopes and dreams upon him even before we met.

And when we finally did meet, I loved him as a mother loves a child, my hopes and dreams of a noble herd sire mostly were forgotten, looking at this skinny, out-of-place, remnant of a lost age. A wild horse with ties to ancient times? He seemed much more like a child, wrenched from his zoological park home, pushed onto a plane, flown over the ocean and deposited into a wilderness his prehistoric genes seemed to have long forgotten.

I enveloped him with empathy, and worry. He was so small, under-developed even "dull" witted. How could he possibly "seed" the restoration of ancestral horses???

The yearling Sorraia stud colt, Altamiro, in 2006, living in our yard temporarily because of the troubles we had getting him accepted into the herd.

Everyone here (those with equine heritage) seemed to loath him. Most wanted nothing to do with him. One refused to allow him group participation at all. One wanted to kill him.

And he looked at them, rather dopey-eyed, and extended the hoof of friendship--despite being repeatedly rebuffed.

Altamiro trying to make friends with Bella in 2006. (Note the healing wound on his neck, a "welcome" gift from Jerry, the draft mule, during an earlier attempt at integration.)

Adjustments had to be made. Mesquite, a small bay mule (who was bent on destroying the Sorraia) had to be relocated to a new home.

Mesquite, a diminutive--but determined-- mule, chasing down Altamiro in 2006.

Mistral (the gelding who would be King) maintained a strict circumference which the alien stud colt must not breech.

Summer gave way to late autumn before one could say that he had actually integrated into the herd and made Ravenseyrie his home. What did the rest of the equines at Ravenseyrie see that I could not? There was no threat in this almost homely, forlorn creature...was there?

...and I wondered, how in the world would such a dim-eyed colt become a herd sire?


Presently, I'm reading David Shenk's book on epigenetics titled, The Genius in All of Us, which provides a wonderful window into how influential the way we live our lives is upon our genetic make-up and even the genetic expression of the next generation. Genes hold within them the promise of potential, but they are not, on their own, the stuff of greatness. The interaction of environmental influences, cultural shaping and each individual's choices to the variables presented throughout life all have a role in how genes express themselves.

In an article he wrote for the Wall Street Journal, Shenk relays:

The implications of this dynamic interaction are enormous; it explodes all of our old notions of "innate" qualities and genetic destiny. The new way to understand genes is that they are a vital actor in a developmental process. "In each case," explains Cambridge University biologist Patrick Bateson in "Cycles of Contingency." "The individual animal starts its life with the capacity to develop in a number of distinctly different ways. Like a jukebox, the individual has the potential to play a number of different developmental tunes... The particular developmental tune it does play is selected by [the environment] in which the individual is growing up."

This very thing, "dynamic interaction" is what Altamiro responded to from the minute he stepped off the trailer and began to mingle with all that is Ravenseyrie.

In the whole wide world there are +/- 200 Sorraia horses remaining in existence. Of these there even a smaller number of breeding stallions, some of whom are now subjected to modern breeding practices which house the stallions separately from the mares and foals, keep them in limited, unnatural environments, incorporate artificial insemination, etc. I can well imagine that if Altamiro had been exposed to a less inspiring environment than Ravenseyrie, kept from actually living with mares and trained to allow humans to collect his semen via a dummy mount, he would not be the equine version of film star, Antonio Banderas, but would likely have grown even duller in body and mind than he was when he first arrived here as a yearling.


All well and good that this five year old Sorraia stallion has grown into an ardent and impassioned, larger than life Iberian hearthrob--one must realize that he is not all "sweetness and light"--the particular beauty that is Altamiro has a dark side...

Antonio Banderas in the film Desperado
Image credit: Rick Torres

As relayed in the opening scene of today's journal entry, Altamiro does not always channel his amazing energy into edifying actions. Though upon inspection, wee Pinoteia had not a scratch on her after having been picked up and slung aside by her father, in truth, she could have landed on one of the many rocks that make up our landscape, becoming broken bodied or even killed by such rash action undertaken by Altamiro. Let's just say that I've never been impressed by rock stars that take to smashing their guitars.

Altamiro, during the summer of 2009

At this time in his life, Altamiro must feel spectacular. After a rough start here, he now lays claim to rulership of all of Ravenesyrie, even lately taking delight in charging into flocks of seagulls and ravens for the dual pleasure of feeling his body respond in top form and being in the middle of birds taking flight en mass. (You can bet I'm hoping to get this on camera one day!) Imagine him rearing up and pawing at birds in flight, with mischievous delight.

Mischievous aptly describes Altamiro, for he is not wholly satisfied with being the paramour to four young mares and father to their exquisite offspring...no, he gets a bit bored with the family life and often leaves them to go marauding, looking for action elsewhere.

Antonio Banderas in the film Desperado
Photo credit, unknown

Typically Altamiro's quest for physical and mental stimulation outside that which he receives as a "family man" lead him over to the other sector of the range where Mistral and his group roam. Here there are mules to harass, his banished sons and the domestic geldings to play rough and tumble games with, and his expelled daughters to haze once again.

This first video clip shows Altamiro harassing the draft mule, Dee:

This next clip shows Altamio picking out his coming two year old son, Interessado, for a bit of roughing up:

Most of the time no harm comes from these escapades (not counting, of course, the surface bites that most everyone other than Altamiro himself wears from these encounters).

Several weeks ago, however, Mistral (the former ruler of the land) though 28 years old and a domestic bred Arabian gelding decided not to walk away from Altamiro when he came by to flex his muscles and arrogantly remind Mistral that Ravenseyrie was now his. If Kevin had not been on hand to break it up, who knows how far things would have gone? A fight to the death? Kevin felt that Mistral was not going to back down or concede this time and their duel would have escalated until Mistral suffered a mortal wound. After referee Kevin had sent both fighters to their respective corners, Mistral actually tried to go after Altamiro again, until Kevin once more intervened and convinced Mistral to give it up. I used nearly an entire jar of calendula salve doctoring up the hundreds of bite marks strong-headed Mistral walked away with. Altamiro was unscathed, as usual. The two have a new truce in effect and have gone back to a respectful and peaceful relations.

Altamiro, sharing some "family man" time, here dining with both Segura and Silvestre

While contemplating how to best compose this journal entry, I first found myself likening Altamiro to a brilliant rock star coming into top form--who is he most like: Elvis Presley? , Mick Jagger?, Axl Rose?.

But after further reflection, scenes from the many films Antonio Banderas has starred in began to replay in my mind and I realized that this actor's smouldering, dark, yet passionate and "fair" minded characters best resonated with the type of character Altamiro presently is. A fitting reflection, actually, considering they both have a heritage from the Iberian Peninsula.

Can you see the resemblance between Altamiro and Antonio Banderas in character as Zorro?

Altamiro in a soft moment with one of his leading ladies, the Kiger Mustang mare, Ciente

While it has been delightfully fun to select a celebrity who personifies Altamiro, I recognize that at this point in time, it was obvious I could not select a more esoteric-minded figure, though I may have wished for one. Yet there is something passionately noble as well as transcendentally spiritual about this horse...and not just he, but each of these "primitives" here at Ravenseyire, as if the best of Ghandi himself--that self-same capacity to inspire better things in humans--exists in these primordial equine entities. Somehow I can readily imagine that Altamiro (of his own accord, but with a little prompting from Kevin and me) will turn the most violent tendencies of his expressionism into actions which provoke the best in himself and others.

David Shenk again, this time from his book, The Genius in All of Us:

Could our individual actions be affecting evolutin in all sorts of unseen ways?
"People used to think that once your epigenetic code was laid down in early development, that was it for life," says McGill University epigenetics pioneer Moshe Szyf. "But life is changing all the time, and the epigenetic code that controls your DNA is turning out to be the mechanism through which we change along with it. Epigenetics tells us that the little things in life can have an effect of great magnitude."
Everything we know about epigenetics so far fits perfectly with the dynamic systems model of human ability [and all living things--lg.]. Genes do not dictate what we are to become, but instead are actors in a dynamic process. Genetic expression is modulated by outside forces. "Inheritance" comes in many different forms: we inherit stable genes, but also alterable epigenes; we inherit languages, ideas, attitudes, but can also change them. We inherit an ecosystem, but can also change it.
Everything shapes us and everything is shaped by us. The genius in all of is is built-in ability to improve ourselves and our world.

The difficulty lies with me. Nature is Beauty...yet she has a dark-side, at least as a human, it seems to me there is darkness and violence that I do not always know how to reconcile. But, like Shambhala Training, I believe in the essence of basic goodness, and when I see Altamiro acting out violently, on the one hand I recognize that I may not understand what motivates such behavior...perhaps it arises from instinct and hormonal urges, some of which are meant to be survivalist in intent and other which are imbalanced...I try not to judge, but I do sometimes intervene. When I feel such things arise from an imbalance, I have no difficulty in shaking my fists in reproach and intervening with a prompt to him that he should behave differently. Then, heart to heart, I try to reflect the higher calling of beingness...and who is to say it will not have an interactive impact upon his further development?

I'd like to leave you now with a YouTube video clip from the big screen film, Four Rooms, wherein Antonio Banderas comically demonstrates (in a supremely enjoyable example of over-acting) the conflict of being a father who sometimes wishes to escape parenting for a bit of wild fun...reminding me so very much of Altamiro himself:

Rites of Passage

There are many opinions of Nature's way of being...many figure she is flawed: she is cruel, she is merciless, she is apathetic. Others see her as: perfective, benevolent, merciful, empathetic...

I see her as mysterious, energetic, transformative, volatile, harmonious, disruptive and always, always flowing. Heraclitus thought of her as the tension of opposites, and I believe this is so. Nature is yin and yang, not at all the same as the human preoccupation with good and evil, which hinges upon subjective judgmentalism. There is that which is edifying and that which is unedifying...that which is expedient and that which is not so, and then there is sheer expression which the human mind either accepts with a certain awe, or condemns as "that which ought not to be". It's my feeling that Nature deals in expediency, edification and sheer expression with no preoccupation with what "ought to be" or "what ought not to be". Besides human beings what other creature in the universe proclaims, "That ought not to be!" and so wages wars bent on complete annihilation of plants, animals, insects, germs and each other?

But wait...I want to speak of rites of passage.

In the opening photo of today's entry in the Journal of Ravenseyrie, you see me at the "Top of the World" spot at the edge of the bluff overlooking Lake Huron's North Channel. The pups and I frequently hike to this place to see the view from above. Sometimes I sit and contemplate topics which have preoccupied my mind, sometimes I bring a journal and write, other times I just go to repose and melt into the landscape (though for this magic to happen I find it is best to leave my chair and sit directly on the ground.) I think the dogs do some of these meditative things too as you can see in this photo:Ganja, enjoying a timeless moment at Ravenseyrie's "Top of the World" spot.

Rites of passage--certain observances and ceremonies undertaken at precise times to usher individuals into a new phase of their lives, do you think these are only human constructs?

Living here at Ravenseyrie, I have been swept into the many rites of passage which Nature engages in and for me they have as much ceremonial elements as do institutionalized traditions. I'd like to share a few with you.

We had a peculiar winter here on Manitoulin Island. After that first frightful mauling winter gave us last December, our weather was milder than usual and with much less snowfall than we typically receive. Lake Huron was not held hostage by ice until mid-January and already even though it is only March, it has begun the process of breaking up.

The view above
and the view below:

The Ravenseyrie beach area shows a mosaic of floating ice with open water further out. Looking to my right, I noted that a large mass of ice has jammed up against a portion of the shore to the east.
Spring break up of the lake is always an exciting rite of passage into the warmer seasons, and is a bit different each year depending on weather conditions. The process is initially gradual, with the sun and rain softening from above and the swelling and heaving of the water working from below. Sometimes there are moaning sounds and strange sensations of some slumbering creature beginning to awaken. Then the high winds come, violent cracking noises can be heard and pressure ridges explode, forming long narrow rivers of open water which abruptly break into large and small individual planes of ice that are moved by the wind and water and thrown into the shore with a grinding force that causes significant alteration of the beach, shifting around even huge boulders on a whim.
There are three phases typically in any rite of passage:
--separation
--transition
--re-integration

Something as seemingly common place as an apple falling from a tree demonstrates a rite of passage. Like the spring break up of Lake Huron, when an apple falls from the tree it's separation is abrupt and the process is violent. The apple falls, thudding resoundingly as it hits the ground. Bruised and perhaps even split open, the apple goes through a transition period, losing its integrity as a solid orb which once dangled among the family of other apples and leaves and branches--now it exposes its inner fragrance, auto-macerating, enticing itself to be eaten by some passing animal. Later its seeds are consumed, carried further afield, expelled, covered by debris and await germination, after which they reach tentative tendrils upward, re-integrating with growing kingdom once more, though not as fruit this time, but as the tree itself.

Kevin with a Ravenseyrie apple tree in 2008

"But...oh, dear Altamrio, she is only ten months old!"

We are very pleased that Altamiro has grown into such a fine stallion with incredible expressions of instinctual protocol. We were very impressed at his innate wisdom when last year he banished his colts Animado and Interessado from the family band once his new foals began to arrive. Later, as well, when he made no attempt to hold Fada back when she determined for herself that she wanted to leave we applauded Altamiro's fantastic fatherly qualities...but we did not expect this past Sunday that he would expel his 2009 filly, Encantara, on the very day that Bella (who is not Encantara's dam) delivered her new foal!

We remain pleased, yes, with our stallion's sense of duty, but it was difficult to see Encantara thrust so early into a forced change of circumstances...

Here again, we have Nature showing us a ceremonial rite of passage, replete with violent abruptness to facilitate separation, with a period of transition, followed by re-integration.

Would you like to see how Encantara's rite of passage transpired, effectively putting her life as a nursing foal behind her and presenting her to the world as weanling and soon to be yearling?

When Kevin and I were heading out with our food laden toboggans to the far northwest sector where the family band was absorbed with the excitement of Bella's new foal, we could see and hear Encantara calling from the edge of the central wooded copse. After taking care of the family band, we immediately set about making Encantara as comfortable as we could.
I dropped off her pan of oats and cubes, while Kevin took the toboggans back to the house, promising to return with hay. While Encantara was eating her breakfast, I checked her over for injuries and found two places where Altamiro felt it necessary to use harsh means to impress upon his filly that she would do well to leave the family band. She has one bite mark on her abdomen and one on her thigh, neither of which required any doctoring:



Kevin, true to his word, came back with hay. And, can you see in the photo who has appraised the situation and come to lend his own brand of support to the displaced filly?
Uncle Jerry first checked out to see if there were any goodies left in Encantara's pan and then settled in to graze while she ate her hay:
Soon, she left her hay and went over to graze aside Uncle Jerry:
After an hour or so of grazing together, it was time for a nap:
Thanks to the thoughtful care-taking of Uncle Jerry, I was free now to take the dogs for their usual morning hike. When we returned, (I didn't have my camera with me), Doll, one of the molly draft mules, had joined Jerry and Encantara. Encantara was laying flat out now, napping and processing on a subliminal level the unusual events of the morning. I made lunch and Kevin and I watched from the kitchen table as first Jerry decided to wander over to the east sector where Mistral's group was grazing, and later was joined by Doll. Before she left, Doll prodded Encantara with her muzzle, "Get up, kid, we're leaving now." Encantara's answer was to raise her head and sleepily look at Doll briefly, then she flopped her head back to the ground and resumed her nap. "Suit yourself!" Doll's expression seemed to say, and in no time she too wandered off to the east.

When Encantara arose from her nap (imagine how tired she must have been!), she looked longingly off to the northwest where the family band was, and she looked off to the east where Mistral's group were now filtering further east to slack thirsts from the creek. I thought she would maybe join them, but instead she quietly went back to work on her left-over breakfast hay, only briefly, for soon she was ambling up to the house. I went out and gave her a few more alfalfa cubes. She ate these and then wandered while grazing off to the southwest, until finally she slipped into the woods.

Having a feeling that she was planning to clandestinely work her way northward to slip back into the family band, I wanted to be on hand for what might transpire. I was just in time to catch a bit of how things went for her on video:

Encantara was damp from running, but not breathing too heavily and had no new wounds, only a few burrs catching a ride on her fur. She looked back to where her mother, Belina, and the rest of the family band remained, watching her even as she was watching them:
I heard a whinny from the Cedar trees and zoomed in to see if it was Belina calling for her. I was surprised that it appeared to be Ciente who was calling, while the others were already moving on to other things:
"C'mon, Encantara, it's time to go," I said. She paused for a minute or so, lost in thought:
Soon she decided to follow me back to the house, where I assured her we could convince Kevin to bring us some afternoon cookies:
Along the way, Encantara appeared to want to take a shortcut through a small copse of Cedar trees:
It was a good idea, saving us from having to walk all around this copse. But I misread what Encantara was doing...what she actually wanted was a drink of water, and she knew there was maybe some standing water in this copse. And there was:
While Encantara was drinking, I weaved through the copse and waited for her on the other side so we could resume our walk together back to the house:

Once back by the house, I called to Kevin, who was busy organizing his workshop attached to the sorry, shabby structure we have been using as a garden shed and feed room. Kevin brought out some hay cubes for Encantara to munch on and took some photos while I gave her a little grooming:

Kevin thought I should look at the camera and give you all a smile, so I did:
After this attention from her human friends, Encantara went off to the knoll at the edge of the "barnyard" where Kevin had put some more hay out for her. While she ate her hay, I laid down nearby and let the sun lull me into a very peaceful state of bliss, so peaceful that I fell asleep! I awoke to the sound of Kevin's voice. Encantara was gone and Kevin hadn't noticed which direction she had taken leave to. After scanning the landscape, we finally could see that she was grazing among the Trembling Aspen trees on the south fence line. She remained there by herself until that early evening.

While we were having our dinner, we could see Encantara crossing over to the far east where Mistral's group was grazing. Soon she was among them! There was much excitement, but no hazing and within fifteen minutes or so, they were all grazing again...little Encantara had been officially accepted into Mistral's group. What a brave and decisive filly. I felt so proud of her!

Separation. Transition. Re-integration.

Abruptness, violence, sense of loss, disorientation, acceptance of the situation, awareness of change, a seeking of new horizons, finding a place to belong--these were all part of Encantara's rite of passage, and all in one day!

It may not have been necessary for Kevin and I to dote upon this young filly to help ease the transition she was forced into experiencing, but it felt good to us to be able to support her and it provided us with a greater appreciation for the ways of Nature.

To so violently and abruptly force the separation between mother and child seems at first to our human oriented senses to be a cruel thing...and yet, neither Belina or Encantara have been crying for each other, and both have smoothly transitioned into new phases of their lives, almost effortlessly. I cannot call it cruel, I must embrace it as a beautiful rite of passage, which is easy to do seeing how readily a part of Mistral's herd Encantara is. I feel honored to have been able to participate in it!

Encantara shares breakfast oats and morning hay with Mistral's group.

Encantara's dam,Belina is likely pleased to have a month off of nursing a foal at her side, while she prepares to deliver her new foal in late April. She appears in good spirits, robust health, and very appreciative of me helping her itch away some of the winter coat she is shedding.

Belina, moves in to push Zorita over to a different pile of hay.

Altamiro with Silvestre...is he perhaps the next to be weaned by his father?

Born Amidst Wildflowers

Kiger Mustang mare, Ciente, with her 2009 colt by the Sorraia stallion, Altamiro

It pains me that I must so "matter-of-factly" relay the latest news from Ravenseyrie, forgoing a more suitable descriptive weaving of the always interesting happenings among the equines. But, these next couple of weeks are extremely busy, with very little time for composing a good story while sitting in front of the computer. I beg my readers' forgiveness as I now move tickety-tat onto recent events.

On Sunday morning, our Kiger Mustang mare, Ciente, delivered her second foal. Born amidst wildflowers, with a white "flower" impression on his forehead, his name is Silvestre. "Silvestre", according to my dictionary is one of the words that means "wild" and is used as an adjective for wild plants. Considering the profusion of wildflowers which surround this young lad, it seemed a very fitting name for him. It is pronounced "sill-vess-trah" or "sill-vess-tree" depending on whether your Iberian emotion runs more to Spain or Portugal respectively. I'm not sure which rolls off my tongue easier yet, but probably the latter will be officially adopted.

Pictured here at just a handful of hours old is the Sorraia partbred, Silvestre

With the "primary herd" members ( the domestics, Zeus and Mistral) solidly separated from the primitive herd, and the draft mules relegated to being "floaters" on the outer parameter, Altamiro finds himself only needing to occasionally ward off the invasion of Jerry.



Yesterday morning revealed that Altamiro's firstborn son, Animado (out of Bella) had been banished from the family band and he took no time joining up with the domestics, Zeus and Mistral. He has bite marks on his rump, and up and down the left hind leg, but they are all mainly surface scratches--a relief to us that no injury occurred during this major shift in herd dynamics.


So far, Interessado and Fada are still among the primitive family unit while Altamiro remains vigilant in his desire to keep everyone in places that seem appropriate to him.

Interessado and Fada

Altamiro, with Zorita (who is due to foal in August)

That is all I can take time to write this morning, but I will leave you with more beautiful photos to enjoy.

Altamiro, looking particularly primitive (and handsome!) in this photo

We are so thankful to have another healthy foal delivered and to know that another transition has occurred rather smoothly. And, he's very gregarious...he nickered a greeting and initiated contact with me right away!

My how grown up Interessado suddenly looks next to his new full brother!

Fada, Encantara, Animado and Belina

While her human friend gives her a rump itch, Ciente gives Silvestre a back itch.

This is the last photo (taken on Sunday) I have that shows Animado with his mother, Bella...now that he has been sent away from the family band, I will likely never get another photo of the two of them together.

Sorraia Stallion, Altamiro, ever vigilant

The amazing Altamiro, enjoying another good rump itching, during a moment of repose from his variety of duties as the foundation stallion of the Ravenseyrie Sorraia Mustang Preserve on Manitoulin Island.