Utah Travelog

Earlier this spring, we sold our Morgan gelding, Trillium Moonraker. The sale was finalized and arrangements were made for us to deliver the horse to Salt Lake City in Utah at the end of April. The handsome son of UVM Dexter and our late foundation mare, Hobbiton Tinuviel, would stay with other Morgan owners on route. The farm would like to take this opportunity to thank those people for their kindness and hospitality. We received numerous invitations from the Morgan community south of the border to share their stables and homes. We were overwhelmed by their generosity.

Day One
Thank heavens the border crossing is a non-event. Having secured a broker ahead of time was the best planning we have done. All the paper work is ready when we arrive, cutting through the endless red tape and delay. Our combined stop at the border, including offsite vet inspection is a mere 45 minutes.

Our first overnight stop has brought us to Lynda and Harry Alban’s home northwest of Chicago. The Albans own a couple of Morgans and enjoy trail riding as their main activity. Harry is probably one of the most enthusiastic Morgan owners we have ever met. He just loves his gelding Nathan whom he talks about in great length. Wife Lynda dabbles in the fine art of dressage with her Morgan mare. She had owned Arabs before Morgans and in fact still has an Arab on the property. For Lynda and Harry, their Morgans are their life now. For them, they have found the perfect combination with the Morgan, diverse enough to satisfy their appetite for new equestrian ventures. I would say that the Albans represent the majority of pleasure Morgan owners – devoted and proud.

Trillium Moonraker (Raker) has travelled the 13 hours very well, drinking close to five gallons of water while trailering and consuming the better part of the hay in his net. He is tired when unloaded, but neither hot nor bothered. After a 15-minute trot on the end of a longe line to get out the kinks while bracing against a cold unwelcomed wind, he seeks the refuge of a large, freshly bedded box stall. With threats and intimidation, the Arab objects to this strange intruder to his barn. Harry scolds the gelding, saying "that’s no way to treat your neighbour." For peace of mind, Harry decides to relocate the Arab to another stall. Raker soon relaxes a little in this unfamiliar stable. A least the Morgan mare across the way looks friendly!

Our hosts are most gracious. We decide to go out for dinner and spend the time getting to know each other a little. After an evening of enjoyable conversation centering on trainers, Morgans and horses in general, we retire to a welcomed bed. The next morning, we say our goodbyes to Harry (Lynda has already left for work) and thank him for their hospitality. Raker is loaded up and we are on the road again.

Day Two
This day has certainly been a challenge trying to input these journal entries with the help of a laptop computer. The ride of the truck and the million hiccups from the road surface, tests one’s keyboarding skills to the max, not to mention one’s patience. Trying to keep the PC hooked up to the cigarette lighter also adds to the frustration, as the laptop bounces continuously on top of the briefcase that rests precariously on my lap. I don’t think they meant for the PC to be used in this literal a fashion, even if the name so implies. However, it’s still easier than trying to write this by the feeble hand of a weary traveller.

On numerous occasions, I have to steady the screen and halt production as the road screams to you with its constant complaints of potholes and hollows. And the built in mouse - talk about hand and eye co-ordination. The constant bump of the PC makes locating an area on the screen with the illusive mouse almost impossible. In the background, endless chatter from the CB crackles away breaking the dull humdrum of "Big Blue’s" diesel engine. The rig rolls steady and straight following the hungry pack of semis and 18 wheelers, devouring the miles of pavement beneath their rubber paws.

By early evening just west of Lincoln, Nebraska, we arrived at our second Morgan farm that has graciously offered Raker a stall for the night. It’s still light enough to cast one’s eye on the endless sea of fields ready for spring planting. This is farm country in a mammoth way.

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