Back in the teepee M and I discuss our future with the horses. We got a problem. The horses are getting quite lean. Ribs are poking through their sides. Grass will soon be hard to find. E and Bumba say horses need two days of rest for one day of riding. (A week later a Dutchman will tell us, ride four days with one day off). The horses need to fatten up before the winter hits, otherwise they will die. Last's winter was rough, the coldest and longest in decades. Innumerable livestock perished. The WHO paid people to bury the carcasses.
M and I both want to find a shaman. But the weather has changed for the worse. Neither of us wants to search out a shaman in bad weather. M speaks of riding along the eastern shore of Khovsgol Lake, or selling the horses in R town. The future is all but certain.
I singed the sleeved of my orange jacket on the stove last night, trying to dry it out before wearing it to bed. I didn't realize the stove was so hot. I had seen the gold miners throw their foot wrappings directly in the fire, then pull them out again. Maybe I will mend the sleeves in R town. Back in the teepee I taught M to sew. His hat strap had ripped off. I tell him my mom taught me to sew as a child. He tells me his father showed him how to chop wood. M has the habit of repeating himself and in a short time he reminds me of his childhood experience. If an argument can be made for sewing someone's lips closed, I have found it.
No comments:
Post a Comment