Miniature Ponies

Miniature Ponies

We long for the “olden days” because they come with an answer sheet. The present is always a bit scary. You don’t know what’s going to work out and what will later be seen as a colossal mistake.

When someone hears we’ve moved to Vermont and are slowly rehabilitating a farm, there is often a look that comes into his eyes, a dreamy longing for a sweeter, simpler life that has very little to do with the reality of country life and farm rehab.

When I see that look, I know I’m in trouble. Because usually the logistics of this person’s life preclude him from having to milk goats, or dock lambs’ tails. If I got goats and milked them, he would have a wonderful vicarious experience, without having to haul water in blizzards, or extract a goat from wire fencing at 4 in the morning, or pay to have the goat-trampled hood of a guest’s car replaced. The downside of living someone’s else’s fantasy is that you probably won’t do it the way he’d do it, and that his hearing is selective. He’s invested in the fantasy.

For instance, we get more eager advice on country living from urban friends than we do from our local neighbors. I have a dear friend who lives in suburbia and wants us to get miniature ponies. I don’t know why, except she thinks they are cute. The pictures I see on the internet are of very woeful looking little animals (some wearing sneakers, for some reason) being treated like dogs, or worse, like hairy children. The idea of horses too small to trample or kick you into next week (I’d wager they can bite, though) must appeal, hugely. The people in these pictures are clearly besotted, cuddling these animals, walking them like dogs, and actually tucking them into bed. These are some disturbing images. Somehow, for some people, it must be more fun to have a horse you can pretend is a dog, than to just go down to the pound and get a regular (but very grateful) mutt.

You knew it was coming: the phenomenon of miniature ponies is not unlike the fantasy of living in Vermont. The fantasy is a predictable, controllable thing. Vermont is maple syrup, covered bridges, people saying “Ayup” all the time--country living without getting your teeth kicked in. Whatever problems appear are easily solved, or so the fantasists imagine. There could never be real suffering, let alone disaster, in a place as pretty as this.

As a state, I think we’re lucky to have more than a few civic minded realists on board, ready to engage with the real problems that confront us, thoughtfully and carefully. The closing and decommissioning of the Vermont Yankee nuclear power plant often comes up in conversation. While most of us southerners want to see it closed, we are also aware that we will have to find other sources of electricity, pronto, and conserve it better than we are now.

Last year’s Summit on the Future of Vermont put on by the Vermont Council on Rural Development drew people from across the state to discuss energy, communication, education, transportation, employment, diversity, agriculture and other topics central to the progress of the state. It was a committed, energetic, earnest bunch, clearly enamored of Vermont, but mercifully realistic. It made my heart glow for the future of my little state.

*This week’s blog has no pictures. I direct you to the Miniature Pony site for a real shake-up.