Recently, my older daughter got a side gig breaking horses. Several times a week she spends a couple hours working with the horses. (There are about eighteen, and the owner wants her to “ground break” a bunch of them so they can be sold.) Upon her return, she’s caked with dust and full of stories about flying hooves and huffy horses.

Naturally, I was curious, so Saturday morning I followed her over for a look-see. I planned to stay for twenty minutes or so — just long enough to get a feel for what she does and snap a few photos — but the process was so fascinating that I ended up staying the whole time.

That day, she was working with two, three-year-old stallions.

This was the third time working with each of them. She told me that when she’d started a few days before, the grey one had never had a halter on before, and the white one had almost no experience being led and was quite aggressive, bucking, kicking, and straight-up charging her. (“He’s just trying to protect himself,” she explains.)

The barn was divided into two pens: she worked a horse in one section while the other horse (and I) waited in the other. Every now and then the waiting horse would sidle over to and I’d get scared.

“Um, hon?” I’d squeak, “Help!!” and then she’d have to stop her training to come chase him away.

But then when he closed in on me, butt-first, the actual probability of getting hoof-hammered increased exponentially. Visions of shattered hip bones and busted kidneys flitting through my mind, I quickly, as per my daughter’s recommendation, relocated to the top of the fence.

“Am I safe now?” I asked, teetering on the edge.

My daughter peered through the wooden slates, judging the distance between horse and mother. “Probably,” she said (rather unconvincingly).

It was fun seeing how much the horses improved in just an hour. My daughter’s approach is straightforward: chase them around until they get tired and then put a halter on them and chase them around some more.

Once they’re tired, she:

*Strokes them all over…

*Familiarizes them with the lead rope by rubbing it all over their body…

*Runs her hands down their legs and tugs at their “ankles” until they lift their hooves…

*Tap-tap-taps them (first the shoulder, then the rump, then the other side) with the whip to get them to shift their weight over…

*Leads them on both the left and right side, making sure they maintain a suitable distance from her…

*Teaches them voice commands — walk, ho (stop), trot — and to not turn their butts to her (“That’s so rude!” she scolds)…

*Trains them to turn with the rope, not against it…

That last step, she did over and over, first wrapping the rope around their backside and tugging, and then, once they got that, just draping it across their backs and then their necks, waiting until they turned away from her, following the rope to unwind themselves.

By the end of each session, the horses were remarkably compliant. She tried to reward them with bits of carrot but apparently untrained horses don’t know the glories of orange root vegetables.

That, it turns out, has to be taught, too.

This same time, years previous: riding paso fino, the quotidian (8.13.18), the quotidian (8.14.17), a new room, spaghetti with vodka cream tomato sauce, the quotidian (8.12.13), a piece of heaven, getting my halo on.

This same time, years previous: Mondays, fresh peach pie, tomato bread pudding with caramelized onions and sausage, the Murch Collision of 2015, the quotidian (8.11.14), best banana bread, grilled trout with bacon.

Recently it came to my attention that everyone in the whole world over drinks gazpacho … except me. I’ve never even tasted the stuff (that I’m aware of, anyway), so of course I had to make a batch right away, just to see what all the fuss was about. And then I was like, Ah-ha and YUM, and I promptly made two more batches. Now I keep a pitcher of gazpacho in the fridge and drink it all day long, just like all the other hip folk.

Making it is fun, and easy. I don’t measure a thing, instead just tossing in whatever veggies I have on hand. I send a kid out to the garden to pick a cucumber, a bell pepper, and a jalapeno while I collect an assortment of tomatoes — yellow, heirloom, juice, Roma — and cut a think slice of onion and peel a couple cloves of garlic.

I first chop the veggies in the food processor to get them nice and soupy before transferring to the blender. While they’re whirring into oblivion, I add and taste through the little hole in the lid: grinding in more black pepper, pouring in olive oil and vinegar, and sprinkling in salt, maybe cumin.

By the time I’m done, my ears are ringing (our blender is LOUD) and the gazpacho is silky smooth. And so nutrish!

My older daughter and husband are the only other gazpacho imbibers in the family, and they only drink small glasses at a time, but I don’t push it. I can eat just about anything, but am sensitive to beverage textures (once I disposed of a mug of chunky corn drink through the floor boards of our Guatemalan host’s home, only realizing the error of my ways when the family pigs suddenly — and loudly — materialized beneath me), so I get the whole cold soup-makes-me-gag reflex. However, good news: gazpacho is flexible! One of our Puerto Rican friends thought it was horrid cold but delicious heated in the microwave and garnished with parmesan cheese and chopped cherry tomatoes.

I often have a big glass of it for my lunch — today with tortilla chips, yesterday with corn-on-the-cob — or as a pick-me-up snack. I’m not sure which is more invigorating: the drink’s light, slight spiciness, or the self-righteousness, wholesome vibe that comes with drinking an entire garden in every sip.

Either way, it makes me feel freakin’ awesome.

Gazpacho 
Adapted from a variety of recipes and based on whatever’s in the garden.

Endlessly adaptable, feel free to add different herbs (parsley is yum), leafy greens, hot peppers, etc. I’ve read that in Spain they soak some bread overnight in the veggie juice and add that to the drink to bulk it up. Other people like to eat it in a bowl, garnished with chopped veggies and croutons. Yesterday I read about a version that called for chipotle peppers and fresh lime juice which I’m eager to try. As long as you have a few good juicy tomatoes, a top-notch olive oil, and some garlic, you’re good to go!

(I haven’t read this anywhere, but I can’t help wondering: would this be good with vodka? It’s basically a bloody mary, right?) (Ooo! What about with a dill pickle garnish? Must try!)

2-3 large juicy tomatoes, rough chopped
1 bell pepper, rough chopped
1 small to medium cucumber, rough chopped
½-inch slice of onion, rough chopped
2 cloves garlic, sliced
a bit of jalapeño
good olive oil, maybe ½ cup
red wine vinegar, maybe 2-3 tablespoons
Salt and black pepper

Blend the veggies in the food processor until soupy. Transfer to a blender and puree extensively. While blending, add the vinegar, salt and pepper, and then the olive oil in a thin stream. If you like a thinner drink, add a bit of cold water. Taste and correct seasoning. Chill.

This same time, years previous: a week of outfits, my beef obsession, pile it on, corn crepecakes, crunchy dill pickles, elf biscuits, nectarine-red raspberry freezer jam.