Ack! Chaos ensues. We’ve had a nice quiet week prepping for Devon—Ella’s been great, Cleo’s been good enough, and I’ve been happy and content knowing that some dear and wonderful friends were lending me their trailer.
I have a two-horse bumper-pull that’s a few inches too short for Cleo, and a big lovely four-horse head-to-head that’s just not practical for Devon parking, so my buddies are donating their two-horse gooseneck to the cause.
Except that our electric hookups don’t match.
I noticed this about 10 minutes ago.
I leave tomorrow at 6 am.
Ahh!
Panic. Call my dear people at Taylor Boyz trailer fix-it shop, who reassure me that they have a cheap converter they can sell me. Whew. As long as the brakes don’t lock up. Oh, groovy.
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I have a packed lesson day (naturally), so I can’t bring the rig in until this evening, so if all else fails I’ll be towing the Big Rig down to Devon, parking or no parking. But darn it all to heck, this is what happens to the best laid plans! Sigh.
Up until this point, pre-Devon organization had been going well. I’ve been taking full advantage of our hot water and heaters to get Cleo sparkling white in cool weather, because she will not be amused at the prospect of a cold water bath on Sunday morning. I hope she gets the picture and doesn’t get poop on her head between now and then.
Ella’s been really, really super and isn’t totally sure why we’re showing at Fourth Level if she’s putting all the Grand Prix work together. Patience, my darling, patience.
I’m all packed, and I have the appropriate levels of Devon clothing, both for myself and the girls: shorts, polo shirts, jeans, sweaters, jackets, windbreakers and rain slickers; fly sheets, scrim sheets, cotton sheets, rain sheets and coolers. You never know what weather the show will bring to the table.
And I am really looking forward to Devon, even if it’s going to be rainy and foul. Devon is the biggest dressage show this side of the Mississippi River, if not in the whole country—there is just nothing like it. It’s magical. I fully expect to be caught doing the ohmygod stare at least once at the “Where Champions Meet” sign. Just like Gladstone, it’s holy ground.
I just hope we can get there!
