Big Brother

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A belated Happy Birthday to my big brother, Joey. I got lucky there. I wonder sometimes, what would I have done without him. He was the writer. He was the rock. Steeplechase Times would not have happened, could not have happened without him, hell, it was in his and Sam’s basement where it started. The Saratoga Special, the same, well, other than the basement. Joey met me at the start of my first race, Red Raven, Essex (later to become Far Hills) in 1983, pointed the rocket ship in the right direction and was there to collect the pony after I fell off after the wire. He’s done a lot of picking up over the years, for me, and for others. Edited my stuff. Steered my life. Married Sam. Had three boys, Ryan, Jack and Nolan. All caring, soulful, solid boys. “I met one of your nephews…” I never have to worry what comes next. 

I got lucky there. 

Baseball practice cancelled last night, one last jab from winter, in the 20s last night and tonight. I covered the green-leaf lettuce that made it through the winter, hoping back-for-another-year kale, chard, arugula collards survived. Radishes poking their heads through the spring dirt, hoping they survived the shock. Beets stirring underneath. If you’re a gardener and you’re thinking, ‘no shot,’ that’s fine, don’t tell me, I like to be surprised. Moving oak saplings to the fenceline today, a buffer from a possible, impending development, hoping they survive the transfer. Stray cat, Fluff, bounding around the house, hoping he survives, too. Life on the farm, a lot of hope.  

Keeneland opens today. It’s now spring. Words we didn’t say last year. 

Four runners Saturday. Big weekend of racing. 

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