The Low Country Hunt has hosted the Plantation Hunt Weekend only the last four years but already it has established a reputation as the “go to” event for Foxhunters.  Following their first soiree, I read a review that was so enthusiastic that I put it on my list of events for the next winter.  The following January, when I called one of the Masters to enroll,  it was already too late and they were over-subscribed.  No room at the inn.  The third year, I was on the list, fully paid and my mount unexpectedly went three-legged lame the day before we were to load up.  This year, the planets aligned and I rode at the 2011 Plantation Hunt Weekend in lands surrounding Walterboro, South Carolina. Walterboro is located northwest of Charleston, north of Beaufort, inland about twenty miles from the coast, in an area known as “The Low Country”.  In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the primary cash crop was rice; the clearing of the tidal swamps and the construction of earthen levees necessary for the cultivation of rice is still apparent and it is through these rich agricultural lands that the Hunt chases fox, coyote and bobcat.  Rice requires alternate periods of wet and dry and as a result, many of the rice fields are located along rivers to take advantage of the tidal flow which pushes water through the floodgates and into the ditches.

I remember how much I wanted a horse when I was a kid.  It was an overwhelming desire to possess such a magical beast, one that could take me many places and not necessarily those located on a map.  This wanting, needing starts so early many of us can’t remember a time when a horse wasn’t somewhere in our imaginary universe.  I think I wanted a horse even before I had met one in person.  So I am watching with a wistful happiness as a young friend of 15 gets her first horse and a love affair begins.  She has had Dakota for only a few days but already you can see the bond of affection.  It conjures up, in one big swell, a lifetime of gratefulness for the profound influence that horses have had on me.

Snow, ice, sleet and freezing rain tumbled out of the skies over Aiken, South Carolina for 48 hours and shut down commercial and personal life this Monday.  The South isn’t prepared for more than a flurry and local weather reports were full of foreboding.  But truth to tell, the ice that followed the first few inches of snow overnight would have put any locale into hibernation.  Sidewalks and roadways were so icy that every step required concentration.  Whiskey Road Hunt hosts out-of-town guests for a week of fox-hunting and socializing during Hunt Week which is but a mere 21 days away.  Foxhunters coming from the north as far north as Ottawa, Canada have traditionally counted on mild weather with daytime highs in the 50s and low 60s.  But here we are in the middle of a cold spell and the town of Aiken is quiet – a palpable hush, no cars, no noise, no one on the streets. A sight most unusual - snow on the Aiken Standard Newspaper box.

A large storm blew up the Atlantic Coast on Christmas Day and it wasn’t until mid-day that the weather forecasters were predicting snow, and alot of it, for Chester County.  All of a sudden, a day which should have been spent relaxing and drinking spiked eggnog in front of the fire became one of hurried preparation.  The storm gathered steam late in the day as it picked up moisture over the ocean, then it headed west to drop it all in the form of snow.  Atlantic City got about 20 inches, Kennett Square about 8, most of which blew away the next morning in gale force winds.  My thoroughbred hates anything in his ears, including snow flakes, and he sure was happy to spend the night in the barn; the pinto could care less.