When All Else Fails, Ponyhenge

I already know my blog production is way down. I don’t need to look at those accusing stats from WordPress to add salt to the wound. In short, work has been eating my brain worse than during COVID, which is kind of messed up and scary, considering I work at a hospital. I was writing internal communications during that time, but the whole world was also messed up, so I was still blogging and could be snarky, scared, overwhelmed, and angry, and so was everyone else. That’s the nice thing about a pandemic: we can all lose our shit together. But my current work situation is only partly due to the post-COVID world, and a lot is not. So I don’t feel as free to turn my experiences into a blog and get fired, and I am not anywhere close to making fun of it in an lighthearted way that won’t cause a firing offence. And, it still eats my brain, so Mondays come and go like a patient euthanized on a table while women come and go, speaking of Michelangelo (my deepest apologies to T.S. Eliot). OK enough with the pity party. Now that I finally have scraped together enough brain cells to blog, I best get to it.

I have one word for you: Ponyhenge. You might think it should be two words and you’d be wrong. You might also ask what the hell it is. Read on.

I credit my friend Becky for telling me about Ponyhenge, which she did after I wrote about the little Stonehenge in New Hampshire. This henge is in Massachusetts and it’s equal parts whimsical and fascinating, and for some, a big side dish of creepy. I am not among those. In a field in a town not far from Boston is a collection of old rocking horses and hobbyhorses made of plastic, wood, and metal. No one knows who started bringing them there or who occasionally rearranges them. We saw them in a circle, but they have also appeared lined up like race horses during the Kentucky Derby. More horses appear randomly. I love the idea and the name so in June Becky and I went for a visit. We drove out of Boston and along winding roads with big houses and a leafy canopy, and as we came out of a curve, there it was in all its weird pony glory. Enjoy.

 

This one is my personal favorite. Technically smaller and not really a riding pony, but grrrl, is she working the shiny hair and attitude. She in a circle all her own.

Here’s Hippy Horse.

And the pony for formal occasions.

Here’s to whimsical weirdness everywhere.