The Barn

“I’m headed to the barn”, “See you in a bit”, “I’m just going to lunge”… All common phrases my family and friends have heard hundreds of times as I trot off to my car in my ripe “horse clothes” with the dog following close behind.

When I get free time, I spend it at the barn. I keep my two horses, Jack and Daisy, at a small, family owned stable about three miles away from my home. There are about 10-11 horses living at the barn at any given time. We have a few small-ish turn outs (big considering we are in the suburbs of an expanding city), an indoor arena and a neighboring outdoor arena.

Once I’m at the barn, I inhale deeply (even when the barn is cold and the doors are closed and it smells like I’ve stepped into a hamster cage). The smell of the hay, the horses, the shavings, and yes even the manure, makes my soul come alive and puts me at peace. Most days I ride. Some days I lunge. Some days are for petting and body work. Others are for soaking abscessed hooves. And some are for turn out – watching the horses run like yearlings and roll like dogs in the soft dirt.  

I feel at home at the barn. The people who have their horses there have become my extended family. Together we have grown in our horse journeys, but we have also grown as people. We have been with each other through graduations and changes in  jobs, celebrated weddings and births, navigated divorce, and grieved losses and death.

I have kept many horses at different barns along my path of horse ownership. When I bought my first horse, as a sixteen-year-old, I kept my horse in a field. Not really a “barn” at all. I rode in the field he lived in, dodging the other horses who called the field home. I loved every second of those rides. As time went on, I moved to a barn, and as years went on I moved to another and then another still. I moved barns for different reasons: location, price, trainers, all the things. Some of the barns were grand and beautiful, others were closer to the original field I started in. 

Each place had its good and its bad. I learned lessons from each barn. Lessons about how to be a good boarder, how to make small talk and be polite to people I don’t always agree with, how to humble myself and ask for help from those same people, and how to politely navigate unsolicited advice. On our best days we remember that regardless of our differences, we have a common thread: the love of these amazing animals. 

Some days and evenings the barn is hopping. Everyone and their dog -literally- is there, sometimes this is planned. It’s a happy occasion, a group lesson, or we are all headed out to the equestrian center or the trails. Sometimes this is not planned and I come expecting a quiet ride to find not enough cross ties and people taking turns to canter in the arena. Sometimes I go hoping someone else will be there, but find it’s just me. This last New Years Eve we had an impromptu party at the barn as we all patiently waited for my friend’s new horse to arrive on a transport from Montana. It was one of the best New Years parties I’ve ever been to. Yelling “happy new horse” instead of “new year” and kissing your pony at midnight is just about the best thing ever.

I am drawn to my horses and so I end up at the barn. The smell of manure, hay, oats, and shavings makes me whole in a way nothing else can. So, I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. I take a minute to savor my second “home” and  appreciate my extended barn family. I take an extra minute to sweep the aisle, refold the blanket, and rinse out the bucket, and let this sacred place fill my soul even more.