The Barn Is Where the Heart Is

I can easily declare that my favorite place on earth is my barn. My equestrian team consists of about fifteen girls, all somewhere around my age. Over the past five or more years, we have grown from friends to family. 

Almost every day I hear the stones crunch beneath my tires and the green wooden gate creak open ever so slowly as I wait impatiently to drive to the other side. As soon as I emerge through the gates that separate the outside world from this humble paradise, friendly, smiling faces turn in my direction and hands wave to me frantically. I step out of my car and see small gray pebbles beneath my feet and breathe in the air—air that smells only of belonging and acceptance. 

One wintery day, cold enough to turn your toes and fingers into ice, my friends and I decided to brave the weather and ride. We rode for all of ten minutes before the freezing temperatures forced us indoors. All fifteen of us filed into the barn and shut the sliding doors behind us. Christmas was approaching, and we unanimously decided that we were not going to let the weather dampen our spirits. My trainer, Christina, turned on Christmas music, while we undressed our horses and finished our other barn duties. All fifteen of us sang at the top of our lungs and let our crazy dance moves flow out of us. We were enjoying our time together so much that we did not even think twice about the temperature beyond the barn walls. We were keeping each other warm and happy. 

The property is not big, but it is not small either. To me, it is the perfect size. There is a sand ring with jumps, a gigantic field, seven paddocks, and of course two barns. One is wood, painted a warm, creamy beige. The second, smaller barn is stone. Just by studying the big, round, smooth rocks that make up the building, I become weary at how heavy they look. Grass encircles the wood barn, allowing a place for the riders to graze their horses after their lesson. 

On one side of the barn is a path of wood chips leading up to the field. The field is my favorite place in the whole property. It overlooks the barn, and after a late lesson I like to cool my horse out in the field and watch the sunset. Appreciating the beauty, I become silent for a while, allowing myself to forget the craziness of the world outside and absorb the peace the field provides. I take in the serenity of nature. I listen to the birds chirp in the trees and the sound the leaves make when the wind rustles through them. I smell the cleanliness of the air and allow my body to feel the warmth the world and the sun give off. 

One summer day, while waiting for our parents to pick us up, a couple of my friends and I ventured up into the field. The sun beat down on our already sweaty backs. We were heading for the only area of shade in sight, provided by a medium-sized tree on the edge of the property. We dove into the cool grass, shaded from the sun’s rays, sensing each blade as it pierced our damp backs. One friend climbed up the tree, wanting to discover a new perspective on the field, one that could only be found from an elevated height. We talked, laughed, shared stories, took pictures and videos of each other doing nonsensical acts. Too soon, we heard the sound of tires crunching on the pebbles on the driveway. Too soon, we passed back out through the wooden gates.