Return to Archives ________Home
My mother taught me that much of life is about overcoming adversity. "How you deal with what life hands you says much about who you are," she says. "Everyone has troubles, it's how they deal with them that makes a difference." My father taught me to prepare for the unexpected. "The wise man anticipates change," he told me. Good advice on both counts. These are the sorts of things I find myself mulling over in the daily repetition of stall cleaning.
Fortunately, mucking stalls doesn't require a lot of brain power, leaving my mind free to ponder the ups and downs of daily life. I've found that no matter how bad things are, you feel more "normal" if you act "normal." Besides, if you can't quite pull off acting normal, a barn's a great place to sob, to scream, and to wonder "Why?" outloud. I can rant and rave to my heart's content and, if they have their hay, my horses gladly look the other way.
In the barn, I step away from the phone, the fax, and the e-mail. I leave behind the papers to be filed, the unopened mail, and the bills to be paid. Fed-X deliveries can sit on my doorstep for all I care. I sweep the aisleway clear of hay, straw, and dirt, finding a sense of progress in the simplicity of the act. A task completed to satisfaction is no small thing. There is something immensely satisfying about a tidy barn.
Having grown up a horseless horse-crazy youngster, I don't take my horse ownership for granted. It is a hard-earned pleasurea luxury I relish on a daily basis. Even when I'm too busy to ride, living in the company of horses gives me pleasure. Caring for their needs is both an obligation and an honor.
I find the simple, repetitive act of mucking stalls to be soothing. Over time, I've developed my techniques and rhythm. The familiar sights, sounds, and scents relax me. My body does the work, while my mind is free to be creative. For the time being, I am at peace.
While cleaning my stalls, I solve problems, explore new ways of looking at things, and often come up with ideas that surprise me. I take a break from the complexities of "normal" life, forgetting who I am, what I own, and how much I owe. My clothes are comfortable and loose-fitting; nothing stylish here. I live the life of a simple farm handif only half an hour at a time.
The crunch of straw, scrape of the rake, the simple joy of flexing my muscles please me. I trudge out to the compost heap, taking in the scent of rain and the pines. People who live their lives indoors and are afraid to get dirty miss all of this.
I dump my wheelbarrow and head back to the barn at faster pace. Sprinkling stall deodorizer on the mats signals the job is almost done. Grabbing armfuls of fresh straw, I throw it into each stall and spread it.
As I bed the stalls, I take pleasure in doing the job well. In tending to the care and comfort of creatures other than myself, my life no longer focuses on my own needs. I call the horses and watch their delight in my work. The pony, Sassy, begins eating the straw as quickly as possible; my gelding, Nick, leaves his scent in a favorite location before nosing around for hay.
The barn is not only a haven for my animals, it is a place of comfort and reflection for me, as well. As I put away my shovel and pitchfork, I give thanks for life's simple pleasures. With my animals warm and well fed, all is well in the world.