Impatient Whinnies

The sun sleeps as the desolate city streets await the morning rush hour. Driven by an inexplicable compulsion, I step out into the darkness and initiate the journey of seventy-four strides to the barn door. Impatient whinnies and occasional kicks greet me as I step into the barn isle and embark on the beginning of my sweltering, humid summer day.
Compassionately, I supply each of the twenty-three horses with a balanced morning feast, in order to prepare for the day ahead. Not every eighteen-year-old teenager has the ability to drag themselves out of bed at five o’clock in the morning, seven days a week year round. Having spent the past fourteen years this way shields the pain slightly. Through the hot summer days and the frigid winters I spend more of life’s moments in the aisles of the barn than in my house.
Growing up my mom always told our company “to pardon her messy room. She would rather muck ten stalls than clean her own room.” This is what truly my home is. It’s more than the barn filled with the aromas of twenty horses and has become something I live for. The sound of content creatures chopping on a balanced meal with the summer breeze blowing in the distance engulfs my mind and brings me directly back to that barn aisle.
Throughout the past fourteen year I have altered my cleaning habits but still crave to be in the barn whenever possible. The reward of finally being able to ride young colt or filly for the first time is all worth the long hours. Not many riders can say they have been able to succeed, so at eighteen, mastering this skill is an immense accomplishment.
Throughout the aisles of the barn I feel free, confident, courageous, successful, devoted and empathetic encompassed by the comfort of home. Interacting with the horses, allows my personality to bloom. I trot around the ring freely, away from the judgment of society, riding a young colt beaming with confidence knowing I was brave enough to stick with him even throughout the periods...