After two decades of learning and growing as an educator, I feel quite confident in front of a classroom. Presently immersed in something totally new and unfamiliar, I am beginning to realize how much I took that expertise for granted. Developing a solid skillset takes time, patience, and humility. Why did I think I could jump right in to the horse world like a pro?
The amount of learning my poor old brain absorbs each day, both in my classes and at the farm, makes my eyes twitch. Book learning and lectures frequently raise more questions than they answer. I latch on to some random concept and lose myself in a digital scavenger hunt on that topic, such as when we studied the circulatory system and I got fixated on the size of a horse’s heart. Human hearts weigh about 10 ounces. The heart of an average 1,000-pound horse? 10 pounds. And remember racing legend Secretariat? His heart was reportedly a whopping 21 pounds! So there’s a good hour I can’t get back.
Reviewing with a model before dissecting the horse heart.
The minis also teach me a lesson every day. These two guys, Timmy and TJ, are among my most dedicated teachers.
They seem determined to trick me into a variety of rookie mistakes. TJ (on the right) is a rapscallion of a gelding with a strong sense of entitlement and crazy eyes. Timmy is TJ’s dad, the only stallion in the little herd. He is generally sweet and gentle, but TJ brings out his naughty side.
Every morning, when I clean the barn, they follow me and intentionally block my path. I keep telling them, “The sooner you let me sweep out this sand, the sooner I can feed you!” Yet they persist. Here’s one example of their determination.
After all this time, I had the brainstorm yesterday of shutting myself in the stalls. Shoulder-high doors lead from the barn aisle to the stalls, and metal gates lead from the stalls out to the sandy paddock. The horses roam freely in and out of the paddock but have no access to the barn’s interior.
TJ and Timmy glared at me through the gate while I efficiently swept out the sand and loose hay. When I opened the gate, they rushed in, and I quickly shut myself in the neighboring stall. Smug with this new power, I forgot to latch the door from the first stall into the barn, and those two made a break for it. Before I could stop them, they gleefully knocked over a bucket of pellets and scarfed down a few bites. Touché, little men. Lesson learned.
Later in the day, it was bath time. Timmy loves to hang out in the water mister until he is soaking wet, and then he rolls in the sand. He was filthy, and his tail was matted with poo and sticks from the field. I tied him up and hosed him down before getting to work with shampoo, sponge, a rubber curry mitt, and a comb. Afterwards, I used a mystical concoction called Cowboy Magic to detangle his mane and tail. He was so handsome!
And then he did this. I think I heard TJ egging him on.
When I texted their owner, she wrote, “That’s why we leave them in the stall until they dry off.” Well, rats. Another lesson learned.
Although my eyes ache from the pressure of my rapidly growing brain, I love this stuff. I may not reach expert status as quickly as I had hoped, but for now, I am focusing on the journey instead of the destination.
It’s been awhile. (Insert sound effect of long, dramatic sigh.) I just haven’t had much to write about. No, that’s not true. I just haven’t had the urge to write.
I remember traveling to incredible places and feeling eager to share stories about my adventures. On some of my favorite journeys, I spent the morning exploring with Tony, and then I hunkered down in the afternoon to write. Stupid covid! Not only did the pandemic limit our travel, it also sucked the joy out of my daily life to the point that I didn’t even care about documenting it. In fact, I found myself struggling to care about anything.
We felt lucky to live in Chile during the first two years of the pandemic. The government rolled out a plan with free, easily accessible vaccines and a set of rules for social distancing that fluctuated depending on the number of reported cases. Some weeks we were in full lockdown; other times, we could go outside during designated hours but only to exercise. When the number of new cases dropped, the restrictions eased. Everyone watched the “paso a paso” website religiously. Would we have to wear masks outside this week? Could a group of us sit together on a restaurant terrace? Would our classes be live or online? We definitely felt safe, and I’m grateful for that. However, the constant uncertainty took its toll.
This wasn’t the way middle school was supposed to be, and some of my kids felt robbed. I don’t know which came first: my apathy or theirs. Regardless, we seemed to feed on each other’s gloominess. I tried to put on a happy face and stay upbeat, but I know I failed. I still don’t know how some people took it all in stride while I couldn’t. I can’t say why other teachers showed grit and resilience, and I didn’t. Looking back, I can admit it really wasn’t that bad. We were healthy. We had jobs. Nobody close to us was hit hard by covid. Nevertheless, by the second semester of the 2020-21 school year, I found myself googling alternate career paths.
It was kind of funny really. At one point, I was ready to apply at Colonial Williamsburg to be an interpreter. I love history, and I love acting. It sounded like my dream job! Until I read further down the job description, where it clarified the historical person I would be depicting was a black, male, Baptist preacher. So much for that plan. Then I got excited about being a tour guide at the Biltmore in North Carolina. They were looking for someone to dress in costume, ride in a horse-drawn carriage, and share stories with tourists. History, acting, and horses! Yes, please! Until I realized the job paid minimum wage. I have been out of the United States for a long time, so at first I actually thought that was feasible. It wasn’t.
Eventually, I narrowed my search to jobs with horses, using wine-inspired search parameters such as: “jobs with horses that pay well without a lot of additional education.” After many visits down that rabbit hole, I had a few epiphanies. (1) I wanted to go back to school. (2) We own a house in Florida where I could live. (3) It turns out there’s a college not too far from our house, and that college has an Equine Studies program!
And suddenly I had a plan. I use the term “plan” loosely. I took online classes for two semesters, and my former riding instructor in Santiago let me use one of her horses for the hands-on assignments. As our final year in Chile came to a close, I felt both excited and terrified to put my “plan” into action.
The “plan” has deviated a bit. Tony wisely pointed out that if I lived in our house, then we could no longer use it as a vacation rental. As that is presently my only source of income, I thought it wise to seek out other options for housing. Luckily, I had connected with the owner of a small farm in Ocala, where I would be going to school, and she was looking for a long-term pet sitter. And that’s how I found myself living in a tiny apartment connected to a barn, caring for my cat, Ella, as well as another cat, two Anatolian shepherds who guard the barn, two Great Danes, and nine miniature horses. Although it seems I spend most of my day either feeding someone or cleaning up someone’s poop, I greatly appreciate the opportunity to practice what I’m learning on real, live (albeit tiny) horses.
What about Tony? For a minute, he contemplated pursuing his own dream of studying luthiery, the art of building and repairing stringed instruments. However, when a friend reached out with a job for him in Bangkok, he took it. Yes, Tony is living in Bangkok. Without me. I alternate between bouts of debilitating jealousy and overwhelming relief that I don’t have to write lesson plans or attend meetings. We talk every day with no idea where this is all going.
I’ve lived at the farm for 10 weeks, and I’m not going to lie. I kind of miss the international lifestyle. I miss the cadre of automatic friends in your “newbie” group when you start at a new school. I miss hitting the road on the weekend to visit a beach, historical site, cultural attraction, or even another country. I miss teaching a class full of kids from all over the world. I’m not 100% sure I’m ready to give that up forever. For now, though, I want to focus on finding my joy again.
Every day, I learn something absolutely fascinating. Did you know horses can’t breathe through their mouths? So they can’t cough or vomit, which can be a big deal. Did you know the horse’s front legs are not attached to any other bones? They are suspended from muscles, ligaments, and tendons that connect to the body. How crazy is that? Don’t get me started on how complex their hoof is … I have a whole class just on the hoof and lower leg. Well, I could go on all day …
I hope I can document something each week about my experiences at the farm and at school. I wish I had started doing that from the beginning of this journey, but I needed to pull myself out of the apathy abyss first. I know the time will fly, and I also know my short-term memory is trashed. If I don’t write it down, it didn’t happen. Maybe I’ll even dig deep and try to document a bit about my missing year.
Time to feed the horses! And the dogs … and the cats … and myself. Stay tuned. And please send good vibes as I navigate so much newness.
Our cat, Ella, who lives with me.
My sister and her kids feed apples to the boys.
Barn dogs and a photobomber.
Noelle, the owner’s cat, lives in the big house with the Danes.
