Since starting my petsitting gig in August, I have been eager to share this experience with my family. My mom has been here a few times, and my sister, Megan, and her kids have visited, but I really wanted the whole gang here at once.
Wendi, the farm owner, was traveling the week after Christmas, but she gave me permission to use her guest rooms for my sister, Kate, and her family, who were driving from Michigan. They arrived on Dec. 26, and the next day everyone else made a day trip from The Villages.
Watching my nieces and nephews love on the Great Danes, play chase with the two barn dogs, feed treats to the mini horses, and explore the property, I felt my heart soar. The joy was palpable.
Paul gets attacked by Timmy and TJ. Welcome to my world.Annesley and Katie give treats to Grace.Will – decked out in full camo – gets a greeting from Max.TJ sports a new do.Timmy transforms to a unicorn!Nico gets swarmed.Max gives April a little love.Jack couldn’t get enough cuddles with the dogs.A morning at the farm.
After hanging out at the farm for awhile, we piled into cars to visit the World Equestrian Center (WEC). We unpacked a huge lunch at the tables overlooking the Grand Arena, and nobody bemoaned the lack of a horse show because many of WEC’s “Winter Wonderland” exhibits were still up. Between bites of their lunch, the kids ran around, checking out the huge Christmas trees and other decorations. We visited the toy shop and hotel and then got some ice cream before heading home.
The kids pose in front of Sgt. Reckless, a U.S. Marine Corps horse who served in the Korean War.Playing in the Winter Wonderland decorations before workers could dismantle them.Sunny post-Christmas fun at the World Equestrian Center.Cousin love!Mama meets a dapper reindeer.All my silly lovebugs!Siblings! I’m surprised we didn’t get kicked out of the hotel. We were laughing so hard and took many inappropriate photos before finally getting this one. Is it any wonder the kids are such goofballs?
Before moving to central Florida in June, I would look at maps and drone images online to get a sense of the area and speculate about where I wanted to live. This big swath of green intrigued me, but I never took the time to figure out what it was.
From Google Maps
In recent months, I’ve driven under this bridge many times. Again, intrigued but too lazy to pursue any information.
I’ve seen this photo on many websites, but I couldn’t find the original owner.
Recently, I encountered the landmark in person while on a bike ride. I still don’t know many people here, so I used the Meetup app and joined a group to cycle for a couple hours on a paved path starting at the Santos Trailhead in Ocala. As we took off, the organizer, Robyn, said, “Let’s ride to the bridge and then turn around.” Which bridge? Everyone else seemed to know what she was talking about, so I didn’t ask for clarification.
I pedaled alongside various members of the group, chatting and enjoying the scenery, until we arrived at “the bridge,” which turned out to be THE bridge. The Land Bridge is part of the Marjorie Harris Carr Cross Florida Greenway, and that greenway is the mysterious green swath I had noticed on the maps of this area. I excitedly dashed to the top of the hill and looked down at I-75 traffic zipping by below. It was a bit anticlimactic, but I resolved to learn more once I got home.
At the top of the bridge.
Turns out that green swath was actually meant to be a canal that would have bisected Florida to create a shipping channel from the Gulf of Mexico to the Atlantic Ocean. Ever since Spanish conquistador Pedro Menéndez de Avilés explored the coast of Florida in search of trade passages in the mid-1500s, “national and local leaders fought to secure funding and manpower to build a canal they believed would boost Florida’s economy and importance to global commerce,” according to a Florida State Parks sign on the east side of the bridge.
From a Florida State Parks sign.
In 1942, Congress authorized construction of a 107-mile canal to protect the U.S. shipping industry from Nazi submarines, but a lack of funding delayed construction for almost 30 years. In 1971, about eight years and $50 million into the project, President Richard Nixon signed an injunction to halt the canal. His decision was in part based on opposition by the Florida Defenders of the Environment, headed by local scientist and conservationist Marjorie Harris Carr.
I found an article in the New York Times archive that reported the end of the Cross Florida Barge Canal. In the article, Nixon said, “The step I have taken today will prevent a past mistake from causing permanent damage. But more important, we must assure that in the future we take not only full but also timely account of the environmental impact of such projects, so that instead of merely halting the damage, we prevent it.”
In 1992, the canal property became the Cross Florida Greenway, a 110-mile linear state park. The park includes 70,000 acres of land and the country’s first Land Bridge over a major interstate, a corridor used by black bears and other wildlife. According to the Florida Hikes! website, construction on the Land Bridge started in 1999, and is at its core, “a giant planter, with 87-ton beams stretching 2,000 feet across I-75 to hold soil, rock, trees, native plants, and a watering system in a thousand-ton cradle of concrete and steel.”
The day of our bike ride, the only non-human I saw using the Land Bridge was this gopher tortoise. (While researching the Land Bridge, I spent an inordinate amount of time getting side-tracked by this cool animal. They dig burrows that are said to provide shelter for 360 other species of wildlife!)
Now that I have identified the mysterious green swath, I hope to spend more time there.
I almost hate to tell you how wonderful my mornings are.
My cat Ella wakes me up around 4:30 a.m. Hold on … that part is most decidedly not wonderful. It gets better.
I go back to sleep till about 6. Then I get up, make a cup of tea, and crawl back into bed to read for a whole hour. At 7, I set aside my kindle, sit cross-legged at the head of my bed, open the Calm app on my phone, and click on a short guided meditation.
Afterwards, I head to the barn, where the minis greet me with the most appreciative whinnies. They know breakfast is coming. Once they’re fed, I grab the broom, pitchfork, shovel, and wheelbarrow and get to work.
My office and gym.
As I sweep the stalls, clean up manure, scrub water buckets, and shovel sand back into the holes dug by barn dogs Zeus and Athena, I try to practice what I learned in my morning meditation.
I pause and lean on the spade handle to watch the gray dawn dissipate in the rising sun. I notice and feel gratitude for a sapphire sky with one puffy cloud, a pasture full of white ibis aerating the grass, a bright watercolor grasshopper resting on a fence post, an expansive V of honking geese soaring overhead, or the smell of pine when I crunch through the trees. Instead of letting my mind wander and speculate about the future, I try to focus on the moment, finding delight in the world around me. Of course, the challenge is to hold on to that feeling for the rest of the day.
Nature is cool.
Every morning, something makes me laugh. Zeus, a lumbering behemoth of an Anatolian shepherd, begs for a belly scratch. Aprille, one of the mini mares, sticks her face in front of the leaf blower, tossing her long mane like a fashion model. Mischa, the female Great Dane, transforms into a spindly kangaroo, bouncing with excitement at the prospect of going outside.
There’s no subtlety with Zeus.
As for exercise, the barn is my gym. I have lost 20 pounds and developed abs and never-before-seen biceps. I don’t exactly feel like me, but I like it.
I never eat out because … well … money and the lack thereof. Instead, I cook nutritious, vegetarian soups and other freezable meals, eat farm fresh eggs from a lady in the neighborhood, and load up on veggies from a nearby produce stand. (That said, I recently discovered that you can buy single pieces of cake at the supermarket!)
The latest glorious addition to my self-care routine is yoga. Just across the dirt road behind the farm, I discovered an oasis: Wind Horse Yoga. Three days a week, I wander through my gate to join a lovely little yoga community, where owner Knan and her four dogs create a climate of fellowship and zen. Instead of a bell or chime at the end of practice, we are roused from savasana by wet noses and wagging tails.
Ankle kisses mark the end of yoga class.
Working full time, I dabbled inconsistently with self care. I took a mindfulness course and embraced meditation wholeheartedly, but life’s commitments soon pushed that practice to the back burner. I downloaded workout apps, joined gyms, attended fitness classes, and tried to maintain a regular schedule of exercise off and on over the years. I became a vegetarian and tried to eat healthfully; it’s just that cooking is so time-consuming and falafel wraps with garlic sauce delivered to my door are so delicious and convenient. My point is that I basically failed at self care for most of my adult life.
These days, I’m blissfully unemployed, and my college classes are challenging but not overtaxing. This midlife crisis or “gap year” or whatever it is has handed me the most wonderful and unexpected gift: time to take care of myself, mentally and physically.
It didn’t start out that way.
For the first six weeks, I cried a lot. If I wasn’t crying, I was on the brink of tears. I barely made it through my classes before falling apart in my car on the way home. Everything triggered tears, and I didn’t even fully understand what I was sniffling about. The tiniest frustration or inconvenience overwhelmed me. While working around the barn, my mind zipped and zoomed in all kinds of crazy directions, looping back and getting lost. Looking back, I realize I was processing a great deal of change: giving up my career, sending my husband halfway around the world, not having an income, living in a small apartment, and caring for so many living beings who wanted my attention all the dang time.
Those changes continue to trigger moments of panic, confusion, and anxiety. I realize this gift of time has an expiration date, and to be honest, sometimes visualizing where this is all going sends me on a downward spiral. No, it’s not nirvana, but every day I try to appreciate this opportunity to slow down, learn, and grow.
Tranquility in my backyard.
Who would have thought I would find mindfulness in manure?
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.
