The Barn

I’m pretty sure our barn is capable of warping or bending Time.  I can go out to the barn to feed the horses, feel like I’m out there for at least 20 minutes—then come in to the house and its only been about 7 minutes.  Or, I can spend what I think is only “a few minutes”, and in the “real world” it’s been over an hour.  How does it do this?  Is it just our barn that is some energy-time- vortex or is it any barn?  For me, our barn is that sanctuary everyone needs to have, if only for the sake of having the option of a safe, quiet place.  The pace of Life is just different in the barn.  Slower.  Almost standing still.  Or is it that the pace of Life outside the barn is just super-amped up?  Probably both.  It’s the contrast that I’m noticing.  Almost without fail, I can be having that feeling of being “spread too thin”, and can go to the barn…breathe…and regain some sense of balance.

I’m sure the occupants of the barn have a lot to do with this.  Horses live in the present moment.  They don’t burden themselves with guilt over the past, and they don’t worry about what may or may not happen in the future.  Their needs are simple, their wants are simple.  Though they happily roll in the dirt, they never drag themselves through the “mud”.  They don’t make judgments about themselves based on another horse’s appearance. ( Can you imagine?  “She is so skinny, that means I am so fat, but I just can’t cut back on the oats!” or “Does this saddle make my rump look big?” )  

I have a very vivid memory of a couple of years ago when I went out to feed the horses.  It was a late evening in December, with just enough light to see, but fading quickly. I had excused myself from the merry decorating of Christmas cookies and pulled on my heavy coat, hat, and gloves…slipped my feet into my snowboots and started the trek through the nearly knee-deep snow to the big red barn.  When I opened the door, Rio quietly nickered his greeting.  I forked some hay into the two feeders, poured some grain in on top, and the horses happily began eating their dinner.  Then, it began to snow.  I don’t mean little bits of snow, I mean the biggest, softest snowflakes I had ever seen.  These flakes were easily half-dollar size.  I stood in the quiet shelter of the barn and watched out the big stall door towards the north pasture as the huge, fluffy, flakes meandered their way to the ground.  The scent of rolled oats, molasses, and alfalfa mingled with the sound of the softly falling snow as the fuzzy horses gently munched their hay.  I was held captivated.  I was reminded of one of my favorite poems:

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening –by  Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep. 

I thought of my little family, back in the warm house with the fire burning, laughing as they spread frosting on their gingerbread and carefully placing cinnamon candy to make faces on their cookies.  I thought of the barn and woods just outside, “lovely, dark, and deep”, and I thought of my furry companions.  I sniffed as a couple of tears rolled down my cold cheeks…I was overcome with such gratitude.  Life was so good.  I etched that moment into my memory—which is good, because I have used it countless times to remind myself of the wonder of life.  When I get too overwhelmed, too busy, too fearful…I can remember what it felt like to stand in the barn on a snowy evening.  I can find that sense of peace, serenity, and gratitude. With yoga, I am learning how to carry that feeling with me more often, though my life has become quite full and often hectic. 

the Homestead, with the barn in the far right...

You may not have an actual barn, but it’s not the structure that is important, as much as it is the space. If you don’t have a space to feel safe, quiet, and peaceful…I would suggest finding or creating one.  Maybe it is on your yoga mat.  Or in your bath tub.  Or driving in your car.  Or on your horse.  Or running down a mountain trail.  A space where God can remind your weary soul that life is full of wonder...and to savor it…

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.