The first time I went to Ben's barn with my friend was an eye opening experience for me. I was instructed by my friend Winny (a little pun, not really intended, but Oh well...) to look and act nonchalant. She didn' want Ben to know how inexperienced I was. This would be a piece of cake. Nonchalant was my new middle name on account of me being such a good rider.
The barn was really old and it was set literally on the edge of the road. And from there the property sloped off rather quickly down to a stream way below. There were remnants of an old riding ring and three rather worn out pastures where the horses grazed. The grass in the pastures was never seeded or fertilized, manure was never picked up and it was very stoney to boot. In the middle of the practice ring sat Ben's practice horse made out of plastic which he used for his students of polo.
The main floor of the barn was used for hay storage and in the ceiling were enormous hand hewn and pegged beams. This was a very old barn but well designed. The main floor was at grade level in the front and a hay wagon could drive right in directly off the street. A hatch in the floor allowed hay to be dropped to the level below where the horses had their stalls. A very convenient design. The foundation walls were made out of stone and they kept the barn rather cool in the summer and warm in the winter. But it was also very dark on the floor where the horses were kept.
As you entered the lower level a sweet sort of smell wafted in the air. It was the horse smell and you either loved it or you couldn't stand it. Those with the horse gene believe it is perfume. All others, well, you know who you are and I can't explain it to you.
If you enjoyed that smell that was your calling card for entry into the society of the horse lovers or if it was offensive to you then you were an outsider and you would neither have the desire to enter nor understand those that do.
