Signs of Life

Winters in Colorado were drastically different from the ones I grew up with. In California the winter rains bring life as the summer yellow hills are transformed into a velvet green carpet rolling to the horizon. In Colorado, though, winter is the season of death. Relentless, icy winds whip down the snowy Rockies scrubbing the plains clean of any life, leaving bare trees standing starkly like twigs in brittle straw colored fields. Days like these drive everyone indoors, where I wished I could’ve been too, under blankets on the futon in my little apartment, but I had responsibilities that required I venture out into the frigid cold.

Willowbrooke Stables was on the very edge of town, where the buildings gave way to the plains. Everything was quite as I pulled up that long dirt road to the stables; it felt like I was the only person in the world. I parked my car and made my way to the large metal barn door, fighting the wind (which would often gust up to 70 miles an hour!). The frozen metal door creaked and protested until I was finally able to slide it open enough to slip through. It was like another world on the other side of that giant door, and the signs of life beyond the desolate, windswept stable yard hit me with full force, the warm smell of horses, munching on their hay, cozy in their stalls.

I managed to slide the door closed behind me, and made my way down the barn isle to my horse’s stall. Whim was standing in the far corner, blinking her big brown eyes at me as I approached, spoiled horse looking for her daily carrot. I groomed her, rode her, and then put her back in her stall with a flake of alfalfa for dinner, just as I did every day. It was important in the winter, when the horses were all trapped indoors like this instead of out in the pasture, to make sure they got plenty of exercise. That’s why, despite the cold, and the wind (and sometimes snow), I made this daily pilgrimage out to the barn. It wasn’t always fun, but it had to be done.

After finishing up the last of my barn chores I ventured back out to my car, fighting that freezing wind the whole way. I grabbed my car door handle, locked. Checked my pockets, empty! That’s when I noticed the glinting from the steering column, my keys, still sitting in the ignition. Crap. As I called AAA for the fourth time this month I thought, perhaps I should keep a spare key in my tack box. Huddled in the doorway of the barn for warmth, I waited patiently for the locksmith to arrive. Finally a lone car came up the empty highway, I watched it turn onto the dirt drive and saw a familiar face. Oh great, it was the same guy who had rescued me the last three times, just my luck.