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An Ode to my Childhood

This is one of the pastures I grew up down the street from. In case anyone ever questioned my farm girl past. It is where I spent most of my childhood, mucking stalls and picking hooves. Forging my deep, unexpected love of former racehorses, those most likely to be cast aside. It’s also where I learned most of my formative lessons as a person. Like that I wasn’t afraid of hard work. And that I would never have nice nails. That my thighs would never be pin-thin, but they would definitely be STRONG. The friendships I built there are the kind that pick up wherever they left off. And the memories are the type that never fade. It’s about to be torn down, this place, the money for upkeep now completely untenable. It has become a relic of the past. So I’ll think of it in the way I think of most important relationships I’ve lost: grateful for the time I had, grateful for the gifts it gave, grateful for how it determined how I might meet the future beyond it.




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