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c h r o n o f h o r s e . c o m ja n ua r y/ f e b r ua r y 2 015 101 i own a company, linder educa- tional Coaching, which works with kids having trouble in school. while we work to address a variety of problems, i tend to specialize in teenage boys with behavioral issues. i now live in Arlington, Va., a mere 2 miles to the u.s. Capitol in the district. But i grew up in the rural south in a small town outside of Baton rouge, la. And i often feel that if i could take the kids i work with here and make them work at a barn, a large amount of their issues would disappear. i think there's something magical about the souls the barn builds. while there's magic made in the saddle, and horses have dramatically altered each of us for the better over time, i like to think that just being in the barn is enough to have a positive impact on anyone. e barn teaches all the major lessons of life within its four walls and pasture fences. it doesn't take into account age, gender, race, education or family history. it teaches with the severity and grace of life itself. i remember learning about hard work. two hundred bales of hay don't unload themselves, and the incoming rain doesn't care that your back hurts, you haven't eaten in 10 hours, and your hands are bleeding from blisters. if you don't finish, you lose the hay, and you can't afford more. at's hard work. i remember learning not only a respect for what real man- ual labor is, but also a compassion for those who perform it. e workers in the bigger barns aren't nameless faces; they are men and women with hopes, dreams, opportuni- ties and dead ends like the rest of us. eir backs hurt by the 50th bale, too, but they keep going. even though i no lon- ger do the hard labor of big barns, i will never lose the respect and compassion for those that do, and i will never miss an opportunity to thank them and offer a help- ing hand. i remember learning the value of a dollar. my dad gave me $500 for my first horse as a Christmas/birthday present when i was 9. i bought a 9-year-old unbroken Arabian gelding, still in a field with his mother. And that was it—we didn't have anything left over for a saddle, so i rode without one for almost a year or borrowed them from gracious friends. i fell off 78 times in the first year. i still have my diary, and yes, i counted. i worked off board and lessons, and i saved and begged to go to an event. when i got there, we jumped out of the dressage arena, and i eliminated myself—my hopes and dreams and mouths full of dirt culminating in disappointed parents and a lot of money lost. my dad then told me to get a job, so i did. i designed websites during middle school to save up money for shows, and i went halfway across the country during a summer of high school to find a working student job with a stipend. while my income as an adult is vastly different, i don't for- get the feeling of never buying anything and feeling complete, e barn will give you all the gifts you need to be a good, gracious person, but it is up to us to keep these things when we pass through the gate. By KRISTIN CARPENTER Photos by KAT NETZLER

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