I read a blog this morning by a Big City Girl who got to take a weekend off and play at country life. She even went so far to suggest that she might like to move out to the country and take up horse training as a new career. It really tweaked me. I didn’t leave a comment, so…
Here’s my cranky, Mugwump-ish response to her:
I’ve lived in the middle of nowhere and I’ve lived in the middle of a city. I now live in the ‘burbs near farmland, yet near the city. I’ve been an office lackey and I’ve been a horse trainer. I prefer nowhere and horse training. I’m not so happy living in this limbo-land called the ‘burbs. It’s almost a half-life for me. We have to be near the city for my husband to work, yet out enough that I can board my horse. I taste freedom, but it’s not quite in reach.
I’m not convinced that you’d be happy as a horse trainer. Then again, horses are easier to deal with than men most of the time and they’re pretty straight up about their intentions. But, I somehow doubt you’d enjoy having a 1200 lb jerk-wad try to kill you because he doesn’t want to do what you’ve asked. And, I’m not so sure you’d enjoy the aches and pains associated with riding and subsequently being thrown off multiple young horses that come with a little time and age to a horse trainer.
Or all the chores that go with those horses that need training. Really, would you like to shovel manure out of 30 stalls before breakfast? How about doing a couple sheath cleanings where you need to stick your hand up you-know-where and clean a horse penis?
Horse trainers don’t wear fancy clothes to work and they always go home dirty, sweaty and smelly. It’s far from being a glamorous life. Oh, and lets not forget that there is no retirement plan to cushion life when you’re too old and busted up to continue training the young ones.
Yes, hearing the crickets chirp and being able to see the stars at nice is a plus. But I’m not so sure you’d really be happy in the country. I suspect that having to drive half an hour to reach the closest Starbucks or chipping a nail or two hauling water to the barn in the dead of winter because your pipes froze up isn’t really, truly your idea of fun.
So, Big City Girl, why don’t you stay in the concrete jungle with your Starbucks and pretty manicure and leave country life to those of us who know what real back-breaking, physical work is and can appreciate it enough to deserve those crickets and stars.
Now that’s been said, I’m going to take my grumpy self out for a walk in my beautiful, half-life suburban neighborhood and quietly lament that it was farmland just a measly 4 years ago.