Personal Essay

It's a cold October morning, the wind brings a chill to the air, the sun has not yet risen, but I am surrounded by life, I am about to show you the place that I consider to be the best on earth.

Behind me is the Showjumping arena with all the mud spattered jumps dotted around it in an seemingly random way, the stables dogs are drinking from the big puddles here and there around the arena. Further is the dressage arena, flooded by the torrential rains of the past week, further still is the indoor arena with the boarded up sides to prevent the howling gale that sweeps this part of the countryside so often from sweeping through the arena. Next to it is the near deserted car park.

In front of me are the paddocks, on one side, individual small paddocks with horse boxes, to the other are bigger paddocks with several horses or ponies in each. In the middle are two tack rooms, the tidier more organised one with private lockers for the riders with their own tack and the bigger more messy one with the individual tack for each pony and horse along with brushes, hats, martingales and a lot of other scruffy material for general use, sandwiched in between the two tack rooms is a tacking up area were there are currently a couple of riders getting their mounts ready for the lorry, putting on protections and bandaging the tail.

Next to the tacking up area is the big well travelled lorry, it's old but all the competitors love it, it has never failed, it has a black stripe along either side as well as ten little windows through which the horses can poke their noses. Inside are haynets, one at each thick iron ring, that were placed in the lorry the previous night for the horses to munch on during the forthcoming trip. In the distance you can catch a glimpse of the vast cross country stretching out, it has water jumps, surprising,steep dips, exciting unexpected hillocks and a corner of woodland.

The smells all around me are familiar and nostalgic, the smell of sweat coming from the saddle blanket lingering in the tack rooms, reminds me of physically painful jumping sessions and sweat drenching dressage sessions in the thirty-five degree heat. The smell of hay blowing around in the paddocks is wonderful, even the strong smell of horse manure, foul to outsiders, doesn't bother me in the slightest. My ears can perceive a squelching noise as someone trudges through a muddy paddock to fetch their pony. A shout as someone becomes impatient at their horses attitude.

As I walked into the paddock with the horse I would be riding today in, he came towards me. He's a big bay gelding, long gangly legs and a thick solid as iron neck and chest from all the hours working, as I run my hand along his flank he turns his head to look at me, he has big brown eyes and a white stripe running down his nose ending in a big splotch on his muzzle. He has a slightly dished arabian nose and wide nostrils,

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