The tack room porch, a shelter from many storms, classroom for all the big posters of horse information: parts of the horse, hoof, saddle and bridle, horse breeds, colors, markings, our feed schedule, barn and trail rules and Harrison Ford on the back of the east door watching over all the equipment by night.

The tack room sheltered all the saddles, blankets, and bridles, each saddle resting on a built-in log rack, bridle hanging on the horn and blankets turned upside down on top to air out from the day’s ride. Each post has the horse’s name on it and their halter hangs on the front nail just where their name is written.

The tack room also houses the summer’s grain supply, feed cans, extra boots and rain gear for campers, grooming equipment, medical supplies for horse and human, helmets, and

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various other needed supplies. Atop the counter-cabinet is a small fridge for essential soda, chocolate, and penicillin. The fridge doubles as canvas for the magnetic poetry contest that is ongoing through the summer.

In my time, this corral, this tack room, this horse lodge was home for me and was home, as best I could make it, for all who came to us, including the horses. I loved to walk in the late evening past the lodge porch, through the horses eating their hay, and down the hill to the little foot bridge over Rock Creek. Just to listen: to the water burbling on down to Ferncliff, the birds settling in for the night, and the sounds of evening vespers. This place called camp, was alive with living and peace, hard work and joy, and every blessing God has to bestow.