Sally Gerard

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“Location, location, location.” It’s a quote from some movie I can’t remember, or something. My classroom is located across from the home ec room. Before the school had the mouse problem, the sweet smell of baking wafted in from home ec, making me hungry.

Warm cookies fresh from the oven are so yummy, all gooey and falling apart. I would walk the few steps across the hall, and yes, chocolate chip cookies. They looked delectable all golden brown and full of sweet chocolate chips, still melting.

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Back in my room, I though if we banded together in mutiny, I think we could take them. Maybe cause a distraction while our stealth team sneaks in and grabs a plate full of cooling cookies. Then reality hit and I decided that maybe I need to start eating lunch.

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.

Most people have taken down their Christmas tree by now. Rumor has it that I have not. When I look at it, I see so much history, love, and family in the ornaments. The colored lights are so warm in the dark before dawn and in the evenings after the sun goes down. It’s peaceful, mellow. 

We’ve only just passed Epiphany, so really it isn’t out-of-the-question to keep the tree up. Yes, there are needles falling, but softly and slowly like the first leaves of fall. Santa is still perched on the branch by a tiny yellow bulb; I think he is already working on next year’s list as it sits in his lap. The tinsel shimmers and sparkles, especially when the furnace comes on and warm air gently starts the silver strands swaying.

In our travels this year, I found some beautiful old glass ornaments to brighten our tree. They hang among some of our favorites: a wooden canoe, a replica of a Flexible Flyer, a tree angel made from a pine cone, and a red jingle bell!

I think one more week is not unreasonable.

Today is December 31, 2016. There have been a lot of things going on this year but its important to look forward sometimes too.   This year I climbed my first 14er, I ran in a colorful bubbly …

Source: Challenge