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COUNTRY LIFE DIARYThree Years in the Life of a Horse Farm
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Thursday, August 29: Life on a family farm is a trip. Sometimes I fold my arms over my chest and
smile at how ridiculous I feel. I swore as a very young man that I would not be dependent on
horses for a living. I went to law school as an insurance policy on a career. Yet, here I am, with a field
full of weanlings I can't sell for what Grandfather did fifty years ago, a partner in a farm
that depends on horses.
Now I swear at the horse business: But I like it. I like dialing Louisiana Downs to see if Corridor Key got his second winner. (Nope. Naviator closed with a rush, though.) I like thinking about next weekend, when six of our babies race on Maryland Million Day. I like living on a farm. So who cares if the office isn't air-conditioned? (It was ninety-five degrees today.) Who cares if the heat has hatched out the yellow jackets who found a crack in the cedar shakes and dive-bombed us all day long? (Steve Brown will fix those guys tonight.) Who cares if every third caller wants you to sell his mare or share or yearling or weanling? (You'll have to speak up. Bertha's Tree Service is chain sawing limbs out of the tree I used to swing in.) You do it because it is all you really know. From Country Life Diary, Year Three (1991) |
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