The Fall Shift

There’s a shift that happens around the barn every fall.

At first, it’s subtle.

The sun starts setting a little earlier. Hoodies get tossed over the arena fence. The horses start growing the beginnings of their winter fuzz. The flies finally, mercifully, start losing the battle.

Then one day you look around and realize summer is just... over.

And when you have a barn full of kids, especially teenage girls, you can feel that change in a whole lot more than the weather.

Summer has a freedom to it.

Long days. Later nights. Rodeos. Lessons. Horses. Sleeping in. Spending half the day at the barn because there really isn’t anywhere else you have to be.

Then school starts and suddenly everybody has somewhere to be.

We have volleyball players and cheerleaders. Theatre kids and marching band kids. FFA members and 4-H kids.

And farm kids entering that magical time of year when every plan comes with the disclaimer:

“Well... unless we’re in the field.”

Because harvest waits for no lesson schedule.

There are football games and school dances. Practices and performances. Club meetings and homework.

Chemistry and algebra have rudely reentered the chat.

And Spanish, a subject that seems to be particularly beloved by the teenagers around here.

That was sarcasm.

Mucho sarcasmo.

Fall at a barn full of teenage girls is basically one giant scheduling puzzle where none of the pieces stay the same shape for more than three days.

And I kind of love it.

Because summer at the barn can make it feel like we’re all suspended in this little horse-filled world.

Fall reminds me that these kids have whole lives growing around them.

And they’re growing right along with those lives.

Some of the kids who used to depend on someone else to get them here are getting their driver’s licenses now. Others are racking up permit hours and getting closer.

There is something mildly terrifying about watching a kid you’ve spent years yelling “LOOK WHERE YOU’RE GOING!” at pull into your driveway behind the wheel of a motor vehicle.

But here we are.

They’re getting older.

Their worlds are getting bigger.

And horses are learning to share space with all the other pieces of who they’re becoming.

I think that’s exactly how it should be.

Go play volleyball.

March at halftime.

Get on the stage.

Go to the FFA event. Show the 4-H project. Ride in the combine. Cheer under the Friday night lights.

Go to homecoming.

Hang out with your friends.

And yes, get the boyfriend.

Boyfriends are allowed here.

We just have some unofficial expectations.

Treat our girls right. Support them. Understand that the horses were here before you.

And understand that the girl you’re dating is probably a whole lot more badass than you realized when you signed up for this.

You may be asked to hold something. Carry something. Video something. Stand beside an arena for an unreasonable amount of time. Attend a rodeo that lasts approximately seventeen hours.

You will probably get dirty.

So far, only one has been brave enough to keep coming back consistently.

We really like him.

That’s part of growing up, too.

Their worlds expand. New people become important. Priorities shift. They start figuring out who they are outside of the little kids they were when some of them first walked through our doors.

And we get this really cool front-row seat to all of it.

Meanwhile, the horses are still here.

Rodeo season is still underway. Lessons are still happening. The goals didn’t disappear when the school bell rang.

We’re still working patterns. Still fixing little holes. Still building confidence. Still learning new skills and occasionally revisiting old ones that somebody was very sure they already knew.

We’re just doing it differently now.

Because summer gives us room to chase things.

Fall teaches us how to keep making room for the things we love.

And maybe that’s the part I’ve been thinking about lately.

Because that isn’t just a horse-kid lesson.

Eventually, life stops handing us wide-open summers.

It fills up.

School becomes work. Practices become appointments. Homework becomes bills and laundry and grocery lists. There are kids to pick up, people depending on us, dinners to make, deadlines to meet and approximately seventeen things happening next Thursday.

And somewhere along the way, the things we once swore we could never live without start getting squeezed into whatever space is left.

Sometimes we stop making space for them altogether.

Maybe that’s why I love watching these kids figure this season out.

Some nights they’ll come straight from practice.

Some will have homework waiting when they leave.

Someone will be complaining about algebra.

Someone will be questioning why chemistry is necessary for her future survival.

And someone, somewhere, will be deeply and personally offended by the Spanish language.

Somebody else will roll in with no makeup, hair stuffed into a bonnet, looking like she barely survived the school day.

Then another will show up with her hair done, makeup perfect and a fresh manicure she’s suddenly convinced makes tacking up her own horse physically impossible.

Fine.

I’ll help.

Fresh nails are fresh nails. I get it.

We’re not making it a habit.

That’s fall around here.

Messy schedules and arena lights coming on earlier.

Sweatshirts over riding clothes and checking the time because there’s still homework to do.

“Can we move my lesson?”

“I have a game that night.”

“We have a performance.”

“I have FFA.”

“We might be harvesting.”

And occasionally:

“Can he come watch?”

Sure.

Bring him.

We’ll see what he’s made of.

It’s trying to squeeze rodeos between approximately 47 other commitments and somehow getting everybody, their horses, their tack and their sanity to the same place at roughly the same time.

And through all of it, they keep coming back.

Maybe not for endless summer afternoons anymore.

Maybe it’s only an hour tucked between practice and homework.

Maybe they come through the door tired, frustrated, excited, heartbroken, annoyed, laughing or carrying everything that happened at school that day.

But they come.

And for a little while, there’s a horse waiting.

There’s work to do.

There’s usually somebody here to laugh with.

And there’s a familiar place where they can just be horse kids again for a minute.

I think adults could probably learn something from that.

Because growing up has a sneaky way of convincing us that the things we love are only allowed after everything else is finished.

After the work is done.

After the house is clean.

After the bills are paid.

After everybody else has what they need.

After life settles down.

Except life doesn't really settle down.

The schedule just changes.

Maybe growing up isn’t supposed to mean abandoning the things that make us feel most like ourselves.

Maybe it means learning to fight for a little space for them.

An hour between responsibilities.

A late-night drive.

A Saturday morning.

A horse waiting at the gate.

Whatever your version of that is.

These girls are learning that right now without even realizing it.

Their worlds are getting bigger, and the barn doesn’t need to be their whole world.

I don't want it to be.

I want them to play the sport. Join the club. Go to the dance. Get the license. Chase the opportunity. Fall in love. Screw something up. Change their minds. Find new pieces of themselves.

I just hope that as their lives get bigger, they remember they’re allowed to keep making room for the things that make them feel like them.

Maybe that's what fall is really good at reminding us.

Things change.

Seasons shift.

The light disappears a little earlier.

Kids grow up.

Schedules fill.

Priorities move around.

And we adjust.

Around here, the days are getting shorter.

The kids are getting a little older.

The arena lights are coming on a little earlier.

The trailers are still rolling.

Lessons are still happening.

Rodeo isn't finished with us yet.

And somewhere between school, sports, theatre, marching band, FFA, 4-H, harvest, homework, fresh nails, driver’s permits, licenses, friends and boyfriends...

we’re still making room for horses.

And maybe whatever your version of horses is, you should make a little room for that, too.

Because summer gives us room for the things we love.

Fall asks whether we love them enough to make the room ourselves.