A Quiet Barn, a Full Mug, and a Moment of Peace
In the early morning calm, the simple rhythm of cleaning stalls is its own kind of holiday gift — a quiet moment before the delightful storm of excited children and wrapping paper explosions.
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I’m not usually an early-morning barn person. On most days, the sun is already well into its shift by the time I pull in, coffee in hand, mentally triaging whatever chaos the day has queued up. But the holidays have a way of rearranging priorities, and suddenly early mornings aren’t a preference — they’re a necessity.
So here I am, bundled against the crisp air, breath visible, hands wrapped around a warm, steaming mug of coffee that feels almost ceremonial in the quiet. The barn is still half-asleep, the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty so much as expectant. Horses stand contentedly in their stalls, heads down, softly munching on their breakfasts, blissfully unaware of calendars or commitments or Christmas morning timelines.
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There’s a rhythm to cleaning stalls that invites reflection whether you’re looking for it or not. Step, fork, shake, toss. Step, fork, shake, toss. It’s physical enough to ground you, repetitive enough to let your mind wander, and familiar enough to feel like home. In those moments, thoughts don’t demand attention — they just drift in and out, carried along by the steady work of caring for something that needs you, quietly and without fanfare. It’s a form of mediation only horse people really understand.
The cold air sharpens everything. Sounds carry farther. The barn creaks softly. A horse sighs. Coffee steams. Time slows just enough to notice it.
I know what’s waiting on the other side of this morning. The delightful chaos. Children tearing into presents, voices raised in excitement and inevitable arguments over who touched what first (because siblings). Wrapping paper everywhere — underfoot, stuck to sweaters, mysteriously trailing down the hallway hours later. The house will be loud and joyful and gloriously messy.
But for now, it’s just me, the horses, and the steady comfort of doing a simple job well. No deadlines. No noise. Just the quiet companionship of animals who ask for little more than breakfast, a clean place to stand, and the promise that tomorrow will look much like today.
