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Westwood
It was a right turn onto a dusty gravel road. Chocolate colored fences lined the drive and neatly divided paddocks, from which the horses watched the white van as it drove towards the barn. I was there for my first jumping lesson and as the arena came into view, I realized it would be an exciting one. It was Westwood Stables and it was straight out of the horse books I had poured over as a child. I was twelve years old and Westwood was the most amazing place I had ever seen.
There were gigantic trees in a half moon shape around the edge of the property with the important house of horses in the middle of the moon. To the left was the arena, circled by the same chocolate colored fences that lined the drive. The painted brick jumps, covered in fake flowers, were set at odd angles throughout the sand filled enclosure.
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On the opposite side of the arena sat Glenn and Kelly's house; a tiny, doll-like house, with a yard that obviously did not get as much attention as the students and the horses they trained. They had chain link fence that kept their dogs in check; though they were running loose that day. Behind their house grazed the tired, old schooling horses. The ones reserved for the young kids and the scared adults. They weren't much to look at, but they all had the heart to take care of their delicate riders.
The magnificent barn stood proudly in the middle of it all. The stairs that led up to the door were old railroad ties, completely out of place amongst all the perfection; but once inside the door, the stairs were forgotten. The office had the musty smell of a grandmother's house; a moth ball mixture of moldy leather, and the sweat that made it that way. Here is where the ribbons were displayed, the shows for future ribbons were posted, and the pictures of it all happening were hanging. The meeting room for trail rides and a resting place for the weary. There was a dust covered window for viewing the inside arena and couches to plant tired bodies. The floor was covered in chunks of dirt left by the boots that ran through it and the corners of the ceiling caked in cobwebs. The door that led to the inside arena was heavy and it shrieked when it was opened, but it was the door that led to heaven. A large indoor arena was directly out the door, its rails littered with saddles left by their lazy riders. This large sand filled indoor ring was used for a quick warm-up before you headed out, or for lessons when the weather wouldn't allow anyone outside. Large grooming stalls stood on either side of the arena, with every brush imaginable hanging in perfect rows along the walls and thick mats laid on the floor for comfort. A huge door on the right side opened to the sun soaked outside; and to the left, was an unnaturally clean stable aisle with rows of beautiful horses on either side. The stalls holding the horses were great steel enclosures, big enough for the largest horses to have plenty of room. There were fans hung from the ceiling in all the stalls as well as automatic fly spray floating down from the sky at regular intervals. The shine from the horses' coats suggested the horses these stalls held were owned by people completely devoted to them. The constant nickering and rustling of hay told you the same thing. At the end of the aisle there was another great door that opened onto more content horses grazing peacefully in a large pasture.
When I took all of this in for the first time I truly believed I would never see a more perfect place. As I grew up, of course I realized this wasn't the case, but to this day nothing has been as special as Westwood was to me when I was twelve.
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