Dusty Chance Farm

Perfect approach to the endless winter …

Romanticising the yard in winter so we don’t have a breakdown

We tell ourselves it’s magical before we even open the car door.
That’s step one. Commitment to the lie.

The cold hits immediately, straight into the lungs, like it’s got something personal against us. We decide it’s “crisp” rather than deeply offensive. We stand there breathing out little clouds and pretend we’re in a gritty rural drama, not people who forgot their gloves again.

The yard is quiet in that suspicious winter way. Everything is damp. The air smells like hay, mud, and mild regret. We walk carefully, partly because the ground is lethal, partly because if we move slowly enough we can call this peaceful rather than exhausting.

The hot beverage of choice is essential. Two hands round the mug. Steam on the face. This is not a drink, it’s emotional support. The gate sticks, as it always does, and we shoulder it open like it’s an old relationship we’re both tired of.

Our horse is at the far end of the field. Obviously. We romanticise the walk. We tell ourselves it’s grounding, not a trek across what feels like a failed civil engineering project from HS2.

When they finally arrive, they’re cold and unimpressed. We put a hand on their neck and wait for the warmth, because that bit is actually lovely and we will defend it with our lives. Steam rises. We nod like yes, this was worth it.

The light disappears far earlier than is reasonable. The head torch comes out and suddenly we feel powerful. Capable. Like people who have their lives together. This lasts about four minutes. Our fingers stop working. The horse sighs. We take it personally.

The tap is frozen. Again. We laugh because crying feels like effort. We make do, spill half the water, and tell ourselves this is rustic and character-building rather than deeply annoying. Our sock now soggy.

By the time we leave, we smell like hay, our hair has given up, and our bodies hurt in a way that suggests we’ve done something meaningful, even if that something was mostly not falling over or trying not to

We sit in the car for a moment with the heater on full, replaying the whole thing in kinder terms.

This is how we survive winter at the yard.
Not by loving it.
But by romanticising it just enough to come back tomorrow.

❤️

There is comfort, peace, and healing in the heart of a horse.

My sweet bunny girls greet me when I drive in most mornings and afternoons ❤️ (They don’t usually hang around if Rip is with me 😳)