I am from depleted stalls in disarray,

halters, bridles, lead ropes hanging.

I am from dusty saddles, dirty harness stacked,

untouched water tanks, bailer twine disfigured and muddled.

I am from the Bobcat in the way,

to standing on a crippled bucket to reach.

I am from a back door leading to the stone building lot,

tying string to a hook to lock the door,
keeping the horses out.

I am from rusted, cracked, and stiff boards,

and vines hanging on the outside.

I am from cats scampering over hay bales,

bringing home leftovers labeled “cat feed.”

I am from a side drop door,

bulky ropes on a pulley falling out.

I am from eight square bales flying
into the mow,

stacking quickly, preparing for the next eight.

I am from watching where I step,

holes in spots covered by loose hay.

I am from work fulfilled with Belgian
Draft horses,

teams in the stalls waiting to work.

I am from family willing to accomplish
the job,

Teamwork is how farmers finish the chore list.

I am from the barn on the corner lot,

the barn of generations.