Years and years ago...decades, even...when I was a little girl, I would ride my horse to this place along with other members of my 4-H club and we'd take a riding lesson or two. It was owned by one of the girls' family, although they didn't live here.
With it being a short mile around the corner, I decided last month that Flicka would do well there where she could socialize with other people and broaden her horizon, so to speak. Darling, of course, was thrilled to have Sandy move down there as well where she could jump off the bus after school to ride.
It's unfortunate that none of the owners really felt the need to keep the old place up. The wash rack now has a sky light. The bathroom has no water. And someone somewhere along the line deemed the backdoor of the barn the ideal place to dump manure.
Which, as it turns out, was also the ideal place to find this week's photo assignment, as well as embarrassing moment. For out in those piles of manure were these glorious little toadstools to which I found myself drawn. I stood above them, clicking away from this side and that...but all I came up with were tops of toadstools. I decided I needed to shoot from a new perspective.
And wouldn't you know that's when the current renter entered, finding me buried up to my knees and elbows in the manure pile, flies buzzing gleefully around their latest target? He glanced over at me with lifted brow. I'm sure he was about to say something, but instead just shook his head and walked away. Good thing, too, because if I'd opened my mouth to answer I'd likely have had a fly for lunch.