Barn Therapy

Sweet hay. Fresh manure. The varied pitches of different squawking birds: geese, chickens, ducks. Alpacas with big, round eyes and soft, flower-pedal ears that pin back when you get too close. Trios of eggs tucked away in various, hidden nests; they’re warm in the morning, freshly laid. The excited ruffle of feathers that comes when grain ripples into the round rubber tub in the corner of the stall.

You can pour the grain in the bucket, or you can feed the ducks by hand. They have soft, round-tipped beaks. Don’t try this with the chickens though. They’re…pecky. And never get close to a goose. Geese are mean. Their round beady eyes look malevolent. They hiss louder than cats, and they’ll stalk you, scaring you into a run-away jog if you’re not used to it.

Even the Alpacas will spit in your face. But that’s only if you really mess with them. It’s easy to keep Alpacas happy. They like cracked corn. They’ll eat it our of your hand, tickling your skin with their soft, nibbling lips.

Fifteen minutes in the barn, and you become a barn-animal too. Dusty hand prints on your dark jeans. Manure caked to your mud boots. Hay in your hair. Dirt smeared across your face. Even your hands are grimy green after dumping out dirty water buckets, full of feathers, hay, and bird poop.

But somehow, you feel pure. You feel more connected to your childhood self, the one who used to roll carelessly down grass hills and build forts, sitting — knees splayed — in the dirt. Yes, your skin, hair, and clothes are caked with grime. But inside, you feel pure: soul shimmering like a polished ring.