Baasha's barn and neighbors

Nuzzling Muzzles wrote an amazingly creepy post this week about how her neighbors observe her - audaciously - as she works with or cleans up after her horses. How incredibly irritating! I've been thinking about her fishbowl life as I go about mine, in a tiny old village that is a *suburb* not a country village, desite having 3 Arabians and 2 Shetland residents.

The barn owner lives in a typical old row house (one big long house divided into vertical sections with separate entries for each family. Behind her house is a 1 acre field for the horses. In front of her house is a one car garage that has been converted into a barn. Several neighbors use the driveway in front of the "barn" to get their automobiles to their homes. If I mispark slightly, I've blocked about three people from getting home.

If I spill wisps of hay onto this driveway as I bring hay to one of the fields, I must sweep it up immediately. In other words, they don't want a trace of horse left behind. This is my little yellow car, about the size of a VW Golf. I say that because I want to point out the barn owner's horse trailer behind my car. I've felt for a long time that european horse trailers are ridiculous, only useful for transport, but I do have to say, they function as transport well, and they are not as dangerous as they look, even on the autobahn, because they are only allowed to go 100 KPH. That's about 55. *nods head slowly* now I get it. Practical. Germans really don't know what they're missing, though, cuz horse camping does not exist here. *sigh*

The barn owner has two other fields - the big one with the shelters, and one other one even less convenient to reach with a wheelbarrow with water tanks - there are no hoses so we have to carry water to the various fields where the horses are. Carrying water SUCKS. Surprisingly to me, many, many horse farms and private horse people have this situation where they buy up little fields near their home and use them for their horses. That means your horses aren't really "home" much of the time. They're three houses down in our case, up a narrow paved driveway behind another house. These neighbors watch everything I do, they know exactly how long my yellow car is there, and how many wheelbarrow loads of water/hay I bring up. But as typical for Germans, they say nothing. They usually don't even smile.

The lady who lives directly in front of the barn door avoided my smiles and considered me the very strange stranger for the longest time. I called her the leaf nazi cuz she tries to get every fallen leaf off her driveway/walkway. She even shakes the pretty little tree to coax more leaves down at once. One day I noticed I'd spilled a few wisps of hay and swept them up. She noticed. I suddenly was OK in her book. She started saying "good day" to me. I was delighted! Yesterday her grandson visited, and I could hear their conversation. So could Baasha. He was transfixed, trying to translate German into Horse in his head. So cute! I went out and took a few photos of the place for this blog entry, and the lady caught me and shouted hello. I asked her if she had the time, cuz I'd forgotten my watch. She told me and then said "If you need anything - coffee - please come by. I would love to share." I said, completely shocked, "OH! Why thank you! I have this big thermos of coffee that I bring here and slowly drink as I hang out - but thank you anyways!"

Amazing.

Here is the barn owner's house. It is made out of the slate shingles that are common in this area - you know how some cities are known for particular architectural styles - ours is known for this gray slate, white window panes, and dark green shutters. I find it very classy and dream of having my own. Most homes have the slate in a particular design in one spot, for example, a fish or a horse or a tractor. Quaintness abounds!

The barn is very very tidy and must be swept every day, after each use or feeding time. I have to say it's the only barn I've been in where I can change my shoes, and not get dirty socks. There is one stall door for the two stalls, with a swinging metal divider between the two stalls, kind of like a horse trailer: )

The stall has a window, and you can see that house has a pattern made from the shingles (clicking the photo to enlarge might help). I think these houses are so cute.




This is the view of the neighborhood from the big field. The neighbors all enjoy a lovely view of God's finest creation - our horses in the valley. There are always eyes on us, at all times. Privacy is for Americans. I guess in a way it's pretty safe, I think Germans keep an eye on each other and if anything were to happen, well, it wouldn't - too many people around to take note.

In 15 different boarding facilities in the last 20 years, I've never had my own ice cream man. But every day at 4:30 pm, I hear the music, and he drives his bright red ice cream van right here and parks. I am perhaps his only customer who saves the bowl and reuses it. I stand in the barn doorway, bright orange icecream dish in hand, and when his truck comes around the corner, I run over to him. He says, "What can the little old Italian man offer such a fine, nice-looking woman as yourself?" and I scan his list of flavors, feeling very dirty and ashamed that he offers that compliment, when I'm distinctly at my worst - hay in hair, dust around my mouth from sweating during grooming, and mud up to my knees sometimes. Since I started bringing the dish back, he's been giving me an extra scoop for free. The other day was his last day for the year, he says people stop buying ice cream when it's freezing out. I don't know, I think I could keep it up all year....Since it was his last day, he took back the dish and gave me an ENORMOUS one, and put six, SIX scoops of ice cream in it - three flavors. I was amazed. So much ice cream! For 2 Euros! A little boy was in line behind me, and after I said goodbye for the year, I overheard the Italian telling the boy, "So how is my best friend today? The nicest, most well-behaved boy in the whole world?" I snickered as I carried my bowl back to the barn.

I threw the waffle cone decoration thing into one of the horse buckets (Baasha won't eat stuff like that) and sat down on a bucket to try to eat that much ice cream. The barn owner was standing there smiling, cuz she heard the whole thing. My ever-blogging mind wishes I had a photo of the little Italian ice cream man who comes to the barn to give me treats: )