My Gentle Barn (27 page)

This work was not only life-changing for the children and teens; it was fulfilling for the horses and served as an important part of their continued healing. It gave them a sense of purpose. In most work that horses do with humans, the horses are asked to suppress their sense of self and behave like machines, following the same commands no matter what’s
going on with the humans or the environment around them. The horse walks were a success
because
our horses were asked to be themselves and express their own voice. And our herd thrived on this freedom and took their work seriously by choice.

After every session with the kids, I felt more centered than ever, more connected to the source of all life. Even this wide-open land and expansive sky somehow pulled me to a new level in my work, drawing the creativity out from the depths of me. I was doing what I was designed to do, and I felt like I could fly.

It was after a wonderful session one day with a group of foster children that Jay came and found me down in the horse barn, his hand on his hat so it wouldn’t blow away. We were having wicked winds—where dust and debris were whirling in eddies along the walkways and the grasses were blown flat. I hadn’t dared to take any of the horses out that day; the kids and I had simply groomed them in their stalls.

“Saddle up, Ellie,” Jay said. “We’re going for a ride.”

We’d been taking Sasha and Caesar out on regular trail rides. Jay and I joked that it was a daily double date. But there was no way he was getting me on a horse in that wind. “A ride?” I said. “There’s a tornado out there.”

“Come on,” he said, hoisting a saddle onto Caesar’s back, “go get Sasha’s saddle.”

A gust of wind blew through the horse barn, nearly knocking my hat off. “You’re out of your mind,” I said.

“Ellie, please. Come on.” He sounded a little desperate.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I’m hungry. I’m going to go up and make a sandwich, and then maybe the wind will die down by afternoon.”

But Jay persisted. He wanted to go
now
. And somehow he managed to win me over and get me to agree to his crazy idea.

We mounted the horses, and five minutes out, we rounded a bend in the trail and Jay reached for my hand, as he did sometimes when we rode together. “I want to look in your eyes,” he said.

I wanted to turn my gaze to him, but when I rode I needed to see where I was going. I glanced at him briefly, but then turned back to the trail.

Jay stopped the horses. “Look at me now,” he said.

His face looked serious and he gazed at me for a long moment with those deep blue eyes of his. Then finally he spoke. “Will you marry me?”

“Yeah,” I said. But I thought he was just being sentimental, feeling the emotion of the moment.

Then he pulled out a small black box, and I thought,
Wow, is this for real?
I searched his face, looking for the beginning of one of his huge grins. But he stayed serious and vulnerable and tender. He flipped open the box, and there sat the most beautiful ring, with a white diamond on either side and in the center a yellow diamond—my favorite color. I looked up at Jay, my eyes filling with tears, and saw tears in his eyes too. “Oh my God,” I said. “Yes. I’ll marry you!”

He got off his horse, and then helped me down off mine. He took me in his arms and kissed me, and then slid the ring onto my finger. We stood in the middle of the path for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms and drinking each other in.

Finally, he took my hand and said, “I want to show you something.” He led me and the horses off the trail and into a meadow, then pushed aside the tall grasses to uncover a picnic basket he had hidden there. He opened the basket and spread out a red-and-white checked tablecloth, then sat down and patted the spot next to him. Inside the basket were beautiful salads and sandwiches and red wine, with real wineglasses. And for the next hour, it was as though we were inside our own little bubble while time stopped and the wind stopped and the horses grazed nearby.

When we finished eating, Jay gathered up our picnic. As we mounted our horses, I became aware of the wind again, which hadn’t stopped at all. Then Jay turned Caesar in the direction of home.

“Aren’t we going for a ride?” I said.

“Hell no,” Jay said. “It’s windy out here. It’s too dangerous.”

By the beginning of 2004, all our animals had fully adjusted to their new environment. And by the end of that year, the horse herd was thriving, and our at-risk youth program was flourishing along with it. Although our new collection of volunteers was only a tiny handful, I was grateful to have them and trusted that more would sign on in time. Jesse and Molli—now six and seven—were finally both in school a full day, giving Jay and me uninterrupted time to run the Gentle Barn. I was sinking my teeth into working full-time, being completely present for the animals and the at-risk kids. At the end of the day, when our own children came home from school, I happily changed gears and entered their world, being present for them. Jay and I were a great team both for the Gentle Barn and in our parenting. If one of us was taking
the kids to school, the other was feeding the animals. Our days had a lovely flow to them, and I had the sense that the Gentle Barn was setting its roots firmly into this new soil.

Added to this daily rhythm was an extra sparkle of magic ever since Jay and I had gotten engaged—as though each day shimmered around the edges. The magic was not only for the two of us, but for our kids. They felt as if we were all getting married to one another, unifying us into one true family.

As lovely and magical as my days felt, I was exhausted by the end of each and every one of them. I didn’t get one second of downtime from the moment I set my feet on the floor in the morning until I lay myself down in bed at night. There was always someone needing me or pulling on me or asking me questions. Not that I minded being there so fully for all these gorgeous beings—animal and human alike—filling them up, helping them know how beautiful and loved they were; but after I poured myself into my children and animals and Jay and the at-risk kids, I sometimes felt as though I’d poured all of myself out, neglecting to reserve just a little bit for me.

I certainly never would have imagined that I could add another element to the list, another being who might need me not only throughout the day, but also through the night. A small, helpless person who depended on me for their very life, who took sustenance quite literally from my body.

In February 2005, just a few months after Jay had proposed, I felt off for a couple of days. More than off. Tired, nauseous, awful. I had a fleeting thought that perhaps I had the stomach flu, but deep down I knew it wasn’t the flu. I had only felt this particular type of nausea once before, when I’d been pregnant with Jesse.

I slipped out and bought a home pregnancy test, and an hour later I was sitting on the side of the tub, staring at the pink plus sign on the
plastic wand, half expecting it to change any moment to a minus sign. Although I’d already known it in my gut, I still couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t thought I could get pregnant again.

The first wave of emotion was excitement.
Oh my God, Jay and I are going to have a baby!
Talk about unifying our family. And I would get to relive that amazing experience of holding my own newborn, another tiny human I was inextricably connected to. When I told Jay, he was as excited as a little boy. His whole face lit up; his whole
being
lit up. He practically jumped in the air. Then he took me in his arms and kissed me for a long, tender moment.

But by that night, tiny tendrils of fear were creeping their way into my thoughts. How on earth were we going to manage? I was maintaining a very delicate balance between my many roles—mother, wife-to-be, rescuer, educator, one-woman cheerleading support team. It was a virtual high-wire act, with spinning plates and all. I worked hard not to lean too far this way or too far that way and have it all come crashing down. Where was a brand-new baby going to fit into this picture? How could I be there for a new, fully dependent life and still give myself to everything and everyone else I cared about? I was in a panic.

Jay, however, was as ecstatic as the moment I’d told him, and he stayed that way. Adding another child to the mix would be “easy,” “piece of cake.”
Naïve
, is what I thought.

Over the next couple of weeks, I felt every emotion on the spectrum. I was still concerned about how we would manage logistically and financially, but I also felt the excitement slowly returning. I was going to have a new baby to hold and kiss and coo over. There was joy and awe and wonder, and within a short time I grew attached to the new life growing inside me. Each passing day gave me more certainty that it would all work itself out.

We waited to tell Jesse and Molli until we had confirmation from the doctor. Sure enough, I was pregnant, as pregnant as anyone can be. I was throwing up, trying not to throw up, and fighting exhaustion all day long. Some mornings I couldn’t even get out of bed.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” Jesse said. It was one of
those
mornings, and he was standing by my bedside staring at me.

Then Jay and Molli came in. Jay had gotten the kids ready instead of me.

“How come you’re still in bed?” Molli asked. It was an unusual sight for all of them.

Jay sat down. “Well,” he said, “your mom is going to have another baby.”

Both kids looked doubtful. They didn’t believe it for a second. Another one of Jay’s jokes.

“But what’s wrong with Mom?” Jesse said.

It took some explaining to clarify why I was feeling so sick.
I
still didn’t understand why bringing a new life into the world had to make me feel so miserable for the first three months.

When the kids finally realized it was true, they got very excited.
A new little sister or brother!
But just like me, their first few days were filled with mixed emotion. Would they still get to be special? How was I going to play with them if I was holding this little baby all the time? Jay and I did a lot of assuring and reassuring, explaining and including. The kids sometimes came along to my appointments at the birthing center. They saw the ultrasounds and heard the midwife talk about what was happening. And we included them in our discussions about possible names for the baby.

At the beginning, we shared the news only with family, friends, and the volunteers who had become close. Others would know soon enough, when I started showing. We had done the same with the news of our engagement, figuring our wider circles would know when it was time to start inviting people to the wedding. It was a good thing we’d waited on that one because it didn’t look like a wedding was going to be happening right away. If I was too sick some days to get out of bed, I certainly wasn’t going to be walking down the aisle. I knew the nausea would pass in a couple of months, but then I didn’t want to walk down the aisle with a big belly poofing out my wedding gown. Once the baby
was born, I wasn’t going to walk down the aisle nursing a baby. And there was no way we would take a new baby on a honeymoon. No, the wedding would not happen for a while, and I was OK with that. Together Jay and I were paying a mortgage, running a nonprofit, and raising children; that was enough of a commitment for me. No one was going anywhere.