Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
To many in the city a life in the country was somehow idyllic and hellish. The beautiful scenery, fresh air, quaint folk, and wide open spaces seemed so perfect and so cherished, but what the hell did those bumpkins do for fun? The city was alive, its heart throbbing with engagements and distractions for the hustling and bustling people that lived there. Yet the people of the country didn’t feel the need for such a high paced life, the constant barrage of entertainment. They were satisfied with a hard day of work and a good meal. A good and simple life for good and simple folk.
About the only fast paced thing in the country was White Pine Stables, a thoroughbred breeding and training facility. A vast swath of 120 acres was carved into the rolling planes of the countryside for White Pine Stables. Half of the acreage hosted a thick wood, trails for riding cut and maintained, and a small lake lay at the heart of the woods. Abutting the woods lay ten fenced pastures, five in rough and overgrown conditions with busted fencing and chipped white paint. The others housed their few remaining mares, not as well kempt as they could have been. A wide lane passed between the two lines of pastures, leading to a massive barn. The tin roof was once painted a deep green though it was flecked with chips as rust. The trotting horse weathervane atop the central cupola had long since rusted in place. The wooden sides, like the fence rails, had once been stark white but turned flaked and grey from age and inability to repaint. Inside held fifty stalls for the horses, four bathing stations, a massive tackroom, equally large feed room, and a spacious loft to hold hay and wood shavings. It was clean inside, far more time was clearly spent keeping the inside free of too much dust and cobwebs.
Beside the barn sat both indoor and outdoor training paddocks and a five horse hotwalker. A dirt track, complete with starting gate, lay just outside of the paddocks. The entire track circled all the way around the pastures. Far longer than any real racing track but a good way to continue exercising the racing endurance of the horses. A few hundred feet up from the barn sat the main house, home to the McTavish family. What was left of them anyways. It was a grand house but, much like the barn, had certainly seen better days. A sweeping porch wrapped around the two story home and a garage was attached on the right side of the house. To the left of the house stood a small building that could be the younger twin of the home. Almost an exact replica but half the size it house the farms trainers and jockeys. Well, once it did, now it just housed their one old and fairly grumpy trainer.
White Pine Stables was once the gem of Willow Valley. They’d had a triple crown stallion and one mare that had managed to win the Derby. People would come from far and wide to buy foals from them and breed their mares to Punch Drunk Laddie. Life was good for a long time for the McTavish family and Willow Valley. Then, one day, everything turned. The mares bred to Laddie lost their foals, often the mares were lost as well. The few to survive through couldn’t even make it to trials let alone real races and certainly not the derby. Fewer and fewer people came to breed their mares with laddie, White Pine had few enough foals to sell and no one seemed to want them. One morning, when the youngest McTavish, Mirin, went out before school to feed the horses she found Laddie down in his stall, groaning and bellowing in pain. He was gone before the vet could arrive. The great, triple crown, stallion had died of a sudden and severe colic.
Five years later and things were not better for the stable. Their trainers and jockeys left them, all but for grumpy old Nathan, and most of their barn staff left as well. They had to sell off a great deal of their tack, trailers, and trucks to keep up with bills. Horses were sold off at dirt cheap prices for the small amount of money and lessen the mouths to feed. A worse blow for the family came when the eldest son, who had been set to inherit the farm, announced he was leaving for the city. The family was rocked to its core and Malcolm was gone the next day with nary a farewell. Mirin, just about to graduate highschool, was left to fill the hole her brother had left with the facility management.
Five more years passed and the farm was almost desolate. Mirin tried to keep up with the work, along side her mother, father, and Nathan. It was hard on all of them just to keep the farm going let alone bring any foals into the world for just one more chance. They still had Loch Ness Lady, Nessie, who had one a single derby and one young stallion who, while having no titles of his own, was one of Laddie’s few surviving foals. Nessie was carrying a foal and, thus far, both mare and foal were doing well. He was their best shot and hope but the farm still needed help financially. At least the internet had gotten better in rural areas. Mirin spent many sleepless nights scouring for some kind of help, besides a loan which they could hardly get anyways. There was a small hope, it wasn’t much but it was something. A sort of outreach programs for folk in troubled times in the city. The foundation, coordinated with the likes of social workers and parole officers, matched people in the cities with opportunities in rural areas. The hope was that the calm environment, labor intensive works, and fresh air might help keep people out of group homes and the prison system. It took some convincing but Mirin convinced her parents to give it a try. They needed more help on the farm. Nathan couldn’t dedicate time to train if he was helping out with the chores after all.
It was decided and the family applied. After four months of paperwork and interviews the foundation placed a young man with the family. Innes, Mirin’s mother, was apprehensive about the idea but kept her lips pressed thing. They were desperate at that point. Fergus, Mirin’s father and head of the McTavish clan, was less worried. If it worked out and the boy did good work all would be well. If not…well he always kept a shotgun by his bed anyways.
Innes was a slight woman with a fall of red hair, though liberally salted, she kept tied back in a tight braid. At rest she looked a severe sort but the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth belied a good hearted woman full of laughter. Fergus was a more intimidating sort, barrel chested with thick arms, his jet black hair, more salt than pepper, curled around his ears. His face was weathered and lined from grins and frowns. Nathan was older than the couple, his hair primarily grey, and a bushy beard covered his mouth and chin. He was lean as a willow, his face cracked and creased with his age. He sat off to the side, worn boots propped up on the railing, puffing away on his pipe. Mirin sat on the stairs, a mirror of her mother but the lines of age wiped away. A smattering of freckles peppered her nose and cheeks, far more numerous after the summer and would fade a little through the winter. Her thick red hair hung about her face in waves of fire, falling to the middle of her back. She wore a simple white t-shirt and a pair of clean jeans. It was at least clean and wasn’t her usual barn attire.
So it was that the three McTavishs and Nathan waited on the wide porch for the new farmhand to arrive. While apprehensive Innes was set on giving the young man a proper welcome with cakes and cider. It was fall after all, though the day was still gloriously warm and bright.
About the only fast paced thing in the country was White Pine Stables, a thoroughbred breeding and training facility. A vast swath of 120 acres was carved into the rolling planes of the countryside for White Pine Stables. Half of the acreage hosted a thick wood, trails for riding cut and maintained, and a small lake lay at the heart of the woods. Abutting the woods lay ten fenced pastures, five in rough and overgrown conditions with busted fencing and chipped white paint. The others housed their few remaining mares, not as well kempt as they could have been. A wide lane passed between the two lines of pastures, leading to a massive barn. The tin roof was once painted a deep green though it was flecked with chips as rust. The trotting horse weathervane atop the central cupola had long since rusted in place. The wooden sides, like the fence rails, had once been stark white but turned flaked and grey from age and inability to repaint. Inside held fifty stalls for the horses, four bathing stations, a massive tackroom, equally large feed room, and a spacious loft to hold hay and wood shavings. It was clean inside, far more time was clearly spent keeping the inside free of too much dust and cobwebs.
Beside the barn sat both indoor and outdoor training paddocks and a five horse hotwalker. A dirt track, complete with starting gate, lay just outside of the paddocks. The entire track circled all the way around the pastures. Far longer than any real racing track but a good way to continue exercising the racing endurance of the horses. A few hundred feet up from the barn sat the main house, home to the McTavish family. What was left of them anyways. It was a grand house but, much like the barn, had certainly seen better days. A sweeping porch wrapped around the two story home and a garage was attached on the right side of the house. To the left of the house stood a small building that could be the younger twin of the home. Almost an exact replica but half the size it house the farms trainers and jockeys. Well, once it did, now it just housed their one old and fairly grumpy trainer.
White Pine Stables was once the gem of Willow Valley. They’d had a triple crown stallion and one mare that had managed to win the Derby. People would come from far and wide to buy foals from them and breed their mares to Punch Drunk Laddie. Life was good for a long time for the McTavish family and Willow Valley. Then, one day, everything turned. The mares bred to Laddie lost their foals, often the mares were lost as well. The few to survive through couldn’t even make it to trials let alone real races and certainly not the derby. Fewer and fewer people came to breed their mares with laddie, White Pine had few enough foals to sell and no one seemed to want them. One morning, when the youngest McTavish, Mirin, went out before school to feed the horses she found Laddie down in his stall, groaning and bellowing in pain. He was gone before the vet could arrive. The great, triple crown, stallion had died of a sudden and severe colic.
Five years later and things were not better for the stable. Their trainers and jockeys left them, all but for grumpy old Nathan, and most of their barn staff left as well. They had to sell off a great deal of their tack, trailers, and trucks to keep up with bills. Horses were sold off at dirt cheap prices for the small amount of money and lessen the mouths to feed. A worse blow for the family came when the eldest son, who had been set to inherit the farm, announced he was leaving for the city. The family was rocked to its core and Malcolm was gone the next day with nary a farewell. Mirin, just about to graduate highschool, was left to fill the hole her brother had left with the facility management.
Five more years passed and the farm was almost desolate. Mirin tried to keep up with the work, along side her mother, father, and Nathan. It was hard on all of them just to keep the farm going let alone bring any foals into the world for just one more chance. They still had Loch Ness Lady, Nessie, who had one a single derby and one young stallion who, while having no titles of his own, was one of Laddie’s few surviving foals. Nessie was carrying a foal and, thus far, both mare and foal were doing well. He was their best shot and hope but the farm still needed help financially. At least the internet had gotten better in rural areas. Mirin spent many sleepless nights scouring for some kind of help, besides a loan which they could hardly get anyways. There was a small hope, it wasn’t much but it was something. A sort of outreach programs for folk in troubled times in the city. The foundation, coordinated with the likes of social workers and parole officers, matched people in the cities with opportunities in rural areas. The hope was that the calm environment, labor intensive works, and fresh air might help keep people out of group homes and the prison system. It took some convincing but Mirin convinced her parents to give it a try. They needed more help on the farm. Nathan couldn’t dedicate time to train if he was helping out with the chores after all.
It was decided and the family applied. After four months of paperwork and interviews the foundation placed a young man with the family. Innes, Mirin’s mother, was apprehensive about the idea but kept her lips pressed thing. They were desperate at that point. Fergus, Mirin’s father and head of the McTavish clan, was less worried. If it worked out and the boy did good work all would be well. If not…well he always kept a shotgun by his bed anyways.
Innes was a slight woman with a fall of red hair, though liberally salted, she kept tied back in a tight braid. At rest she looked a severe sort but the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth belied a good hearted woman full of laughter. Fergus was a more intimidating sort, barrel chested with thick arms, his jet black hair, more salt than pepper, curled around his ears. His face was weathered and lined from grins and frowns. Nathan was older than the couple, his hair primarily grey, and a bushy beard covered his mouth and chin. He was lean as a willow, his face cracked and creased with his age. He sat off to the side, worn boots propped up on the railing, puffing away on his pipe. Mirin sat on the stairs, a mirror of her mother but the lines of age wiped away. A smattering of freckles peppered her nose and cheeks, far more numerous after the summer and would fade a little through the winter. Her thick red hair hung about her face in waves of fire, falling to the middle of her back. She wore a simple white t-shirt and a pair of clean jeans. It was at least clean and wasn’t her usual barn attire.
So it was that the three McTavishs and Nathan waited on the wide porch for the new farmhand to arrive. While apprehensive Innes was set on giving the young man a proper welcome with cakes and cider. It was fall after all, though the day was still gloriously warm and bright.
