Brittany Shoaf - Pennsylvania State University



The Uniqueness of My Community

By Martha Bright

I’m tacking up, and I can’t find my girth. Levi stands in the crossties, slightly restless, as I rummage through the stuff in the tack room, looking to see if the girth got placed on somebody else’s trunk or with somebody else’s saddle. There is stuff jammed everywhere—plastic trunks, wooden trunks, bridles and helmets hanging from hooks near the ceiling, cats sleeping on the saddles stored on the racks above. Bags of carrots are sticking out of purple buckets labeled “Caitlin” or “Ann.”

“Ed!” I call out, “have you seen my dressage girth?” Ed smiles broadly and hooks his thumbs into his jeans pockets. He leans over and picks up a girth. It looks like a tiny belt in his huge hand.

“This it?” he asks, still smiling.

“Yeah…thanks” I answer, feeling sheepish. Ed grabs a lock of my hair.

“You sure this isn’t dyed? I could swear you were a blonde.” I punch him gently in the shoulder and return to my horse. Several of us are tacking up but most of us aren’t talking to each other. We’re talking gently to our horses—either telling them to pick up their feet or telling them the day’s problems.

This was my community—a boarding barn. There were days when six of us might be maneuvering our horses through walk, trot, and canter in the indoor arena. “Rail!” one might shout out! “Door” another might call, waiting to enter with her horse. We were all female, ranging from 7 years old to over 50. We didn’t always all get along and sometimes disputes arose over space, stuff, and following the rules. We rode at various levels of skill but we all shared a love of horses and a lingo that no one but those like us would understand.

“How is Isaac? Do you have to keep cold hosing?”

“Yeah, for another few days. We’ve still got him on bute.”

“How was the show on Saturday?”

“Okay. Sam did all right in the Greens but then in the afternoon Stan refused a couple of Oxers. I think he was tired.”

The leader of our community was Ed—the trainer and general caretaker of all our horses. He took care of us too. When my horse fell out from under me and I broke my arm, he carefully removed my watch from my rapidly swelling wrist and called later to see how I was doing. If any of our horses needed penicillin he’d smile and say, “Gotta shoot a horse” and give the animal an injection.

For lots of us, the barn was the best part of our lives—an escape from work, school, and all the daily stresses we faced—even if we shoveled manure, took care of injured horses, or fell off over a jump. For lots of us, the barn was home.

Natalie Patience

January 24, 2007

The Uniqueness of my Community

It’s hot outside and even hotter inside because of the stove. In a hurry to prepare their portion of Christmas dinner, no one pays any attention to the heat. Old reggae love songs are being played on the stereo. The children are running in and out of the house, someone in the kitchen says “Mek di pickney dem stop run inna di house nuh”, meaning make the children stop running in the house. I then hear someone yell to the children, “Unuh fi stop run inna di house” meaning they must stop running in the house. The older people sit on the veranda discussing politics, the economy, family or the olden days. None of which can be agreed upon. Such phrases like, “Yuh know seh dem no care bout we”, suggesting that the common people are of no concern to the government. And “Dem nuh know nuttin bout nuttin” when referring to the children of today, are frequently used. The older children regularly holler out while laughing “ah good fi yuh” when one of the other children fall because they were running.

I’m only visiting so I’m not expected to do much work. Someone, possibly a cousin, comes and checks on me every once in a while and ask if I want something to drink. My response is always yes. On a previous day, one of the men bought a goat so that we could have curry goat, a typical dish on such gatherings. Along with that is a pig for jerk pork. It’s also used for our traditional soup. I pass by someone tasting the oxtail that’s being cooked next to the callaloo. Someone else tastes it, I then hear someone say it needs more salt. They begin to jokingly argue about whether there is something wrong with their taste buds. I see my aunt steaming the rice and peas in what seems to be the largest pot I’ve ever seen. I start to question some of the people in the kitchen about the pepper shrimps (one of my favorite foods). I’m told that the pepper shrimps along with the escovich fish, bread fruit, bammy, fry dumpling, black cake, sorrel and gungu peas soup are not being made here, but some of my other family members and friends are bringing them. I soon forget about the heat because I am overwhelmed with the sensual smells that are flowing throughout the house. The dinner won’t be ready for awhile, so my uncle brings me some sugar cane, mangoes, june plum, and nasebery to snack on. I am especially happy about the naseberry because it is not sold in America.

As I sit eating the fruits I think about my community. I think of the soft love songs being played, of the cultural dishes being made, of the feeling of togetherness. My community is my family, my extended family and friends in Jamaica.

Brittany ---

My Community

Imagine zero traffic lights, two pizza eateries, one gas station, and an old fashion town square in a rural setting and you are picturing my hometown of Hope, Indiana. It is a simple “surprising little town” of about 4,000 people filling the lots of land, while State Road 9 brings all pass buyers in and out of my community all in a matter of seconds. Despite the smallness of the town there is a feeling of loyalty, unity, and support on the streets, in the school, or wherever you visit in hope. It is almost as if you are born with it, or it is bestowed upon you on your arrival.

The loyalty of town amazes me at times. Whether it is basketball season or volleyball time the parking lots at the high school will be packed with fans, parents, and friends seeing off players on every game, making us the athletes feel like a vital person in our community. They go to every means and measures to support us with money for uniforms, food, and equipment. Despite the meager size of Hope there are three local stores that sell Hauser sportswear and each year they sell out of fan items due to the local demand. Not only does this make our town look special, but also is a great example to the younger generation. Where as in the community gives to us, we also can give back to it as a positive citizen.

The day of September 11th, 2001 hit the hearts of everyone all over the world. As a group our community came together. This was an outstanding moment of unity. I have never seen neighbors that quarrel, people of different races, or churches of different religions unite for the same cause of prayer, hope, and faith. That night every store closed, streets and homes where empty, and every gathered on our square in a solemn attitude of prayer and thoughts. How many other towns or cities do you think could come as close as we did that night?

In a time of grief our community has shown the strongest amount of support I have truly every seen. In early February our high school principal of nearly twenty years suddenly passed away after battling cancer. He was a man of honor that all students, even the ones that visited his office for behavior problems, looked at with the up most respect. The family was overwhelmed with support as nearly two thousand people attended his funeral. Town residents old and young paid their tribute to Mr. Brock. Today memorials are set in place of remembrance of him because of his loyalty, dedication, and love he had for our school and community.

We may not have paved roads, a McDonalds, or even a car wash but we are a special town of heritage, uniqueness, and closeness. Citizens in our community have more than a roof over their heads to protect them, but also a community with outstanding qualities and characteristics that make Hope a special place to live.

Matt ---

Knight-farmer

The knight climbs aboard his mighty steed, hollering as it struggles to get moving. It makes a might racket before moving, slowly out of the barn, then faster around the barn to the ammunitions storage area, he picks his weapon of choice, it is much larger than he is but he and the mighty beast he controls can handle it. They ride off together into the morning sun, searching for the enemy, the one who today he will conquer. They find the enemy. He is vast and large compared to the good knight and his noble ride, but they will when, they must for the rider’s very livelihood depends on it. They stop and face down the enemy sizing him up and down, getting a feel for him. Looking him over, then he attacks the enemy first, he lowers his weapon and tears off against the enemy, the enemy is powerless to stop him. The rider carefully aims and controls the beast with such ease. The steed works hard as hot exhaust blares from his one nostril. Then the unthinkable happens, his weapon breaks. He and the beast grind to a halt before more damage is done, the nobleman looks over the weapon. Fixable but he needs help on this great battle or the day will be lost, he mounts the steed and grabs his bugle, and shout a might call for help and reinforcements. Down the road it comes upon a creature that moves like the wind. A younger knight dismounts and helps the older wiser knight with his weapon, the whole time the enemy laughing at them. Then the weapon is repaired the knight continues his devastating blows against his enemy. They work all day until dusk falls when the knight lights the lanterns hung from his steed and blares into the night. The enemy begs for mercy but he is merciless. He finishes several hours after nightfall. He leaves the field in no recognizable condition compared to when he found it. The knight and beast return to the barn where the beast is placed in his pen and the knight retires to his castle for the night. But tomorrow the enemy will arise somewhere, and he will be ready, he and his trust companion.

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