Coming Home

By Susan Brown

I’ve spent a lot of hours with Courageous Connections – making friends with the folks who imagined and then built it; witnessing the clients who came in search of both courage and connection; greeting the patient horses who give freely of their spirit and strength. 

Way back when, while completely unsure of what I was getting into, I began meeting with Kathy Sanders, one of the founders of Courageous Connections. While we sussed out what I could do to help, our interactions evolved into friendship – even after I admitted I’m useless at fund-raising and that horses terrify me. Unfazed, she taught me to greet her horses, Snazee and Tres. 

Later, when the farm became a reality and new horses were added to the herd, I made a friendly acquaintance with Punkin, Remi, Ari, and Willow. I brought my grandsons for their first connection to horses, and as London city boys, pretty much their first connection to any creatures beyond my dogs and the occasional cat. We all loved it.

Not long ago, a friend remarked that everyone has a story that would break your heart. Sometimes those stories are enough to break the man, woman, or child who lives them. But if a traumatized person is very, very lucky, they find their way to the farm. The staff, volunteers, and above all the horses wrap them in acceptance and strength. We do for each other.

Then, to my utter surprise, it happened to me. After months and months of both debilitating and scary health issues, I finally healed up enough to volunteer again. I’d been slated to meet some clients – kids who had been helped by CC. I was keen to do my thing, stoked to be back out in the world again, and eager to write another blog for the newsletter.

But something unexpected, something so much better happened. When I turned into the driveway, heard the familiar sound of tires crunching on gravel, drove past the thriving new garden, and parked my car in the grass beside the arena, I had a deep sense of coming home. If you have even a single cherished memory of an instant when everything aligned, everything was perfect, and you could simply love being alive, you know what I mean. 

Today was like that. 

The breeze smelled of warm summer grass. The sun shone in cloud puffed skies. Birds and insects chirped and buzzed. Everything was alive, yet beautifully somnolent and peaceful. For a long moment, I just stood there and breathed. I’d nearly forgotten how to feel whole. I remembered what it felt like to simply belong.

I found Leah and the volunteer Karli over by the barn and it was like I’d never been gone. We chatted and laughed. The children came; the horses and chickens and goats made and received connections; the people smiled and affirmed the rightness of it all. From the sunshine to the bits of laughter to the contented ear twitches of the horses, it was perfect.

I’m not naïve. I know that even at a farm run by smart people, funded by the most caring of donors, there are problems and irritations and expenses to be dealt with. There are weeds and bad weather always looming. But because of these people, when I needed it, there was a moment of peaceful perfection at the Courageous Connections farm.

Take a deep breath and relax your tight shoulders. The farm, the people, and the horses are waiting. All their hours and hours of work have created this place where traumatized people from our community can be accepted and strengthened. A place of quiet goodness in our hard, noisy world. Home.

Learn more about Susan Brown @ Susan Brown Writes