Growing up in and around the bustling urban mecca of Los Angeles, I never thought I would end up living in a rural area. In fact, I don’t know that I ever saw a farm or a ranch until I was in my mid-teens and I was sent to visit my step-brother, who lived on an old mink farm in Oregon. Even then, it wasn’t a functional farm at the time, and there were no other animals aside from the family dog, so I guess that doesn’t really count.

As a child, I loved horses, and like most kids, I frequently declared “I want a pony!” when asked what I wanted for my birthday or Christmas. For several years, most likely as a way to get rid of me for two weeks and have some time for themselves, my parents sent me to a YMCA camp during summer. In addition to polar bear swims, learning archery, and making lanyard keychains and bracelets, my summer camp included horseback riding, which only fueled my desire for a “pony.” However, having a horse was really just a pipe dream – a childhood fantasy. It was never anything I expected to become a reality.

That is, until I had the opportunity to join the Mounted Platoon when I was an LAPD officer. From the first moment I stepped into the LAPD mounted facility (which, by the way, I was a cop for at least 7 years before I even knew LAPD had a 2-acre equine facility with a 40-stall barn and a large covered arena in the middle of a residential neighborhood…), my entire life changed. I still didn’t know jack shit about rural living, but I was about to find out how to ride and take care of horses.  

I want to preface the rest of this article by saying that when I discovered the Mounted Platoon, I was at a point in my life where I absolutely detested country music, cowboys, and anything remotely related to “country life.” As much as I was excited to be around horses, it was a culture shock to be thrown into the world of wearing cowboy boots and a cowboy hat as part of my daily uniform. For months, I felt like a fraud and was totally embarrassed walking through the halls of a police station or going into a restaurant to eat, with my spurs clanging and the ever-present smell of horse sweat emanating from my clothes. But eventually, not only did I get used to it, I also fully embraced it. 

I was already in my early 40’s when I was accepted into the Mounted Platoon, and as much as I was in decent shape from years of CrossFit and weight training, learning how to ride a horse challenged my body and my mind in ways I never anticipated. I spent countless hours being tested in the arena, pushing both myself and my assigned horse to limits I never imagined. From having barrel races against my platoon mates, to playing broomball and basketball, to herding cattle, to traversing treacherous terrain on trail rides, to navigating traffic on the streets of Los Angeles, to keeping both myself and my horse calm during protests and chaotic “hoof” pursuits, every day was a learning experience and a new adventure. And I loved every minute of it.

Even though my assigned horse belonged to the city, and we had a civilian farrier and on-call vet always available, I was responsible for the daily care and maintenance of my horse, including grooming duties and cleaning stalls. I also had to do rotational overnight security shifts once or twice a month, where I was responsible for feeding the 30-35 horses on site and standing by for any emergencies that may occur.

Despite the often high-stress environment that comes with being a police officer, I found a total sense of calm and inner peace being at the barn. I enjoyed cleaning stalls and doing barn duties, and I even enjoyed coming back to the barn at midnight after the end of a long shift to wrap my horse’s hind limbs because he had cellulitis and his legs would swell if they weren’t wrapped religiously.

The more I fell in love with “barn life,” the more I began to develop a tolerance for country music and the self-acceptance that I actually did secretly enjoy wearing cowboy boots, and I loved the sound of my spurs. I also began to desire a “real” country life, and not just the few hours of simulated country life I experienced while being at the barn every day.

When I left LAPD and moved to Washington State, I wasn’t yet ready for a true rural existence, but I did make the leap of moving from a thriving metropolitan city to a small lakeside community that was in the middle of a fairly remote area in the western part of the state. So, I guess you could say I found a midway point to kind of test the waters of leaving city life. While living in Washington, I volunteered at a horse rescue every Saturday, so rain or shine (mostly rain), I threw on my muck boots and got to work shoveling shit for several hours, sometimes getting the opportunity to ride for an hour or so afterwards.

I thought I was immersing myself in country living, or at least the romanticized version of country living that I had in my head, but it wasn’t until I moved to a rural area of the Texas Panhandle and got myself a few farm animals that I truly started to understand what real country living entails.

No, I don’t have a large herd of cattle or a sheep farm. I don’t grow corn or cotton or engage in any profitable commercial agricultural ventures. I don’t live on a working ranch or have acres and acres of property and livestock to take care of. But I do have a couple acres with a few horses and some goats, and I live in unincorporated country outside of city limits. So, I suppose the term “country living” may seem like an exaggeration, but for a city girl, this is most definitely country living for me.  

After spending nearly 15 years as a cop, and the preceding 10 years in the fire service, I thought I had grit, tenacity, and hard work pretty much nailed down, but this “country life” is humbly teaching me a whole new level of responsibility, dedication, and the real meaning of “work.”

My first winter in the Texas panhandle was a definitely culture shock, as I’d always lived in areas with fairly moderate temperatures, rarely dropping below 40 degrees F. I also didn’t have any farm animals for the first year that I lived here, so aside from letting my dogs out to go to the bathroom, I really didn’t have to spend much time outdoors if I didn’t want to. That all changed when I decided to get a couple of goats, and then a horse.

When I initially bought my horse, I was keeping him on a friend’s property, and winter hadn’t quite set in, so dropping by to feed him every day wasn’t too big of a deal. However, within a few weeks, my boarding circumstances changed unexpectedly, and I ended up bringing my horse to my house, along with two other horses. So, at the start of winter this year, I had a small menagerie of livestock to take care of.

I thought cleaning stalls and taking care of horses in an indoor barn in sunny southern California was “work.” Then, when I moved to Washington, I thought cleaning outdoor stalls and taking care of horses in the rain was “work.” I have since learned that those chores were a cakewalk compared to taking care of horses and goats in the winter of the Texas panhandle…

It’s snowing and 8 degrees F…? Too bad, your animals still need to be fed. Bundle up and take care of it.

The water pipes and the hose to the barn are frozen solid…? Too bad, your animals need fresh water. Figure it out and get some water, even if you have to go purchase 20 gallons from the store.

You finally figured out that sometimes only the water hose is frozen and the pump is still operational, so you think you’re finally getting smart by having a couple of 3-gallon jugs inside the house filled and ready to go, but when you go out to the barn to top off the buckets, you see the water is all frozen solid and the animals have nothing to drink because it dropped down to 9 degrees F overnight…? Too bad, guess you’d better get out that axe and start breaking up the ice. And then expect to spend the next 45 minutes making trips back and forth from the water pump to the barn to fill the buckets.

There’s a wind chill of -12 degrees F and your toes and fingers feel frostbitten despite wearing two pairs of wool socks and insulated “weatherproof” gloves…? Too bad, go clean the stalls. And you better put that blanket on your horse while you’re at it.

You forgot to disconnect the hose and now frozen water is backed up into the pump…? Too bad, go fill 3-gallon jugs in the bathtub and make six trips back and forth to the barn.

It’s 21 degrees F out with 40 mph winds that make it feel like 10 degrees F and tumbleweeds are consistently flying past your face and smacking you in the legs…? Too bad, go unload 40 bales of alfalfa and grass, 3-4 bales at a time for 2 hours.

You have cuts on your hands that won’t heal because you keep having to do manual labor chores outside…? Too bad, buy some more bandaids.

You’ve been sick for over a week, and all you want to do is curl up in bed and sleep all day…? Too bad, your horse needs to be exercised in the round pen. And the water hose is frozen again. Better get your ass up and get to work.

I could give several more examples, but you get the point. Animals don’t care if you’re sick or busy or your hands hurt or you’re running late for work. They don’t care if it’s hot or cold, rain or shine, snow or wind. They don’t even care if their fur / coats are covered in a layer of mini icicles… they still want food and water, and they still need to be taken care of.

It probably sounds like I’m complaining, but I’m honestly not. I’m merely stating the very humbling facts I’ve been learning while fumbling my way through getting accustomed to rural living. And the truth is that I fucking love this life!!

Okay, maybe I don’t love the part where my hands go numb from the cold, and it takes an hour to warm back up, and the cuts on my fingers never seem to heal. But I do love the actual physical and mental work involved with having a mini farm and having to suck it up and deal with whatever the weather happens to be that day. I love the exhilarating feeling of cleaning stalls when it’s so cold that I can see my breath in the air. I love breaking up ice in the water buckets (again) and feeling itchy from alfalfa in my bra, even though I was wearing a thermal shirt, a sweatshirt, and a jacket, and I have no idea how alfalfa even found its way there. I love kissing on my horse and feeding him treats while rubbing ice crystals off his whiskers. I love the annoying bleating of my goats who couldn’t care less about the weather and start crying for food as soon as they see me.

More than anything, I love the satisfied feeling that I experience every day by having the honor and privilege of taking care of these amazing animals. And I love how taking on these responsibilities has forced me to level up my life and stay consistent with the challenge of not only facing, but also embracing, my discomforts and stepping into a new levels of mental and physical strength on a daily basis.

Am I living the true definition of “country life?” Maybe not. But for a city girl, it sure feels like it. The next step is a few chickens. Probably another horse. Possibly a mini donkey. If I had a few more acres, I’d add a couple cows to the mix… Ask me in a year and we’ll see where I’m at. Until then, I think I’ll be kept plenty busy this winter doing farmer carries with water jugs back and forth to the barn.

Unapologetically Outspoken,

Tara