Coming Home

I finally went by yesterday, to see my old stable. This is the place where Poseidon, Apollon, Amalia and I met, grew up, fought, laughed and lived for 7 years. This is the place where Silver and Flicka lived and Pikant died. It was sold about 8 years ago, and I have not been by since.

Back then, it was sold to a very ambitious woman who wanted to modernize everything. I did not stop by to see what she had done to the place, because I could not bear to see the old apple trees in the garden up rooted and removed. She did not last long though, and she sold the place to our age old enemy, the owners of the place across the street. We never wanted those people to own the place, because we knew that they had plans of turning it into apartments. But they bought it and rented it out.

The man renting it managed to make it successful for a while, despite the ridiculously high rent, but he quit this year and some one else has taken over, and now the place is falling apart. I had to come see it.

Turning up the drive way, was like coming home. There are so many memories attached to this place, so much of my life, my blood on the pavement, my friend’s laughter in the air. It was not always bliss, we were not always happy, but this is the place of my childhood. This is the place that made me who I am today.

The first thing I noticed was the huge tree stub at the end of the drive way, having been removed and with it the last remains of the magnificent tree that used to pride our court yard.

The old and very haunted apartment and the old garage have been turned into apartments. Wonder what the ghosts think of that……  New garages have been built on our old “stallion” pasture.

The one thing that looks like itself is out hall, and that is the one thing I don’t care about. We only had the hall build because the asking price would be higher when the place was about to be sold- and because we had to tear down an entire section of out stable when the freeway came, because of how our hall was placed, causing someone to have to pay a considerable amount of damages.

The old barn where my pony used to live still stands, but the fence around her pasture has been moved. Actually, hardly any of our old pastures remains, but I knew that since the ones “across the street” had stolen a lot of our pastures and the rest was killed by the freeway.

The stable. The old stable where Poseidon used to live looked much like itself. Our old blackboard was removed, and the stalls had been kicked down in more that one place and crudely repaired- something that would never have been accepted back in the day- but it was my old stall just the same. Our water hose was gone, but the wheel it used to hang on was still there. So many ghosts and memories in such a small place.

The ceramic shop had been turned into a stable by the first owner- I knew that. Still, it was weird to see it, to walk through these halls and it was just an ordinary stable now, remembering the time where the ponies escaped and rampaged through the shop, acting much like elephants in a glass house, breaking everything along the way. Remembering the night Astronaut died and I was sitting right there- where there is a box now- calling the vet, tears running down my face, begging them to come.

The old saddle room has become a solaria and an indoor water place. I got to admit, that is quite cool.

The old barn looks much like itself. I had to go all the way down there, just to see if the things I remembered were still there. The plank across the loft that Janis and I walked across, just because we had to try it. The old silo I always hated was gone. For some reason, it was very scary back then, maybe because of the evil poltergeist living in that room. The one room I still do not want to come near. No kidding, but that is another story.

Our main stable has been torn down, only the building remains. The windows stands broken, the halls filled with rubbish. It looks horrible. Our old small stable has been stripped of its interior as well and stands looking sad and lonely. This was two fully functional buildings, nice stables, ruined first by one who wanted to do better and then by ones who did not care. Now the ghosts will have a nice time playing there. For the first time ever, it looks like a place where ghosts should live.

Our courtyard is ruined. The pavement is cracked, grass and weed sprouts through it, our old midden space has been filled up with dirt- I guess because the first owner wanted to turn it into a water fountain- but never got that far. Now it’s just over grown, useless space, forcing the midden to move out into the courtyard itself, mucking it up and taking up what remained of space between the buildings.

All in all, the place looks horrible. Our old training grounds are under water. I know it has been raining, but back in the day we never had that problem. Some one must have neglected to keep the drains running. Like so much else.

I don’t understand why anyone would want their horse to live there now. Just stepping foot in the courtyard would make me turn around and walk away. The cracked pavement, the ghost stables filled with rubbish and broken glass, the midden all over the place…

To add insult to injury, the old main house has been turned into apartments as well… and a road has been established from our courtyard and straight across the road, to our old enemies.

Once, when I become rich and famous, (no one knows how), I will buy this place and bring it back to its former glory. Just to see it shine again. I don’t want my horses there anymore, the pastures are too few and the ghosts- the real ones- are too many. But I still love this place. Every yellow and shabby looking brick in the worn down walls. Every stone, every tree, every patch of grass. Every evil poltergeist. This is such a charming place, with so much history and I feel like I am the last person alive who knows or cares. But I will always know, and I will always care. This was once a place owned by proud and loving people. I hope they never come by to see the place again.


About Starstone

-Owned by horses. Writer, Photographer, Director, Musician.
This entry was posted in Short Stories and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Coming Home

  1. Wow, I think that it’s very brave of you to visit Østergaard. It’s always hard to face something like that, and exspecially if it isn’t like it used to be.
    I still try to get enough guts to visit my childhood home, but I just can’t seem to find the strength. I’m afraid of how I would react.
    Actually I’m even more impressed that you would return, after all the ghost stories you’ve told. That place sounded extremely scary.. 😉

  2. stenfalk says:

    i love that place- ghosts and all… and it was so sad to see it like this… i have been feeling sorry for myself ever since… dont go and see your place… its always better to remember how it once was than to see it fall apart….

  3. LHK says:

    Oh that is so true… just driving past my grandmom and grandfathers house once i a while is hard, cause it dosn’t look like itself… it’s just not the place thats in your memories anymore…

  4. stenfalk says:

    but Østergård is still that place… thats whats killing me. everything could be as it were, even better with the new stable… but it is just falling apart… no one cares…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s