by Gianetta Palmer

Created on: July 14, 2008

"What's that smell," my niece asked?

"That's nature goodness," my mom replied.

My friend and I looked at each other with eyes watering and noses tingling from the aromatic smells that had drifted over to us from the horse barn as we waited for the play to begin. It was my idea to go see Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream presented by the local theatre troupe at a new outdoor location. After all, no one in the family had ever seen anything by Shakespeare, and since it was my niece's birthday, we thought it would be both cultural and entertaining at the same time. That's when the trouble started.

The evening started out innocently enough, albeit a little warm. The location was a beautiful farm nestled in a valley about fifteen miles from town. The ranch specialized in outdoor religion, retreats, receptions, and the rehabilitation of abused farm animals, namely horses. They had a large pond that was really low due to the severe drought over the last few years. And they had a large covered open-aired structure that contained the stage and seating area. Located outside the structure were several tables, hay bales, and log stumps that the audience (mainly smokers) could utilize if they so desired.

We began the walk down the hill from the parking area, stopping occasionally to admire the view of fenced pastures, and cows and horses grazing peacefully together in this tranquil setting. We walked over to the table to pick up our playbills and funeral fans, and the lady at the table said, "Watch that spot over there, a couple of horses got out a while go and left their marks." Too late, mom had just set her foot down. As we began to giggle and laugh in unison, mom threw us a look of indifference, shrugged her shoulders, and trudged ahead. That's what moms do. They don't get upset about stepping in horse manure because @#X* happens.

I was checking out the seating arrangements and was not happy with what I found. I had hoped for bench seating or folding chairs but ended up with plastic patio chairs, the small ones. I glanced around the barn and other largely built folks were having the same problem: Figuring which chair to sit in. My niece, who is extremely small, set down and squirmed in one of these plastic contraptions and said they were extremely uncomfortable and seemed a little flimsy. I finally settled on a seat near the back row and adjusted my backside to fit in the chair. It was a tight squeeze, thanks goodness I had remembered the duct tape, so I could tape

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