Brooklyn horses

As you know, I’ve been walking the trails of Prospect Park in pursuit of the Pathfinding merit badge. Today, though, it seemed like time for me to try out something a little different than ambling around the park. Today, it was time to go for Requirement #4:

“Know in the country in the two-mile radius, approximately, the number of horses, cattle, sheep, and pigs owned on the five neighboring farms: or in a town must know in a half-mile radius what livery stables, garages and blacksmiths there are.”

As far as I can see, there’s no question that I live in a town, which frees me from making a census of my neighborhood sheep. Instead, I set out to locate and visit the livery stables, garages, and blacksmiths.

Now, the garages were the easy part. There’s an enormous number of car services, parking lots, and auto repair centers in the area (though not all of them are what you might expect — Pilates Garage offers no oil changes whatsoever, only exercise. Phooey). Regardless, expect a garage-related post later in the week.

Today’s more difficult task centered on blacksmiths and liveries.

Simply put, there aren’t any.

Once again, we’re hitting on the agricultural thrust of the 1911 handbook. Our 1911-era town would absolutely include not only one livery, but possibly several, horses being a critical part of the business of getting from one place to another. Really, in order to be fully true to the spirit of things, instead of liveries the truly loyal modern-scout (which I am, after all) ought to be seeking out car dealerships and rental facilities. After all, really, the purpose of this badge is to familiarize the scout with the things surrounding him -- how does one get from one place to another, after all? What roads are there? How might one travel them?

This is a pretty valid concern, after all. When I was first learning to drive a car (at the same age, more or less, as the boys trying to earn this badge a hundred years ago would have been), my total lack of directional awareness caused my parents no end of woe. This wasn't just me, either. My friends would call for directions to my house, though they'd been there a hundred times or more. A child won't pay attention to the way we get from one place to another, not really. Part of childhood, or part of an ideal childhood, I guess, is a certain faith in your parents. They know how to navigate the world, both metaphorically and literally. The actual mechanics of moving through the environment aren't necessary, and so they slip by us. Part of growing up, really, and putting away childish things, is that learning of how to move freely from one location to the next. Really, that's how I see the Pathfinding badge as a whole -- not only another contribution to the scouting ideal of becoming an expert woodsman, but also as a piece of encouragement towards growing up and becoming self-sufficient in whatever world in which one happens to live.

In my case, I happen to live in a world in which there are no liveries.

Well, more precisely, there aren’t any within a half mile of my house. Kensington Stables is outside the golden radius, but I paid a visit anyway. They’re located in, well, Kensington, right at the southern tip of Prospect Park. I got off the bus and followed the smell of horse (unexpected in the city), which led me right to the door of the stable. Once there, I spoke to Walker, who's worked at the stable for 18 years and owned it for 16.

“The city grew up around the stable,” he told me, when I asked about operating stables within spitting distance of the Prospect Expressway. The stable itself was built in 1930, 20 years before the highway (and 19 years after the Handbook was written!), and continues to serve mostly locals. There’s no boarding at the stables (on account of a lack of space, Walker tells me, not a lack of interest), and they offer a great number of lessons — there was a gaggle of excited little girls thronging around us while we spoke.

Most interesting, really, was the process of shoeing horses. I’ll admit that, when I arrived, I was secretly hoping to come across a stable and farrier all at once, or at least to catch a hot tip on where to find a forge. Not so much. It appears that blacksmithery, in general, has gone mobile — Kensington’s horses get shod by a blacksmith who works out of a truck. (And what trucks! This guy's blacksmithing trailer looks like an ice cream shop, slaughterhouse, and walk-in freezer all rolled into one.

Other surprising bit of information regarding horseshoeing in New York: due to various permit difficulties, most places have shifted to using a process known as “cold shoeing,” in which the farrier shapes the shoes without heating them (which I thought was a trick only doable by Superman). The forge-free process means that the farrier doesn’t have to essentially have the permits to drive a truck filled up with explosives, which comes out, ultimately, cheaper for everyone. There appears to be some internet debate regarding the merits of each type of shoeing, but Walker assures me that his horses are quite content — from what I could see, I believe him.

Also, I’ll be making these with dinner tonight. Yum.