Volunteer Stories from the Farm:

The Magic Beyond the Bridge

By Amy Latta, Volunteer

For almost three years, I have been volunteering at Warm Springs Care Farm, helping with some of the evening chores.

Each time I arrive, I cross the bridge over the canal fed by the hot springs. Steam rises softly from the water, giving the air a touch of magic as the noise of the day fades behind me. It feels a little like stepping through the pages of a storybook into another world. Time seems to slow, and calm gently takes its place.

On the other side, familiar sounds begin to greet me. The goats shuffle in their enclosure. The ducks quack for dinner, and birds sing their evening songs. Wildflowers spill in bright abundance along the walkway. Deer often graze at the edge of the property before settling into the grass for rest. Around the farm stand tall trees, and somewhere among them is the Old Worry Tree. The children know how to find it, leaving their troubles for the branches to hold and somehow turn into calm. The whole place hums with quiet life and gentle purpose.

And just beyond the trees, the evening stories begin. The animals seem to sense it too, each waiting in their own way, each with a small tale to tell for those who take the time to listen.

My steps carry me toward the horse arena, where the first characters of the evening’s story await.

I am greeted at the arena gate by Agbi, a gentle giant of a dog, and Bob and Disco, two of the horses.

Agbi, the self-appointed head of security, loves his pats on the head and looks up warmly with his kind eyes. He then returns to his post atop the doghouse in the middle of the arena. He keeps watch as the evening settles in.

Bob is surprisingly stealthy for such a large horse. He comes up quietly behind me and waits patiently, almost like a living statue, for more affection. When I turn around, I am always startled to find him almost nose to nose with me. His gentle persistence never fails to make me smile.

When Disco is out for a ride, Bob becomes noticeably unsettled. He paces near the fence line and keeps a steady watch on the road, waiting for her return. When she arrives, he relaxes, knowing his friend is safely home. Meanwhile, Hope, the mini horse, is quietly being watched over as well.

Hope does not realize she is a mini horse and believes she deserves the same large portions of hay as the big horses. She eats with the enthusiasm of a hobbit, so she has to be sequestered to keep dinner from turning into second dinner and third dinner. When I reach her enclosure, she approaches for a gentle pat, making sure she gets her share of attention.

It is a good thing Hope has her own space. Disco, a true hay connoisseur, checks each feeder for the finest hay before returning to her own. She also seems to savor each gentle pat she receives.

When Hope is outside the arena, Disco keeps a close eye on her smaller friend while Bob stands nearby. The three of them move together like a small herd and remind me that connection and community grow through simply looking out for one another.

The goats meet me at their enclosure gate, always curious. Even when their bellies are full, they angle with adorable determination to slip out in search of more food and treats. They are also affectionate, offering gentle nudges that quickly earn them a few scratches on the head.

The ducks, equally curious and always hungry, chatter excitedly at dinnertime like impatient diners waiting to be served. The moment the food hits their dishes, they become a flurry of feathered piranhas, with bits of food flying everywhere. They always give me a good laugh.

As I pass through the barn, I see reminders of the week’s activities with the children — art projects, grooming brushes, and signs of learning and care. It is a gentle echo of their presence, a quiet reminder that this is a place not only for animals but also for healing, connection, and belonging.

As the day winds down, the turkeys, Nolan and Vanilla, never miss their moment for fanfare. Nolan struts beside Vanilla like her regal escort, turning the short walk to their enclosure into a grand evening procession. His feathers fan in perfect display. His chest is puffed out like a sail catching the wind. His head is lifted with quiet dignity. For a moment, the air seems to pause for their parade. They always make me smile and remind me that even life’s simplest routines can carry a touch of majesty.

As the sun slips behind the trees, the chickens and ducks make their way toward the coop for bedtime. The older ones show the newcomers there is wisdom in the routine, as it keeps everyone safe from owls and other night visitors. Most settle in without fuss, but a few newcomers still try to stay up late, suddenly finding one more thing they just have to do before bedtime.

As the farm grows quiet and darkness settles in for the night, the animals move through their gentle rhythms, each a quiet teacher of simple truths — that peace and worth come from staying true to oneself and from the grace of simply being. Around them, the care of the community that tends the farm creates a harmony where people and animals learn from one another, giving and receiving in quiet balance.

The magic of the farm lives in this shared rhythm, reminding us that through community we are grounded, restored, and made whole again. When it is time to leave, the bridge becomes a gentle crossing from this peaceful haven back to everyday life, with the quiet magic of the farm now living inside, guiding us wherever we go.