horses

It's the middle of May, and you're being awakened by snare drums pounding outside your window. Tut . . . Rut tut tut . . . Rut tut tut tut tut.

“Hey, lady, you get around!” exclaimed the man next to her at passport control. Darley Newman looked down at her passport, filled to the brim with stamps, and laughed. That is kind of funny, she thought to herself, appreciating the man’s humor and taking a moment to acknowledge the fact herself. She has been around—all around the world. And if the man had asked whether the nature of her travels was business or pleasure, she would have had a hard time giving him an answer. “It’s a mix,” she would reply. “It doesn’t feel like a vacation, really. But it’s such rewarding work that I wouldn’t really call it work either.”