Odes to Alpharetta · Track 12 · middle
The Equestrian Community: Saddles in the Subdivision
Alpharetta/Milton's equestrian subculture — the half-million-dollar barns tucked behind subdivisions, the daughters riding before school, the Saturday-morning trail rides on the Big Creek paths, the way horse-property zoning still shapes the northern edges. Orikusis observing the world the riders inhabit.
Lyrics
[Intro] Seven a.m. Saturday. Fifty-eight degrees on the asphalt. And the air smells wrong for a cul-de-sac. Not cut grass. Not chlorine from the pool covers. It smells like pine straw, and hay, and warm leather. [Verse 1] There’s the mailbox, the vinyl siding, the basketball hoop. Everything in its place. But behind the fence, past the landscaped maples… a roofline that doesn’t belong. A half-million-dollar barn tucked behind the brick colonial. It’s the old Milton County code. The one they kept from the 1980s. One horse per acre, it says. They built the subdivisions right up to the line. And left the gates. [Chorus] Saddles in the subdivision. Hoof-beats on the Big Creek Greenway path. A quiet kingdom bought and paid for, hiding in the morning math. One daughter, one helmet, one hour before the school bus comes. This is the other Alpharetta. The one that just hums. [Verse 2] The grooms are already gone. Their truck was here at five. Left the stalls clean, the water fresh. Now the trailers are lining up on Georgia 9. Polished chrome and living cargo. Heading for the show rings at Wills Park. Or just the trailhead past North Point. A slow parade nobody sees unless they know to look. [Chorus] Saddles in the subdivision. Hoof-beats on the Big Creek Greenway path. A quiet kingdom bought and paid for, hiding in the morning math. One daughter, one helmet, one hour before the school bus comes. This is the other Alpharetta. The one that just hums. [Bridge] They share the trail with the joggers and the strollers. The sound of steel shoes on the pavement. A different rhythm from the Nikes and the rubber wheels. A little piece of the old county, preserved in zoning. A tax bracket that affords the pasture. They nod as they pass. A secret handshake between two different worlds running on the same green spine. [Outro] And then they're gone, into the woods along the creek. The sound gets softer. The air holds the smell for another minute. Then a garage door opens. A lawnmower starts. And it’s just a subdivision again.