As children, we would go to Schuylerville N.Y. and spend part of the summer on a 10-acre little farm with our Great Aunt Ann. It was a storybook setting. Within 10 miles was the Saratoga race track and we were lucky to watch race horses work out in the stillness of the early morning, sometimes in a lightly shrouded fog, where the only sounds were of the horses breathing and the sound of hooves rhythmically striking the turf...