I grew up in the sweeping quiet of southwest Montana, where the sky stretches wide and the rhythm of ranch life runs deep. I split my childhood between my mom’s home and the cattle ranch where my dad worked. It was there—among horses, dust, and long days—that I learned about grit, grace, and listening with more than just my ears.
As a teenager, I found my fire in the rodeo arena, barrel racing and working with colts and troubled horses. Horses weren’t just a part of my life—they were the thread that held me together. My dad was my hero, and losing him to lung disease just after I graduated high school was the first time my world shifted under my feet.
The second came at nineteen, when I broke my back in a riding accident with my horse Stormy. I had to relearn how to walk, how to ride, and how to trust both my body and the horse beneath me again. That season of pain and healing cracked me open—and that’s where the light started to come in.
Over the years, horses have continued to shape me. Some stayed for a while. Some only long enough to teach me something I needed. Stormy, in particular, led me into the world of equine bodywork and changed how I see everything—how I train, how I connect, and how I listen. I’ve learned that softness is strength, stillness is medicine, and deep healing often starts in the quiet moments.
These days I’m a wife, a mama of two spirited daughters who carry pieces of the Montana wild in them, and still soaking up all the horses have to teach. This blog is my campfire—where I share the stories, the losses, the lessons, and the deep reflections that rise up in the pasture. If you’re someone who loves horses, healing, and finding meaning in the hard and beautiful parts of life, you’re in good company here.