Looking back at one of our miracles

This miracle story begins with a sweet, beautiful black mountain horse colt nicknamed, “Johnny” (show name SF Not Your Average Joe). Johnny is out of one of our flashiest show mares, SF Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, and a stallion from another farm. Johnny was his mother’s first baby, and though they understood kind of how they were supposed to know each other, they spent most of their time apart. Johnny was the adventurer that found any gap in a fence and escaped from the lot where his mother was, and would venture off to find friends elsewhere. When we would ride his mother to exercise her, and attempt to bond with Johnny, we’d have to watch the arena gate, because as soon as we were on the far end of the arena, he would dash across the lot and escape the arena, running around the farm to find more friends while we had his mom busy!

Johnny was one of the “boys” on the farm, growing up with his pals Rocky and Buddy. Johnny spent most of his days basking in the shade of my mothers front yard trees in the morning, rough housing with his boy pals in the afternoon, and soaking up the last rays of sunshine as the days came to a conclusion. We handle our yearlings with obstacle course work and leading around the farm, getting them used to having interaction with people, kids, and having to work with things that might be new to them.

In the heat of the summer when he was one, I looked out the window of my house during lunch and noticed that Johnny was laying in the “sunning” position in his field. This is usually the time they gathered around the water trough or in the shed to relax, but Johnny was laying, sweating heavily in the sun.

I called mom and we met in the field. He seemed to be sweating a lot (which, isn’t truly unusual for his bloodline, but was when he was just supposed to be relaxing) and as I pulled at his skin to test his hydration, I noticed that his skin was slow to retract, and his gums were paler than usual. Most awkward of all, was that he let us do all of this, and didn’t once try to get up. As mom called into the vet, I immediately went to go get buckets of water from the tank, to start rinsing off his skin with lukewarm water to get some of the salt out of his pores and allow him to sweat a bit easier. We tried to lift his head, and he greedily tried to lap up water in a sideways, strained way. We knew things were not right, and we were trying to keep him comfortable until Doc could come. We moved all of his “boys” out of the field (they were batting their eyes all innocent from the shed anyway).

When the vet came, we checked for colic (he had not been rolling around any though), we checked for respiratory problems and didn’t see anything. We decided to try to get him up, and get him to the barn where we could isolate him, get him out of the sun, and see what we could find. And that’s when we found the problem. As soon as we got Johnny up on his front legs, his back legs seemed to flounder and fail, and down he went. We saw that the brain wasn’t able to communicate with his back legs! We tried to get him up again, and once the vet and I were able to brace his balance in his rear between us, we saw that he could hold weight in his legs, but couldn’t control how they were needing to respond to his needs.

After testing, exams, and xrays, we determined that Johnny had severed the nerve connection in his spine, just around the loin area (the area immediately behind where a saddle would rest). Mom and I had noticed that he and one of the boys had been playing particularly rough throughout that week, where they would rear up and prop their legs over the top of another horse (they had all been gelded as babies, so “stud” play without the aggression of knowing what that kind of play was all about). Our ending theory was that one of his buddy’s (who shall remain nameless/blameless since there wasn’t intent to hurt) had probably reared up, and their hoof had struck directly onto that area of the spine with the horses weight following the blow.

The walk to the barn was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done “to” a horse. With mom at the lead with halter and rope, she encouraged him to move (she’s his favorite human still to this day) the vet and I wedged Johnnys’ rear end between the two of us and teetered back and forth, manipulating his back end ourselves to help him walk to the barn. The vet said he didn’t know the hopeful outcome. Johnny was large, muscled, and active, and both of his parents were natural born big movers in the ring. The injury affected all of the movement in his back end, and all we could do was use medicine and anti-inflammatory medicines, and give him time. He admitted to us (knowing we never accept it as the first option, but trying to give realistic expectations) that if we didn’t see any progress in two weeks, our option may be limited to putting him down.

We had faced this situation with one other horse in the past, a tender little filly that got into the wrong field with a big filly of the same age. The bigger filly had reared up and landed on the fillys’ back end, but her xrays had shown that there were actual fractures all across her hips. We did try to isolate her and give her some time, but once we saw that the injury was too much for her body to overcome, we did have to make the choice with her. So we were not going blindly into a recovery with Johnny. We were going into this one day at a time.

And we did. For six months, Johnny would nicker for food, brace against stall walls, and gradually learn to struggle up from a resting position on his own. He showed interest, heart, and very slow progress. He didn’t show a lot of pain, and rarely got down in spirit, so we continued the medical work, with the knowledge that if we slid back in progress, he might not make it.

Six months to the day after his injury, we took him out of the stall, down to the arena, and started working on the ground with obstacles again.

We delayed his under saddle training for six months later than we started any of his friends. We gave him time, spent many days walking with him under the shade of the trees, and when he gave us signs that he was bored or ready to move on, we took the next step.

We tried to take things slow with him, but God just didn’t put a lot of “little effort” in this guy. After just a few weeks under saddle, we allowed him to travel to our local 4-H horse clinic event, and he saw this trip off the farm as the time to shine, and without any effort, showed us what our time, patience, and faith had presented.

Barely having shoes on for any length of time, with a light weight rider, and easy going bit, Johnny presented himself with flash and spirit, and we knew, he would pull through and we had been right in following our hearts in his path. By fall of his three year old year, Avery, my five year old niece was showing him and working him on the farm, all on her own.

He wasn’t interested in trail riding, and worked hard on obstacles and sidepassing, but was a bit too flashy to train in that as a show horse full time. So, we just continued on the path we had been, allowing him to let us know when he was ready for more, and what he enjoyed. And this boy…he went through all that recuperation time to SHOW.

It’s all we can do to keep him turned out in the winter, to “enjoy” off season barefoot and wooly, out with his friend Playboy. You can tell, as soon as the season changes to start warming, that he’s anxious to travel, show, and explore. As a four year old, he was flawless in the ring with my niece, and they loved the thrill of the wind whipping through their hair, and occasionally, got extra enjoyment out of a victory lap or two 😉

As a five year old, this past season he was magic and beauty in the ring, being exactly what we ever hoped and prayed for…a healed, sound moving, life loving horse that takes care of our little gal in the ring, out of the ring, and seems to truly have the light in his eyes showing us that he’ll keep on trying for us, just like we had faith and kept trying in him. With or without shoes on, show coat or wooly mammoth of a winter coat, riding in a field or in a smooth, worked arena…he’s our Johnny. He’s one of the miracles that happened on our farm, and helped us see that we are right where we’re needed.

Life has a mind of it’s own

Every day I wake up and realize that life has it’s own course to run. I believe that God lays out a journey for us, with a few forks in the road to challenge us to choose the “right” path for our own lives, the one that challenges us, makes us stronger, and builds us into the people we will need to be later on.

However, I also see that God has certain things that encounter us in life that changes us in dramatic and painful ways. Sometimes I wonder if there are significant events and moments that are meant to shake us up individually, make us aware of our limitations, or the caution we need to use in every day life, or remind us to be thankful for what and who we have in life.

Then there are the large, disastrous events that happen to a mass of people, ones that shake us as a society to the core. It seems they come in every form and fashion, and just when the people start to recover from one type of shock, there’s another coming around the bend.

From school shootings, to marathon bombings, to tornadoes…it seems the news is daily showing us the losses and pains of life. The tragedy of Mother Nature, the unpredictability of life, and those that choose to pass pain and loss along to others. Sometimes, I look to events outside and away from our family farm, and I wonder what events are still ahead for me, and what my children might be exposed to one day.

And then I realize, all I have is hope and prayer. I can hope that I choose the best paths for my children, that lead them to grow and develop into teens and adults that make wise choices, and pray for the people and events they will come across, that they will be able to be as safe as they can, be protected as much as they can, and that God will have his hand of healing and support on the lives of all of those affected.

I cannot come close to imagining what families of recent tragedies have gone through, whether it’s losing children in school shootings, losing family members, or suffering significant injury in public events of terror/tragedy, or losing everything that makes their life possible, their daily existence have substance and purpose through natural disasters.

I can only pray, pray that God has a hand on those suffering, a hand on those coming to help with healing in so many different ways, and pray that there is a purpose behind it all, because the losses are so personal, so deep.

Before my time

It’s s special to be a part of South Forty, not just as a farm, but as a family. The main house on the farm was built in the early 1800’s, and in that, has so much character and personality. When we bought it, it was nothing more than a historic home (that had thankfully been restored before we bought it) and some acreage, close to town. When we began to create and build it into a farm, we learned that it was, at one time, a stagecoach stop, and another time, a Morgan Horse farm. It’s so interesting, thinking of the tales that this farm, this land possesses. Pictured above is one of the oldest trees on the farm, believed to be near the age of the actual home. It has an amazing opening about 8 feet up, and we love to bring out a ladder and have a slew of family members climb up to get family pictures in. We also like to laugh as the relatives try to give boosts or legs up, instead of waiting for that ladder…they usually are not successful, but great for photo opportunities!

The actual bricks making up the front two sections of the historic home were made by the slaves that lived on the farm at the time of construction. I know it’s not a comfortable topic to many, but to drive five minutes and see the close knit, quick construction homes getting brickwork laid in a matter of days by a group of workers now, I can’t imagine the labor and effort necessary to make all the bricks needed for our home, by hand, with the raw materials from the farm.

Interesting enough, when we purchased the home, we noticed that there is a section of bricks on the courtyard side wall that don’t match. This is also the section where we get a lot of comments like “Wow, I can’t believe you ever got the floors level” or “man, it must have taken a lot of time to chase out all the critters that started living in here”. Low and behold, they had bricked over the “funeral door”. Our home is so old, it predates funeral homes and chapels, and people came in our front door, passed the viewing room, and then out the side door. I’ve highlighted it below for those who might not be able to see it well. I found it very cute that, possibly without any intention, my mom propped a garden angel figure on the porch rail right beside it!

In the original cellar below the home, we still have the kitchen quarters for servants from way back when. The renovators also told us they found a “slave jail cell” in the other half of the cellar, but decided to remove that area during renovation! Yes, this is why we firmly believe that we have a ghost (we call him Fred) at the farm. My brother has seen him three times, and my mom and I have heard him talk. Mainly, he likes to mess with holiday ornaments and occasionally turn on overhead lights for no reason.

I love “home”. The whole farm, the family, the youth and adults that visit, the animals that make our days unique. The sunrises in my bay window of my bedroom, and sets behind the tree line framing our outdoor arena. I feel blessed to have the chance to have my children grow up here.

Blessings in disguise

Living on a farm with so many horses, raising some, showing some, and not always having time for each and every one is a common plight among farm owners.

We too have the difficult task sometimes, of having to find new owners for horses that are so near and dear to our hearts. It’s not fair to have such a compassionate breed of horse, and not be able to give them the companionship they need.

In June, 2011, I made the difficult choice, alongside mom, to offer up a mare (girl horse) that I had been showing, to a youth that had an interest in owning a horse. I was so uncertain, not of the future owner (she would be a member of a fabulous family), but of letting go of my gal, my companion in the ring, one that I saw such potential in.

It was a blessing from above, from the very first moment. Jaz and Julie are the horses’ new moms, and my goodness, they are SUCH wonderful moms! Jaz trusts the horse “Hottie” completely, and is always ready to have an adventure with her, anywhere, anytime, any weather. Julie was a bit timid of horses in the beginning, but now, I delight when I catch her sneaking Hottie hugs and kisses, or when she steps in to help make her look absolutely perfect for the show ring.

Sometimes selling a horse is a tough thing to work through. Sometime you regret the sale, sometimes you just plain worry, and sometimes, you see that the horse lost a light in their eyes, a tingle of their spirit. But with Jaz and Hottie, I get to work with them every week, see them visit often when not in lessons, and love the Facebook photos posted of the gals hanging out, visiting with friends, or just giving each other hugs. Jaz and Julie have given that horse more reasons to wake up and be blessed than I could every hope for.

This photo, the relationship this little girl has, makes the sweat, frustration, success, bruised toenails, broken finger nails, sunburns, and frozen fingers worth it. I see them, and I know that something genuinely good exists…Jaz, Julie, and Hottie, thank you for always being such a blessing to me!

The path that lies ahead

Today, I went out to catch one of our older lesson horses, Yankee. He lives with Matt the (sinkhole) pony, in a lane off to the side of the farm. The wind was up high, and the grass was blowing, strands of my hair came loose from my bun, and the gentle jingling of the halter and lead rope accompanied me. And I had this flash back to when we first laid out the fencing to separate out for smaller fields.

It was a strange day, my dad asking me to come with him to help mark the fence posts that were to be intersection points, mark trees to come down. I clearly remember that I thought it was such a simple job. I followed dad around, and he’d say that he wanted a fence here, and I wrapped a piece of orange tape around the post. He didn’t really ask my opinion, or talk about what he saw in his minds eye. He just planned, and I was alongside to mark the path. I can remember thinking how goofy it was for him to do this with me, if he thought it was going to be of use to me someday.

Then, today, as I reached Yankee, and began to slide his halter over his nose, I remembered a horse shopping adventure we went on (to the farm we got Yankee from), to purchase a very successful show horse, Grandy. The drive there always seemed so long, and then, of course, you got to see more horses than you originally had interest in. As always, I was up for test driving any horse they brought up (I was more naive then…I’ve learned to be selective as to whom I might come off of now), and I enjoyed Grandy.

The farm we were at had this little front porch area, with a white wooden swing, and we were sitting out there, he on a chair across from mom and I, and he said that I needed to negotiate the deal. I’m pretty sure I was 19, and the horse, well, cost more than my college tuition. I thought he had lost his mind. I can remember him saying that this would be my responsibility one day, that he was teaching me to do this part of the job, so I was better prepared. I thought he was nuts, probably was going to get the horse anyway, and was just trying to throw me off balance a little.

And now, almost 11 years after his death, as I clipped the halter onto Yankees head and stroked his forelock, it occurred to me that he was teaching me what I needed to know. He did teach me things that would help me be an asset to the farm…he helped prepare me for when he wouldn’t be here. All those times I was a typical teen and blew off the idea he presented…it was a real thing.

I struggle with the uncertainties of life sometimes, and thoroughly and completely live to make “now” the best it can be. I plan ahead, sure, but not enough to sacrifice time with loved ones, or time to help others find joy that they can have now, and I just have to pause and wonder…did he know? In some small part of his being, did he have any idea how true his intent really was? I know God had it planned, but, did he give Dad a small piece of knowledge, or was Dad just trying to help me be the best me I could be?

Mom always jokes that I’m the responsible adult when she, my brother (who’s older), and I are all traveling. She says I try to keep everyone out of trouble. Is it partially because he tried to show me so much before he was gone? Is it because he knew one of us would have to rein in the chaos?

My niece Avery was hanging out in the barn last week, and I could tell she had something tucked into her pocket, that maybe she was afraid she wasn’t supposed to have. She’d turn away from everyone and peek at it. So, I finally snuck over and asked her what she had, crouching down to hang on her level, assuring her that I wasn’t there to reprimand her. She shyly brought out her sweet little hand and held it fist up. As her fingers uncurled, she held a lapel pin, a rose, rich burgundy bloom open and fresh, with a delicate curving stem and leaf. She whispered, “I just found this, it was just lying around.” It was my lapel pin, from when I showed my first stallion, Phantom, that dad bought me. I was crazy about the horse, and unfortunately lost him to colic the year after dad died. It had been lying in the window of our show building for at least a year. It laid there, everyday, in the gentle sunlight, reminding me of the things that horse taught me, the relationship I built with him after we were so skeptical of Dad’s one pick for a horse (at the time of purchase, over a year old, he’d never been handled, and wasn’t thrilled with the concept). I think i held it twice, but didn’t have the heart to put it away where I wouldn’t see it by luck or chance during the week. I don’t believe I ever wore it with any other horse.

So, I told her, that I wore that on my coat every time I showed my first stallion dad bought us, Phantom. But, now that she’d found it for us, and since she’s got her very own horse now, maybe she should wear it on her coat when she showed him.

How much of what happens in life, is to prepare us for when we lose someone? When I walked those fence rows with dad, had his premature death already been cast in the future? Did God have it already planned on that day in the wooden swing, when I was so intimidated of talking purchasing deals on horses? When dad picked out the horse, Phantom, named in honor of the first Broadway play he took me to see, and trusted that I could handle him…when we symbolized the horses spirit with a rose on my lapel, did he know that someday his granddaughter would find it, wrap her hands around it, and dream?

This is why I am who I am. This blog is me, honest and uncensored, and not afraid of what people will think (because I don’t see you while you’re reading it). I love deeply, feel great passion for many things, and live with my soul wide open for joy and for pain. I trust The Lord has a plan, and when I look back, I see the past he had planned as well. It was a hard, painful, and sometimes beautiful road, and today, I was so blessed to pause in the field with the wind blowing and the horse nuzzling my side and remember my walk with dad.

What it means, to be…

Our farm was built with the ability to become whatever we dreamed it could be. It has become what it’s supposed to be…what God saw it needed to be in our hearts and souls. It’s not a multi-million dollars equine corporation that runs efficient and smooth. It’s a family thing, run by a mom and her two kids, who wake up each morning thankful to have each other and the animals that greet us. We’re a family who bush hogs fields, weed eats our own fence rows, repairs our own fencing, trains our own show horses, and in the middle of it all; loves, laughs, and live to make each moment worth it. And on beautiful summer nights when the sun is golden on the horizon, and we’re exhausted from a full day of work, we share a little shade, enjoying the porches on the front of our horse sheds, ending the day in peace and comfort…the joy of being home.

Lean on me

It was a warm summer day, the sun was high, a slight breeze in the air. We saw a mare (mom horse) in the pasture, near the fence. We walked up to meet her. Her rich deep red coat shining, her long blonde mane blowing just a little in the wind. Mom was talking to the owner of the horse, but my eyes were focusing just behind the mare. I came up the to triangle wire fence, squatted down in the grass, lacing my fingers through the wire, and the breeze pushed a few strands of my curls across my face.

That was the day I met him…the “man” in my life, who would change me into a better person, a more complete heart, a soul with purpose. Big Un’ was just days old, a beautiful chocolate baby boy, peeking around his mothers back legs, ears alert, big, beautiful eyes gleaming, and curiosity making him bold. He walked right up to the fence, placed his feather soft muzzle against my fingers through the fence, and accepted our destiny.

It was four months before I got to bring Big Un home, as he was to stay on his moms side until he was strong, brave, and ready to take on the world all on his own.

It was when he turned 18 months old, a cool, perfect fall day, October 1st, when I brought Big Un into the indoor arena, bridled for the first time, and began to work with him on the ground. My mom was on the far end, working the ground around the fencing. And I just felt that it was time. Big Un was ready, and I thought I was too. I went to his side, placed my foot in the iron of the stirrup, and climbed onto his back.

He just stood there and accepted that this was the next path, that this was the next step for us and that was okay with him.

I was his companion in and out of the ring for the next four years. Where I went, he was very close behind. We even competed in trail rides together.

Then the stress of competition started to get to both of us. The need to please the other, work well together, succeed in our tasks together created this pressure for both of us, and together, we began to change. We became creatures of doubt, expressed frustration with each other at the mere hint of trouble. I’d get frustrated and ask someone else to ride him, and see that he relaxed, didn’t pressure himself, acted as a well trained horse should. I would climb back on, and he’d shake his long, full mane, stomp his hoof, or tuck his head low between his knees.

I did what I thought was best. I didn’t make an easy choice, and I lost part of who I was. I asked someone else in the family to show him. I realized he had loads of potential, and that we weren’t getting things accomplished. Our relationship changed. He wouldn’t perk his ears when he saw me, he snapped his teeth at me when I passed him, after riding a different horse, he wouldn’t come to the stall front when I peeked in to check on him. He lost faith in me.

It’s been two years that someone else has handled him. Two long show seasons, seeing him work with others, take care of my 6 year old niece, compete in things he was just beautiful in. And then, this winter, he got the promise he’d been waiting for. He got to spend an entire winter turned out, being a real horse, with a pasture mate to play and fight with.

And the other afternoon, I walked past his field, and as he was laying with his legs folded under him, his head resting on his chin, on the ground, he simply sighed. He looked alone, tired, bereft.

Today, I went into the field with a green halter and lead, I quietly walked across the field, and when he and his pasture mate looked up, they both paused. I simply said, “hey”, calm, timid, afraid of the rejection I’d seen in his eyes for two years. And with that one word, his ears raised tall, his eyes shone just the slightest gleam, and he pushed in front of his friend to walk to me. His gait was determined, confident, and a little hopeful. He lowered his head for his halter, and when I clipped it all together, he came willingly beside me.

It’s been six months since anyone rode him. And we played in the arena, the familiarity of the saddle on his back, the reins in my hand, his gait strong and fluid. He sneezed and snuffled in anticipation, and shook his mane out to shimmer his mane over my leg, he listened for every leg command that would brush against his side. It was us again. No pressure, no uncertainty, we were just together again, united in an hour of fun and play.

And I asked to show him again. I confessed how much I missed him, how much I wanted to just ride him and do what we’ve trained so long, so much to do. I confessed that my spirit, my soul needed him again…we needed each other.

And tomorrow, I hope to ride again. I hope I can make the adjustments in my schedule as full time mom and riding instructor to guarantee I can be there for him, because we both deserve it. Because today, when I placed my foot in the stirrup irons again, I returned home.

Photo challenge- Home

For me, home is where the horse is, where the youth of today laugh and play in the joy these animals bring. Where the sunsets behind the arena and the golden color touches everything with peace and beauty before it retires for the night.

The story of South Forty- the beginning

The Story of South Forty

It all started when Tommy, my father, suggested that the family buy a pony for the great-nieces and nephews. So, Pepper the pony joined the family. Pepper was a very experienced 4-H pony. She was a mean little speed machine who loved nothing more than to home in on the competition and “go in for the kill.” Yes, looking back, Amanda now laughs and says that Pepper was a little above their beginner level, but they fell in love with her and couldn’t look back. Pepper then took up permanent residence at South Forty. However, in looking at the size of Amanda and Jason (as they were well into their teens when Pepper came home, 5’11” and 6’3″ respectfully), one might realize how odd it was to imagine them riding Pepper (she was 12.2 hands tall). So the search continued for that perfect horse for the Cole’s and a new best friend for Pepper.

The Cole’s bumped into the Rocky Mountain Horses at a 4-H demo and were immediately hooked. Diane was fascinated with the chocolate body coat and stunning white mane and tail, the temperament with children, and the overall presence of the horse. The search began immediately to find more of those amazing horses. Needless to say, that search was successful. Now, several years down the road, South Forty Farms is home to 35 Rockies and have customized their life to their friends. They have a diversified herd, with horses trained in western, pleasure, pleasure driving, trail, obstacle, and poles.

“We are amazed to walk out to the barns everyday and find that those first horses we purchased, the yearlings we found and fell in love with, are now more mature, wiser, and absolutely as stunning as they were the first day we laid eyes on them. There’s a sense of pride to know that we were an integral part of who they are now. Those fillies we bought, in what seems like so long ago, are mothers, raising their babies just as wonderfully as we could hope. They walk around the farm as if they know that they are the foundation of our farm, for they strive to maintain the true nature of the Rocky Mountain, whether they are under saddle, in the barns, or just gaiting through the pastures with the foals.”

The Cole’s have been fortunate to find Rockies to join the farm that are one of a kind. Cricket’s Little Buddy and Choco Two Socks are the cement that bonded Jason and Amanda to the farm. Bud and Jason will always be a team, whether they’re strutting though western competitions or racing through poles. Socks showed Amanda the unity between horse and rider, and once they found that, they were able to enter a horse/human friendship that outlasts any other kind. Through learning with these two outstanding horses, South Forty has reached out farther and found even more horses with their own unique story that make lasting impressions on their lives.

Doctor Yankee entered the picture as the perfect lesson horse for Amanda’s business. Yet, to the joy of the farm…he turned out to be the perfect horse for Diane and Tommy. He just likes to go with the flow and have a good time, and that’s what they had been hoping for, and keeping an eye for when at other farms. The day Diane saw and rode him, she called Amanda and said she was bringing him home. Doctor Yankee is the horse used for demonstrations and beginner riders due to being of perfect temperament.

“South Forty has had it’s share of ups and downs in the horse industry. Loss of loved ones, struggles with current ones, it’s all part of the story of life. But to be able to share that life with the horses residing at South Forty is a gift. We’re not in this to make a profit. We’re in this adventure to help make life more enjoyable. The horses that come to South Forty almost always have a change that can be detected the first year they are here. It seems as if they find something inside themselves that *clicks* and they come out of their stalls and paddocks every day to give us their all. It’s amazing to ask so little of them, and receive so much in return. But then again, maybe it’s not so amazing…seeing as how they just ask us to share some time with them, and it ends up being so much more that just a ride…”

Dreams into reality

He had a vision. Of rolling land, tended fields, barns full of livestock, and family growing up and growing together. He created a farm, redesigning barns, laying out fence lines, and building arenas. He dared his children (city kids at the ages of 20 and 18) to take chances, step out of comfort zones, and see what else may be out there. He believed in the farm and the family, and helped us find direction. And then he was gone, leaving us behind to look after his creation and dreams. We were handed this amazing gift of land and barns, and incredible horses, and the belief in ourselves that we could continue, persevere, and become more.

​I still remember carrying his red wing boots out from the hospital on the day he died. The leader of our family, the foundation and the cornerstone of who the Cole family was. All I could think about was him propped up against the white plank fence, with the sun setting behind him, looking out over his herd of Mountain Horses, and his forty acres that lay on the south side of I-65, and his wife and children that had the strength to follow him in this direction. He left us with South Forty Farms.

​Jason and I decided that we believed in the farm and family, and we needed to be with Mom (Diane), a unified three to take over where he left off. Instead of letting grief overwhelm us, and fear of the future shut our hearts and minds, we stood together, worked together, sweat together, and just kept on going.

​We had some very successful show horses that helped teach us what to do, and we interacted and worked with amazing horse trainers and owners that were open and free with advice, guidance, and time. We were able to step onto other farms and be treated with gracious respect, and in that, find horses that would help follow the path our farm was creating, fit the future that we felt was laid out for us.

​I literally stumbled upon my career as a riding instructor. A friends daughter asked if I could help teach her to ride (which I actually laughed at first – I wasn’t blessed genetically with a lot of patience). The day I said yes, and helped that 3 1/2 year old onto a horse changed my world. I have been working exclusively with children ages 3 1/2-18 since 2003 as my full time profession.

​Jason tried to follow in the direction that was laid out for him in college, by pursuing careers in banking, and then insurance, and always struggled to find the confidence and peace in the decision his career was in. He married his true soul mate, Lacey (yes, soul mates…they love Disney and history to a level none of the rest of us will ever truly appreciate) and he built a home on the farm at the same time I chose to, and soon had his first daughter, Avery. When Avery was around the age of 4, he finally talked with Diane, laid out his honest passion for the farm, and that he would like to try to make a career at South Forty for himself, and he quit his public job and began teaching lessons for youth and adults at the farm.

​Both Jason and I teach based on the principles we learned. If you want to ride, you learn to do it all…yourself. In lessons, we work not only in the saddle, but with catching horses (and sometimes that’s a true adventure!), tacking up and putting on the bridle, selecting the right tack and equipment for each individual rider, and then grooming them down, bathing them, getting them properly taken care of (slightly spoiled) to be turned back out comfortably. We work with bareback riding, western, saddleseat, obstacle work, balance and reflex games, and even ground work with young horses. We have a few riders in the ring currently that have trained their own horses from baby to adult! We approach teaching in a casual, “user-friendly” manner, where we understand that horses and humans mess up, have bad days, have amazing days, get hot, get tired and cranky, are buzzed on sugar cubes/caffeine, are freezing in the winter, or just plain terrified to learn the next big thing. We laugh at ourselves, and encourage others to do so as well…the mountain horses have provided our students the amazing blessing of patience, curiosity, and endurance. The horses love what we do, and wait at the gates if they’ve had too many days off!

​Avery Cole, Jason’s oldest daughter, has become the whirlwind of South Forty. Since her parents worked day jobs, Diane and I would sneak Avery to the barn, as young as 2 months old, and have her riding in front of me, on our two year old stallion, Circle of Life (needless to say, her parents didn’t learn of any of her riding accomplishments until at least two weeks after she’d done it!). She rode all the time…either gently rocking into sleep, or giggling and making kissing noises to try to go fast. It has been one of my greatest accomplishments in life to see her mature into an incredible rider. The week of her second birthday, Avery rode Doctor Yankee, all by herself on the rail, with no one close by (I was far enough to take photos of full body shots of horse and rider). For her third birthday, she wanted to go get her own horse from the field to ride. For her fourth, she was riding at nights at the International shows, in the arena when the show was over for the night, and showing in the first solo classes. The year she turned five, she won the KMSHA International Grand Champion Trail Pleasure 11 and under, and Reserve Country Trail Grand Champion 11 and under. She’s six now, and showing western pleasure and trail obstacle. And she “earns her keep”. We have a foldable wagon that we take to shows so she can help haul her equipment to the barns, she likes to hose down her horses (and those humans possibly standing nearby) after workouts, and she loves to be the first one to warm her horses up! She can tack up her horse, bridle most of them, and with the right stool or fence close by, climb on up. She entertains DQP’s, ringmasters, and judges alike with her stamina and determination.

​Jason’s youngest daughter, Avenley, is owning up to being the complete opposite of Avery. She likes to ride for fun, loves to wear helmets anytime she’s in the barn, and will go through emotional overload when you try to take her off a horse, or remove the helmet. She doesn’t care about showing…she doesn’t even really notice it, she just wants to GO on the horse, with her fabulous helmet.

​I married Nick in a way that truly captures my lifestyle…scheduled around show season! We’ve been married since 2006, and became foster parents in October of 2010. We actually got the approval phone call on the way to the KMSHA International show! We’ve had many infants through our home (and we are truly beyond the thrill of baby drool and diapers), and are blessed with the opportunity to adopt our little girl, 20 month old Amelia (aka “Bink”), on 8/3/2012. She’s been traveling to most horse shows with me, rolling along in her car seat or jogging stroller, and rides as much as I can get her on. Her brother, known as “Dude”, will be making his horse show debuts in 2012 as well, but at 10 months old, he’s more interested in playing with the horses hair than entertaining the audience!

​Between Diane, Jason, and I, we all have our roles on the farm. Jason, as said before, teaches adults and youth, and is in charge of all green machines (John Deere tractors, bush hogs, spreaders, etc). He keeps the fields as tip top as they can be in spite of drought seasons and then pouring rain. He is certainly in charge of Bud Light, his champion Trail gelding, and has taken over the reins of training and handling Circle of Life, our versatility horse. He works with other horses, and with Avery’s excitement, has stepped back into the role of working with younger horses, which has been one of his true gifts all along.

​Diane is the organizational pro. Without her, we all are creatures of self-doubt. Diane manages all the diet and nutrition of the horses on the farm, as well as keeps up with what show clothes need to be repaired or designed and made (yes, she’s making some of our show clothes and is AMAZING with the horse costume class!), record keeping on registration and vet work. She’s also the mediator between Jason and I, as we are true siblings, and sometimes let our nerves get the best of conversations and communication at horse shows! And finally, she’s the best co-pilot in the world. If we get lost (and yep…it happens often), she’s always ready to work her truck GPS, and if that doesn’t work, find my GPS system, then she resorts to the Atlas, and when all else fails, we head to the nearest Wal-Mart or McDonalds and ask for help!

​I hesitate to say that I’m the “attitude” of the farm, but believe it’s the closest description. When horses decide to push our buttons, I’m the one that pushes back. When a rider decides to doubt and panic, I’m the one that lectures them back until they’ve forgotten what was wrong and just want to get in the ring. I’m the ring side coach, and love to figure out the dynamic of each individual horse, how they match with different riders, and how to present them best in front of different judges. I also am the “hauler”. When all else fails and Diane and Avery want to show, I’ll drive them wherever they need to go, so long as I get to take my horse Playboy, and show western pleasure, my favorite class. Jason hauls as well, and does a good job at it, but with my passion for audio books on my I Pod, I can usually go for hours without getting sleepy.

​We travel and show as a family, and when at shows, our family isn’t complete without our “adopted Aunt Milsie”, novice rider, Amelia Watkins. Amelia grew up in lessons with me at South Forty, and when it came time to choose a college and direction for the next step in life, she was blessed with scholarship opportunities, amazing grades, and many options. Amelia may never know how deeply we appreciate her as a part of the family, and when she confessed that she’d like to stay local at Western Kentucky University, so she could come out and continue to play with our horses, we couldn’t deny the connection as family anymore. Amelia and I have ridden side by side for many years, trying to master the other’s riding personality and seat, so that we can share horses at the shows, and help encourage each other in the right way. I like to joke that Amelia is the “skinny me”, but can’t deny that she’s become her own, individual, amazing horse woman that we are blessed to have around. Upon adoption of my baby girl, Bink on August 3rd, 2012, she will take the name of Amelia, in honor of Milsie…she just means that much to us.

​We have other youth that travel and show with us. The youth that travel and show own and handle their own horses, and when they’re in the ring or warming up, I am very proud of who they are, and how much they’ve taught their individual horses. Each tale is different and amazing in their own ways, and continue to write the story of their lives together with each new adventure. And I feel blessed to know that they have grown and learned with us, so much, that they appreciate that when we travel for shows, we never show for the ribbon or title…we show to demonstrate our love and passion for what we do each day, and the incredible love the horses show us back, by faithfully carrying us with pride and beauty.