Horse. Woman.

"It was a tough life if you was useless." -Leafa Numbers BlakeMy grandmother proudly claimed she had delivered more foals and calves than any woman in early 1900s North Dakota. Like her, we've found a purpose building our lives, sometimes elbow deep in dirt and blood, but doing whatever work that needed to be done. Horses have always been our north star. For many of us, the cowboy persona has never been a good fit.
Women have earned a narrative about our own lives with horses and the land. We tell a uniquely female account of living and working with horses, coming out of the shadow of cowboy hats and spurs. For us, it was never about fighting for domination. It was always about herd and home. For many of us, the cowboy persona has never been a good fit. Women have earned a narrative about our own lives with horses and the land.
We tell a uniquely female account of working with horses, coming out of the shadow of cowboy hats and spurs. For us, it was never about fighting for domination. It was always about herd and home. Spotted HorseBoth horsewomen would rememberthis moment. A blustering wind, notcold, but bitter. Misty clouds settledthe dust. A gelding stood betweenthem, aged beyond the math of hisyears. Not quite thin but not strongeither.
Looming with stilted tensionas if uncomfortable in ill-fitting clothes. Was it his arthritis? The chronic hoofproblem? Not that he would evercomplain. His sunken eyes watering, thick eyelids half-closed. Maybe he wasmentally retreating, not that he wouldever say no. The gelding stood tall butthe horsewomen knew he wasn't quiteright. Eyes watering, probably the wind.