This year I turned 30. Which means that I have now been riding the mountain trails of Idaho for 20 years; conveniently marked by my 10th birthday when we moved from a traditional boarding barn to an 800 acre wild-scape horse barn on the outskirts of the Boise foothills. Over 20 years I’ve ridden dozens of horses for thousands of trail miles. An accidental cache of experience earned by simply loving something long enough.

Lunar new year doesn’t usually hold significance to me. But this year, in so many ways, has been different. 

Growing up in the West, it’s easy to see the mountains, rivers, and wide open spaces as markers of time itself.

I'm Emily, a rancher from Idaho who's trying to use my voice against hate and violence, run a business, maintain a second job, be a wife, take care of animals and generally try to survive it all.

In four weeks, I’ll be 30. An age I’ve thought a lot about in my 29.99 years of life. An age that for as long as I can remember, I thought would finally “fit me”.

I will always say I wish I found you earlier Chaps (my mid-twenty-something pinto). Earning Chap’s trust is a daily challenge I’ll spend the rest of his life working through.

This summer I went horse camping with my dad and he made an observation that’s stuck with me. While talking about the ranch and how I’m doing managing it all, he said he knew I was never lonely because I’m constantly surrounded by all of my friends. In the conversation I knew he meant the animals.

I wish we had words for the way that horses can make us feel whole. But if you’ve ever had the pleasure of connecting with a horse, or can escape for a long trail ride, you know that the feeling stretches beyond rhyme, reason, spirit, or soul.