Winds of Thunder Farm

08/13/2025

So true

For many of us, patience does not come easily. We live in a time where we do not have to wait for much and slowing down does not necessarily come naturally. When we interact with out animals we tend to expect immediate compliance. We ask for a Sit, a Come, Back, Halt (depending on the species) and expect an instant response. Often, without realizing it, we repeat the cue again and again — three, four, even five times — before our animal has even had a moment to process what we’ve asked.

But here’s the reality: the journey from request to response isn’t instantaneous. The signal travels a surprisingly long path:
Our brain → our body → their body → their brain → their body… and only then do we see the result.

Now imagine adding in the challenges of real life — a distracting environment, a new skill being taught, or the stress of an unfamiliar situation. Every extra factor makes it even more important to allow a pause. That moment of stillness is not wasted time; it’s the essential bridge between your intention and their understanding.

When we give our animals time to think, we:
• Build trust through patience, allowing them time to process so they’re not being pressured or rushed into compliance.
• Create space for understanding, allowing them to truly learn rather than simply react.
• Lay the foundation for long-lasting responsiveness, cooperation, and confidence.
In our experience slowing down at the beginning often makes things go faster in the long run. Instead of drilling or demanding and adding pressure, we allow time for the nervous system and body to process and respond to the request.

For us, training isn’t about forcing immediate obedience. It’s about communication, trust, and connection.

As your animal feels safer and clearly understands the request, the response becomes quicker and more immediate without the escalation of pressure, coercion or repetition.

So next time you give a cue, try this: ask once, then pause. Breathe. Watch their body language. Give them the gift of time. You might be surprised at the depth of the response you receive and the long lasting results.

08/03/2025

“The Horse Made of Stars”

In the sacred time, when mountains still breathed and the sky was young, the Great Spirit dreamed a horse into existence — not of flesh and bone, but of stardust and song. Her name was Nahimana, “Mystic One who Walks Between Worlds.”

Nahimana was born beneath a moon so full it touched the tops of the trees. Her mane flowed like river smoke, her eyes held the glow of forgotten constellations. Wherever she walked, the land healed. Wherever she galloped, dreams awakened.

She did not belong to one tribe — she belonged to all.

The elders told their children:

“When the night is still, and the moon shines gold, you may see her shadow crossing the hills. She comes when we forget, and she reminds us.”

One such night, when the People had grown weary — when the drums were quiet, the fires cold, and stories left untold — Nahimana returned.

She stood in a circle of mountains, beneath the watching moon, and struck her hoof to the earth. From that spot, light rose. Not fire, but memory. The wind carried ancient songs again. The trees swayed with recognition. The stars whispered her name.

And the children, who had never heard the old stories, began to dream of deer who spoke, of rivers who remembered names, of horses made of light.

From that night on, the People knew:

“She is not just legend.
She is the spirit of remembering.
And she returns when the Earth is ready to be listened to again.”

08/02/2025

Letting Go of the Lesson Plan

We’re taught to show up with a plan.
With goals.
With structure.
That a good session has progression, clarity, and results.

But what if the most profound moments with horses don’t come from lesson plans, but from letting go of them?

What if connection doesn’t need a curriculum?

The Comfort of Structure
Lesson plans give us a sense of safety.
We know what’s coming next. We know what “success” looks like.
We can measure improvement, chart milestones, feel productive.

But horses don’t live in linear time the way we do.
They don’t care if we’re hitting our marks.
They care if we’re present.

And when we’re focused on what should happen next, we risk missing what’s happening right now.

The Subtle Violence of Agenda
Even a soft, kind plan becomes a pressure when we’re attached to it.

“I just want to work on walking calmly today.”
But what if the horse wants to run? Or rest? Or doesn’t want to engage at all?

“I thought we’d work on yielding to pressure.”
But what if they’re trying to tell us they’ve had enough pressure already?

When we show up with expectations, we may unintentionally override the horse’s signals in service of a “good session.”

What Happens When We Drop the Script?
When we step into the pasture or paddock without a plan, we begin to see the horse more clearly.

We notice the flick of an ear, the shift in breath, the weight of silence.
We become students of the moment, not masters of a method.

The horse becomes not a project, but a presence.

And suddenly, we’re not guiding them toward something.
We’re walking beside them into whatever this moment holds.

The Wisdom in Wandering
Sometimes, the most meaningful sessions look like “nothing.”

☁️ Standing in the shade while the wind stirs the grass.
☁️ Sitting nearby as the horse grazes, choosing nearness without pressure.
☁️ Following their movement with no need to direct it.
☁️ Breathing together, without a word spoken.

These moments don’t “advance” training.
They deepen trust.
They soften defenses.
They say: You don’t have to be anything other than who you are with me.

Let the Relationship Lead
This isn’t to say guidance is wrong.
But what if the relationship is the plan?
What if we measure success in moments of consent, curiosity, and connection—not in behaviors achieved?

The horse might offer something incredible when they’re not being asked to perform.
And so might we.

Letting go of the lesson plan isn’t giving up on learning.
It’s remembering that the deepest lessons rarely come from the page.
They come from presence, trust, and the courage to follow instead of lead.

08/01/2025

07/31/2025

07/30/2025

I am continuing my TTouch series of posts, today is the power of the Pause.

07/30/2025

07/28/2025

Title: "The Song of Painted Wind"

Long ago, when the world was young and the stars still whispered to the Earth, there lived a horse unlike any other. His name was Painted Wind, and his coat carried the colors of the sky, the rivers, the fire, and the mountains. No one had ever seen a horse with patterns that danced like dreams—stripes like warrior paint, circles like the sun, and feathers etched in spirit across his flank.

Painted Wind was born during a storm, when thunder rolled through the valleys and lightning kissed the sacred ground. The Elders said he was a gift from the Sky People, a messenger between worlds. He didn’t belong to a single warrior or tribe. Instead, he walked freely among all Nations, bringing dreams to children and strength to those who had lost their way.

They said if you sat beside Painted Wind and laid your hand on his side, you could hear the songs of your ancestors echo through his heart. He carried the voices of those who had gone before—reminding the people of who they were and what they still carried within.

One harsh winter, when snow buried the plains and silence fell heavy on the lodges, the people were hungry, their fires growing cold. It was then that Painted Wind disappeared into the white blizzard. Many thought he was lost. But at the first light of the new moon, he returned—with a herd of wild horses behind him and warmth radiating from his spirit like sunrise on snow.

Painted Wind had not just found food or fire—he had brought back hope.

Today, some say you can still hear his hooves when the wind whistles through the pines, or see his patterns in the clouds. He lives not in flesh, but in every Native heart that remembers who they are: children of the Earth, the Sky, and the unbreakable Circle.