Before I Knew Horses

Learning to See Them Differently

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People often assume that because I work alongside Kerry and spend so much time around horses today, that I must have grown up a “horse girl.”

But the truth is; I didn’t.

In fact, when horses first came into my life, I wasn’t quite sure how to be around them at all.

I grew up in the country, though not on a farm. We lived in a rural area just outside of town. Our home backed up to a wooded area, and on the other sides of us were corn fields and cow pastures stretching across the landscape. It was the kind of place where you could hear the wind move through the trees and watch the seasons change across the fields.

The sunrises and sunsets there were magical, and they fueled my creativity.

Growing up, my favorite place was always the art room. I loved color and creating things. Give me paper, pencils, paint, and time to imagine, and I was perfectly happy. Art was where my curiosity lived; a quiet place where I could observe and create.

Animals were always part of our lives too.

When I was little, we had a small dog, a cat or two, and for a time our family even had a few steer. I was young then and didn’t fully understand what that meant, having steer, that is, they were simply animals that lived nearby. Then one day they were gone.

My great-grandmother had a small farm with chickens and milking cows, and sometimes I would visit and see them. Those early moments around animals stayed with me in quiet ways.

But it was my mom who first showed me the true beauty of animals. She loved them all.

She once told me a story from when she was a little girl. She had gone out hunting with my grandfather, scouting pheasants in the fields. She even had her own rifle but was unaware of what it truly meant to shoot living creature. When the dogs flushed the birds out of the grass and the pheasants burst into the air, my grandfather called out, “Shoot, Sharon, shoot!”

But she couldn’t do it.

She stood there frozen, watching these magnificent birds rise into the sky. In that moment she realized she simply couldn’t bring herself to shoot them. From that day forward, she never went hunting again.

That story always stayed with me, as did the image of my mother telling the story with tears welling in her eyes.

Everything shifted when my parents divorced. I was fourteen. My siblings and I stayed with our dad, and my mom moved away. Those years were difficult for all of us, and for a time I didn’t have much connection with her. A story for another time.

Later in life, though, we found our way back to one another. I’m grateful for that time because I was able to reconnect with her before she passed away in the year 2000 at the young age of fifty-three.

Just one month later, my brother died by suicide. He will forever be twenty-five. And we will always be lost in the question of "why?". 

It was one of the most difficult chapters of my life.

At the time I was in a different marriage and raising my young son. Through those years, he became my anchor; my reason to keep moving forward when life felt incredibly heavy.

Difficult times shape us. They deepen us, and they quietly become part of who we are.

Everything changed; quietly when Kerry came into my life.

And horses came with him. Not physically, but with his work.

Horses were beautiful, but also intimidating. The first time I stood close to one, I became suddenly aware of just how large they are; the quiet strength in their body and the slow rhythm of their breathing. Standing there, I felt very small beside them.

In the beginning, I felt awkward and unsure of myself and if I’m being honest, a little scared.

Kerry never pushed.

Instead, he said something simple.

“Just breathe.”

Let the anxiety go.

Be calm.

Be present.

Horses don’t need us to dominate them or impress them. They need us to be mindful and respectful.

In time I learned something important.

Horses notice everything; tension, emotion, energy. When you slow down and meet them with quiet awareness, something shifts.

People often ask if I ride.

The answer is no and I’m content with that.

My personal connection with horses isn’t about sitting on their backs. I love watching others ride and seeing that partnership unfold, but my place with them feels different. I’m just as happy walking beside them or sitting behind them in a carriage.

I'm discovering a relationship with horses through presence, respect, and understanding who they are as animals. It’s my way of appreciating them and their beauty.

Looking back now, I realize my journey with horses was never really about learning how to handle them. It was about learning how to slow down, breathe, and discovering the patience to truly be present.

Kerry helped me see that horses are not animals we control, but animals we learn from and often times with.

Through his work and the philosophy of Sensory Soundness, I began to understand how deeply aware horses are of the emotional and sensory world around them.

And in many ways, that awareness brought me back to something familiar; the quiet way I used to watch the world as a child.

Sitting outside, watching butterflies drift through the air, the sky slowly changing colors, and clouds moving gently across the horizon.

Now, I find that same quiet sense of wonder standing beside a horse.

Thanks for being here ~ Daphne

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