Taylor Coburn Taylor Coburn

Leading Without Being Taught

There’s a kind of quiet that settles over the sanctuary some days…not silence exactly, but something deeper. A calm that holds space for whoever steps into it. The trees lean into it. The wind softens. The horses feel it and reflect it right back.

That’s what the place felt like the day Emilia arrived.

There’s a kind of quiet that settles over the sanctuary some days…not silence exactly, but something deeper. A calm that holds space for whoever steps into it.

The trees lean into it.

The wind softens.

The horses feel it and reflect it right back.

That’s what the place felt like the day Emilia arrived.

She was open, soft-spoken, and unusually present for a five year old. She didn’t say much at first. Just took everything in. Her parents brought her because they felt she might find something here that would speak to her in a way nothing else had...And they were right.

We moved slowly through the pasture. Annie, our little mini horse with the curious heart, noticed Emilia right away. She walked to the fence without hesitation. Emilia stepped forward just as calmly. The two of them locked eyes. No words...no hesitation…just presence.

 That was the moment everything shifted.

The other horses were quiet...watchful...holding the space like they knew what was happening. Emilia reached her hand out and Annie met it without flinching.

 A second later Emilia said, completely matter-of-fact, like it was already known: “Annie and I are connected”.

 She meant it...And she was right...

 It was her parents’ reaction that stuck with me most. Her mom, without trying to make it a big moment, just watched and said quietly — “Look at her…she loves this. She should have more of this. This would be a great way to start her journey with horses.”

 She wasn’t just noticing Emilia’s joy, she was seeing the beginning of something foundational...A door opening.

 That’s exactly why we built Horsemanship for Kids. To give children like Emilia a solid, grounded start in leading horses — and themselves. To offer something real. Something that meets them where they are and gives them the tools to grow into confident, intuitive leaders…not just in the barn, but everywhere.

 This wasn’t a training session, it was the start of a relationship rooted in quiet...in presence...in connection...The space where magic begins...

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Mike Cooper Mike Cooper

Choosing Connection Over Safety

Faith, at its core, is the willingness to step into the unknown with an open heart — not because we’re sure, but because we’re curious. That’s what we witnessed this week at the sanctuary, when David, a 27-year-old autistic man with the curiosity of a child, chose to put on a blindfold and meet Daisy, our blind mare, on her terms.

Faith, at its core, is the willingness to step into the unknown with an open heart — not because we’re sure, but because we’re curious.

That’s what we witnessed this week at the sanctuary, when David, a 27-year-old autistic man with the curiosity of a child, chose to put on a blindfold and meet Daisy, our blind mare, on her terms.

Daisy can’t see, but she knows how to feel her way through the world. She’s calm, steady, and honest — the kind of horse who doesn’t hide how she feels.

Her blindness could make her seem intimidating, but it often has the opposite effect. Horses like Daisy have a way of softening people.

David had already spent a day with her, learning basic horse safety and how to approach with softness and clarity. He’d asked great questions. He was gentle. He took his time. 

That first day, he brushed Daisy with care, and she stayed soft beneath his hand.

On this visit, I suggested something new: what if David tried grooming Daisy blindfolded — stepping into her world more directly?

His companion had some concerns. Would he be uncomfortable? Would it overwhelm him?

I said, “Let’s leave it up to David.”

David was nervous… but he said yes.

In that moment, he chose connection over safety — one of the hardest decisions a human can make — and he did it in faith.

David blindfolded himself slowly. He held the brush in one hand, the other hovering in the air like a question. At first, he searched. He was careful… nervous… unsure.

But as he moved down Daisy’s body, something shifted.
She stayed soft. She stayed present.

David brushed her with growing confidence — not because he could see her, but because he could feel her confidence.

The connection was visible to those who could see, and palpable for those who could not.

And somehow, through the brush, her softness traveled back to him.

When he spoke, his voice was quieter, more certain than before.

“She trusts me,” he said.

Not as a statement of pride… more like a quiet realization. Something they both now knew.

Faith has the power to connect even when there are significant barriers to those connections.

That’s what faith makes possible: Two beings, both unsure, both in the dark in their own way, meeting in the middle and choosing connection.

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