Is there let down now that it’s over?

No. There is only relief.

Sweet, sweet relief.

We did it. We are done. Now, it’s onto whatever is next.

But before that, there is processing. Taking the time to soak, absorb, let it become you, allow yourself to become it, the change, the process, to understand the mystery, the magic. I am still working on this. Realizing all I went through, all I have changed, all I am becoming.

A little too self absorbed.

Maybe just pick up the fencing pliers and get to work.

We are here now. On our high mountain land in Colorado. Camping in a tiny vintage trailer that feels like luxury to me.

The horses have a ridiculous amount of grass and freedom and probably feel as if they’ve died and gone to heaven. I am giving them the space they need to to just be horses. They owe me nothing. Bayjura looks better than she ever had, shiny and strong, finally fit and muscled out like never before. Crow has gained back all he lost, and wanders around the vast pasture in awe. He gets it. He seems to know. Retirement…. well earned indeed.

We’ll remain here another couple weeks, enjoying family time, before returning to a solid house in California, where our dogs and cats, chickens, ducks and of course Canela, await us. So close I can smell them all… especially my dear old dog, the hardest part I left behind.

Our days here are spent working the land. New land, old land, our land, new stories, new projects, lots of work. Right now that means fencing. Hard work, good work, simple, our dirty life. Nothing, no where, and with no one, would I rather be today. My hands are sore from twisting wires, my legs from climbing slopes, and I can’t tell you how sweet that feels, feeling my body do what I have always trusted it to do.

By evening we’re before the camp fire, watching sunsets, darkening clouds, wandering horses. We inch closer to the flame as the view fades to black, sitting in silence, reflecting. So much to soak in.

Soaking…

It felt like such a big deal to me. My ego fooled me to belive everyone would feel the same. I was wrong. Oh, that lesson of humility that presented to me throughout the journey continues still. Just because this was big for me, does not mean it holds meaning for others. At times I wish it did. It holds more value to me thinking I was touching others, connecting, sharing, feeling as if it was not just me and mine and all for me, but somehow for a greater good, a bigger picture, the one thing I could contribute as I continue questioning my point and purpose, wondering what can I do, what gifts can I share, what’s next for me in this one beautiful wild life I am blessed to be in… questions some of us find ourselves asking from time to time, though we may feel we should already know.

I once read if we help change one person for the good we have succeeded in life. Maybe I was hoping to change others as I was being changed.

Did I change? How could I not. I am still processing what and who I changed into.

And not with these horses. Crow has earned early retirement. Like no other horse I know! I’ll have to start another one. That’s hard. It’s starting a new long term relationship. Part partner, part friend, part student, part teacher, part beloved child, part guardian angel. You work for years raising and training a horse, connecting, learning to communicate, building trust. Building love. Riding five hundred miles a year or more as Crow and I did together for years, we got there. We worked for it, earned it. The safety, the knowing, the subtle understanding I feel with him. Will I ever have this again? Starting a new horse means starting all over. I remember that feeling when I started Crow of not knowing, not trusting, uncertainty every time you put your foot in the stirrup and set your butt on his back. Holding your breath, which, like I told so many people I taught to ride, you’re already half way out of the saddle that way. Breathe. Exhale. Let go. Settle in. That’s how you stay with your horse.

But this question is predictable: Was it all in vain?

So now what? What’s next?

Not another pilgrimage, soul seeking journey, nor vision quest. Not another long quiet ride. At least not for a while.

And for those who have asked, and encouraged, or simply wondered… yes, I will do my best to turn this into a book.

But first, there is something more pressing to write: a lot of thank you letters!

Adelante! That’s where I’m going and what I’m doing next. Gratitude. Sharing. Connecting.

And when we get back home… grounding. Simply staying put.

At lest for a little while.