Revelation Farm

11/30/2025

https://youtube.com/shorts/W1vW-vr3PLE?si=4em_aNfJagVr3jrT

🐴 Every moment you spend with your horse — you’re teaching them something.The question is… are you teaching the right thing? 🤔If your horse walks into your...

11/29/2025

When the dragon is a little too dragony. 🐉

©️ Emily Cole Illustrations

11/23/2025

11/23/2025

11/22/2025

I don't see dressage as just a sport.
Though it's also not only an art.

It is a combat of character.

A battlefield where the enemy is our own impatience, our pride, our need to control what was only ever offered as a gift.

We take up no swords, yet we train like warriors. Spines straight as flags in the wind, legs steady as shields, hands quiet as assassins.

Our horses are not trophies.

They are keepers of an ancient power, descendants of the ones who carried gods and generals, and they do not bend for those who have not bowed to humility first.

We ride to break nothing except the parts of ourselves that refuse to listen.
We ride to conquer nothing except the distance between two species learning trust without a spoken word.

Let the world watch for beauty.
Let judges tally the points.
But we know the truth:

Some victories are too raw for podiums.

Victory is the moment your horse gives you his back, his body, his belief, and you are strong enough to deserve it.

We circle and circle, not because we are lost, but because pilgrims walk in circles
around things that are sacred.

This is not a sport.
This is not an art.
This is a vow paid for in mud, tears, and the truth.

To ride with honor, to train without force, to lead without breaking, to demand nothing we do not first embody.

If horses must carry humans,
then humans must become
worthy of the weight.

11/21/2025

In the winter of 1954, a 63-year-old woman from Maine got bad news.

The doctor told her she was dying — two years to live, maybe less.
He said she should sell her things, move into a charity home, and wait for the end.

Instead, Annie Wilkins bought a horse.

His name was Tarzan, a brown Morgan gelding with kind eyes and a steady step. She loaded him with supplies, packed a bedroll, and tied a small dog named Depeche Toi (“Hurry up,” in French) to the saddle.

And then, without a map, she pointed west.

She wanted to see the Pacific Ocean before she died.
That was the dream her mother once told her about — the land of sunshine and oranges, where winter never comes.

So Annie left her frozen farm in Minot, Maine, in November snow and started riding.

⸻

She had no sponsors.
No GPS.
No cell phone.
Just faith — that America was still kind.

She slept in barns and on porches. Ate biscuits handed to her by strangers. Rode through blizzards, floods, and towns that had never seen a woman traveling alone on horseback.

Truckers pulled over to wave. Farmers gave her hay for Tarzan.
Police officers escorted her through busy highways so she wouldn’t be hit by cars.

In Kentucky, she was offered a job.
In Wyoming, a marriage proposal.
In California, fame.

But what Annie wanted most wasn’t fame. It was freedom.

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By the time she reached Pacific Grove, California — 4,000 miles and 18 months later — the newspapers called her “The Last of the Saddle Tramps.”

She had crossed a country that was changing faster than anyone could imagine.
From horses to highways. From open doors to locked ones.
From neighbors to strangers.

And yet, what she found — what she proved — was that kindness wasn’t gone. It was just waiting to be asked.

⸻

When Annie finally saw the Pacific Ocean, she wept.

Not because she had beaten death.
But because she had lived — in the truest sense of the word.

She went on to write a book, Last of the Saddle Tramps.
She lived not two years, but twenty-five more, outliving every diagnosis and every doubt.

She died at nearly ninety — still believing in the goodness of people, and still remembering the sound of Tarzan’s hooves on the road to freedom.

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🐴 Why her story matters now

In a world obsessed with speed, Annie reminds us that courage doesn’t come from having everything figured out.
It comes from saddling up anyway.

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If you ever wonder whether there’s still good in this world, remember her:
A woman, a horse, and a dream.
And the road that carried them west.