Every family has a story ... welcome to ours!
Horses have always been part of our lives — and part of our passion.
Some of my earliest memories are summer weekends spent on the trail as a family. My mom, dad, brother, and I rode together nearly every weekend until I was about ten or eleven years old. Those long trail rides shaped far more than my riding skills — they built confidence, independence, and a deep appreciation for the partnership between horse and rider.
My mom and I have always been especially close. In fact, she had me on a pony well before I could even walk.
As I got older, I had a pony who patiently tolerated my enthusiasm. Every log along the trail became an obstacle, and I insisted on jumping them all.
My mom noticed.
That curiosity and determination led her to enroll me in riding lessons and, eventually, Pony Club — a decision that would shape nearly everything that followed.
Pony Club became the foundation of my horsemanship education. It wasn't simply about riding. It was stable management, veterinary knowledge, conditioning, safety, responsibility, and learning to care for the whole horse. I often say that, at its highest levels, Pony Club is about as close as you can get to earning a college degree in horses.
I earned national ratings before aging out, and the education I received there still influences the way I train, teach, and care for horses today.
As a teenager and into early adulthood, I competed in eventing and classical dressage while also spending countless miles riding Thoroughbreds and horses of many breeds on the trail. Those experiences deepened my appreciation for correct training, strong foundations, and the kind of horsemanship that holds up over time.
Then, in 2014, life changed.
I was diagnosed with a brain tumor and underwent surgery that same year. Things that had once been simple suddenly became incredibly difficult. I could still ride, but everything felt different — physically and mentally. Competing was no longer realistic, so I returned to the place that had always grounded me:
The trail.
But just a few months into recovery, an unexpected opportunity appeared.
I learned to drive a pair of Belgian mules in preparation for a cross-state wagon train.
Driving was unfamiliar, challenging, and completely outside everything I had known before — but it opened a door.
That journey across the state behind those mules became my first real introduction to carriage driving.
When the wagon train ended, the mules returned to their owner, and I returned to what I loved most at the time: trail riding my big Quarter Horse through the mountains and open country.
For many of the years that followed, the mountains of the Pacific Northwest became my playground. Mount Rainier, Mount St. Helens, Mount Adams, and the Goat Rocks provided mile after mile of trails. The rides were long, the views seemingly endless, and the connection with the horses ran deep.
But over time, my body began changing again.
Severe rheumatoid arthritis increasingly affected my hands and feet, along with other health complications.
Things that had once been second nature — holding reins, maintaining contact, and spending long hours in the saddle — gradually became more difficult and increasingly painful.
By 2022, riding was no longer something I could sustain without significant pain.
But stepping away from horses was never really an option.
So I adapted.
And, in a way, I found my way back to something that had quietly begun years earlier.
Carriage driving!
That same curiosity that once made me jump every log on the trail led me to explore something new all over again.
In 2022, I began learning about the sport of Combined Driving. What started with an unmatched pair of Welsh ponies — simply because they were the only two I owned who were remotely close in size — quickly became something much bigger.
By 2023, I had developed another CDE pair: Bert & Barney, my two redheads.
That unlikely little pair went on to win the North American Championship for Preliminary Pair Ponies.
What once seemed like a detour had clearly become direction.
What began as necessity became a calling.
Frontier Farm grew from that season — rooted in resilience, patience, adaptability, and the belief that meaningful work is allowed to evolve.
Today, the farm is dedicated to classical foundations, thoughtful development, and long-term care. Progress here is steady, not rushed. We believe the journey matters every bit as much as the result.
Then came 2025.
In July, our family made the difficult decision to put our farm in Washington up for sale as my father entered hospice. It was a season that required faith in a way that words can hardly capture.
If you ever want to hear a story about God moving mountains and making a way, I would be happy to tell it.
On October 22, my dad passed away.
Less than a month later, with the enormous help of the incredible tribe of people we had grown to love in Washington, my mom and I began another journey.
On November 19, we loaded twelve ponies, one horse, two mules, five dogs, and what felt like an entire lifetime into trailers and headed more than 2,500 miles from Rochester, Washington, to Sweetwater, Tennessee.
It wasn't simply a move.
It was the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another.
A return to family.
A step forward built on faith.
And, in so many ways, a full-circle moment.
My mom spent a lifetime making sacrifices for me. This became a season when I could begin giving some of that back — while building a life that allows us to be closer to the people who matter most:
Family.
Frontier Farm stands today because of everything that came before it — the miles traveled, the lessons learned, the challenges faced, the horses who taught us, the people who helped us, and the faith it took to keep moving forward.
Supporting thoughtful horsemanship.
Loving the journey.
“For we walk by faith, not by sight.”
— 2 Corinthians 5:7
Because building something meaningful — with horses, with people, and with purpose — requires both vision and trust.
And the best part?
It is still being written.
Welcome to Frontier Farm.