As a little girl, I used to sit beside my dad watching Little House on the Prairie. The scenes of open fields, wooden fences, and beautiful horses captured my heart completely. Like so many young girls, I dreamed of having a horse of my own someday. When I was six, that dream came true. My very first pony was a Gotlandsruss named Gulla, a spirited little mare who taught me lessons no riding school ever could.
I never attended formal riding lessons, so I had to learn by instinct. Gulla was patient yet firm, guiding me to listen, feel, and communicate without words. A few years later, she gave birth to her foal, Ponte, and that's when my journey as a true horsewoman began. I was the one who first slipped a halter over his nose, the one who showed him how to trust a human. Those early days shaped how I see horses even now, not as animals to command, but as partners to understand.
Learning to See Differently
Growing up, I faced a challenge that would shape my life in unexpected ways, a severe visual impairment. My parents never let it define me. They always said, "You can see if you want to," and I took that to heart. Instead of focusing on what I couldn't do, I learned to perceive the world differently.
When my ponies outgrew me, I transitioned into show jumping with a Connemara. It was a leap of faith, literally and figuratively. Every ride demanded absolute trust, not just in my horse, but in my instincts. I had to find creative ways to overcome the limits of my sight. Each challenge pushed me to rely more on feel and connection than on vision.
After a 35-year break from horses, something inside me began to stir again. It was as if that childhood dream had been quietly waiting for me to return. I found a western riding trainer and told her I was ready to start over. Together, we began searching for the right horse. When we couldn't find one in Sweden, we set our sights on Texas.
Meeting Trash, The Horse Who Changed Everything
I'll never forget walking into that barn in Texas and meeting Trash for the first time. He walked straight up to me and pressed his muzzle gently against my forehead. It was an instant, unexplainable bond, love at first sight. I knew right then that he was meant to be mine.
Trash flew home to Sweden with me, and before I knew it, I had purchased a 22-acre farm complete with an indoor arena and stables. I wanted to create a place where I could spend every day with him, training, learning, and reconnecting with the life I'd missed.
Over the years, I've had many horses, each one with its own story, personality, and lesson to teach me. But one thing remained constant: my belief that every horse deserves to be truly seen for who they are.
Breeding My First Foal, And the Birth of Sparven
When I couldn't find the right horse in Sweden, I decided to breed my own. I purchased Shanaya, who became pregnant by Hollywood Thinselton, and in time she gave birth to Whiz Star Dunit, affectionately called Sparven.
Before Sparven was even born, people warned me not to get involved. They said, "Foals bite in the front and kick in the back, let the mare raise him." But that didn't sit right with me. I couldn't just stand by and watch. I wanted to be a part of his journey from the very beginning.
So, I immersed myself in foal training, learning everything I could through online courses. By the time Sparven was just a month old, he knew all the basics, leading, standing tied, lifting his feet, and trusting me completely. That connection carried him all the way to winning the German Breeders Futurity in Reining, a first for a Swedish-bred, Swedish-owned, and Swedish-trained horse. That victory wasn't just his, it was ours.
Learning From Each Horse
I continued breeding, believing each foal would be like Sparven. I quickly learned how wrong I was. Rain and Lavendel, my next foals, were as different as night and day. Lavendel was playful and affectionate, always eager for attention, while Rain was distant and independent, preferring space over affection.
They taught me one of the most valuable lessons in horsemanship, every horse is an individual. You can't use the same methods on all of them. You have to listen, adapt, and meet them where they are. My visual impairment had already taught me to "see" with my heart; my horses taught me to lead with it, too.
Continuing the Journey
Today, I still wake up grateful every morning to walk out into the pastures and see the horses that have changed my life. What started with a little girl's dream and a Gotlandsruss pony has become a lifelong journey of trust, connection, and resilience.
Whether I'm training a young foal, riding under the western sky, or simply brushing Trash's mane, I'm reminded that true vision isn't about what you see, it's about what you feel.
