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After spending years on the station where I grew up, I can't help but think of Emily, my great-grandmother, and all of her struggles to get the Criollo breeding program off the ground. And not just her—my grandparents and parents worked tirelessly to continue what she started. Now that the old legal contract has finally been dealt with, and we didn't end up losing any of the land or horses, I feel like I can breathe again. The station's future is secure, and for the first time in a long while, I can start thinking more about where we're headed, rather than worrying about what we might lose.

But enough thinking of the past—it's time to look toward the future. And in that future, I have some amazing news to share: I'm off to Argentina. The homeland of the Criollo horses. I've dreamed of this trip for as long as I can remember, but the opportunity had never come... until now. And it feels like I'm following in Emily's footsteps.

Even as I sit here writing this down, I still can't quite wrap my head around it. Who knew that little old me would get an email from someone like Esteban Marquez—the last person I would have expected! I was just finishing up some feed orders on my laptop when it came through. The subject line read: "Chance of a lifetime."

At first, I didn't think much of it—probably just another spam email, right? But for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to delete it. All day, the subject line kept popping into my mind, like a tiny nudge from the universe. By the end of the day, my curiosity got the better of me. I clicked on it... and I think I nearly fell off my chair.

"Chance of a lifetime" was certainly right. It was an email from Esteban Marquez, the Criollo breeder I've admired for years. In his message, Esteban invited me to spend a month at his ranch in Argentina. A month! He wants me to experience riding his Criollos, trekking across the vast Argentine pampas, and learning more about the breed than I ever could from a distance. And, to top it all off, he mentioned that Emily had made her mark there, years ago, riding with the local cowboys. He asked me if I was up for the same kind of adventure.

My heart was screaming yes, but at the same time, I hesitated. Could I really step away from the station for that long? It's rare for me to leave Southern Lights for more than a couple of days, let alone an entire month. What would the staff do without me here to manage things? But deep down, I knew that if I didn't take this chance now, I might never get it again. Sometimes you have to let go, trust the people around you, and follow your gut. This trip felt like more than just a getaway—it felt like the next step in continuing Emily's legacy. And how could I turn that down?

I've always felt a strong connection with the Criollos—they're tough, resilient, and kind-hearted, just like the land they come from. But the chance to ride them in their homeland, to trace Emily's footsteps across the pampas... it feels almost too perfect. It's like my dreams, my family's legacy, and my future are all tied up in this one opportunity.

Esteban also mentioned that he has Criollos for sale, and he's eager to show me some that might fit into our breeding program. Strengthening the Criollo line at Southern Lights has been a goal of mine for a long time, but I never thought I'd get the chance to bring back horses straight from their source. As I sit here, imagining the kinds of horses Esteban might show me, I picture them running through the paddocks at Southern Lights. I've always loved the Grulla and Blue Roan coats for their striking beauty, but this time, I'm thinking I might expand our color range a bit. Maybe a Dun or a Cremello? It's exciting to think about what these new horses could bring to the station.

Each horse I select will be a part of Southern Lights' future—part of Emily's dream, my dream, and something we can build on for years to come. I imagine a powerful stallion, galloping alongside our herd, or a young mare leading the charge in our endurance program. The possibilities are endless, and that's what makes this so exciting.

And then, of course, there's the Argentine polo match—up close and personal. I've only ever seen polo from afar, and the Argentine Polo Ponies are world-renowned. Their agility, speed, and grace on the field are legendary, and watching them live is something I never thought I'd experience. I can already imagine the thunder of hooves on the grass, the riders guiding their horses with such finesse. There's so much to learn from the way they move and respond in those intense moments. Maybe I'll even get to try my hand at polo—who knows?

With the opportunity to bring back Criollos straight from Argentina, to witness polo firsthand, and to immerse myself in the history and culture of the breed, this trip feels like more than just a visit—it feels like a pivotal moment in my life and in the life of Southern Lights.

It would have been foolish of me not to take this opportunity. As much as I love the station and everything here, my heart is telling me to go—and, in a way, so is Emily. I can almost feel her guiding me toward this journey, knowing that it's a step I need to take, not just for me but for the future of the station.

So, I replied to Esteban. My hands were shaking a little as I hit "send," but the excitement far outweighed the nerves. I'm going to Argentina!

Work at the station has slowed down a bit—training, shows, and everyday tasks are manageable right now. It's the perfect time for me to go, and the staff will keep things running while I'm away. I'm already making plans for the trip—working out the details with Esteban, arranging care for the station, and brushing up on my Spanish (I can already hear my dad laughing at me from beyond the grave trying to pronounce things with my Australian accent!).

I've never been out of the country before, and I'm not sure what to expect. But one thing I do know is that this trip will be unforgettable. I'm going to ride through the pampas, watch the polo ponies in action, and—if I'm lucky—bring home some new horses that will shape the future of Southern Lights.

The countdown has begun. In just a few weeks, I'll be flying halfway across the world, stepping onto Esteban's ranch, and seeing the world of the Criollo horses through new eyes. The idea of riding those horses across the Argentine pampas, where the landscape stretches as far as the eye can see, feels like a dream I'm about to live. There's something poetic about it—bringing the heart of Argentina back to Southern Lights.

The weeks have flown by quicker than I'd thought, and now I'm on an airplane, halfway around the world. Unbelievable, really. Just this morning, I was spending my last few hours at the station in Australia, and now... now I'm off to Argentina. My nerves have been playing tricks on me—one moment, I'm beyond excited with a million thoughts running through my head, and the next, I'm as calm as anything, almost as if it's not happening at all.

Before I left, I took one last ride around the property before anyone else was up. It was like a final farewell, a way to say goodbye to the land that's been my home for so many years. It felt special, and I'll admit—it pulled at my heartstrings more than a little. Salvador, my trusty Criollo stallion, was my companion for that ride, and of course, my ever-loyal dogs—Jazzy, Ringo, and Boomer—stuck close by. I think they knew something was up.

The morning was as peaceful as ever. The soft glow of the sun was just starting to rise in the distance, casting a golden light over the hills. The creek trickled quietly, and the birds began their morning calls, welcoming the day. It's moments like that when the land feels like it's a part of me—a quiet whisper in the wind, as if Southern Lights itself is watching over everything, guiding me.

My ride led me to The Sanctuary, as it so often does. It's funny how I always seem to end up there when I need to clear my mind or reflect on something big. This time was no different. For a couple of hours, I let my thoughts drift, the peace of the place wrapping around me like a warm blanket. Salvador grazed nearby, his quiet presence grounding me, as always. As I watched him, I couldn't help but think about the connection between him and the horses I'm about to see in Argentina. Salvador's bloodlines come from similar lines—or perhaps even distant relatives—of the Criollos I'll be riding over there. It feels like a full circle moment, knowing that I'm heading to the very place where horses like him were born, raised, and shaped by the land.

The thought gave me a sense of calm. Even though I'll be far away from the station, I'll still be connected to it in a way—through the horses, through the land, and through the legacy of the Criollos that tie Southern Lights to Argentina.

Eventually, I had to pull myself away from the serenity of The Sanctuary and make my way back to the house. Emma and Jake were waiting for me at the stables, ready to take over while I'm gone. I know I'm leaving the station in good hands, but it still feels strange to step away, even if just for a month. There's always that nagging feeling that something might go wrong, but I trust them. They know the horses and the routines just as well as I do, maybe even better in some areas.

As I packed my final bags, Old Ted stopped by for a quiet goodbye. He's not one for big, emotional farewells, but he did pat me on the shoulder and grumble something about "bringing back a good one for the station." I promised him I'd do just that. Rex even came by to wish me luck, though I think he was more concerned about me leaving him to handle the cattle on his own. I laughed it off, but I know the team will be just fine. Tom and Alice offered some parting advice, reminding me to take in the experience fully and not let the small details pass by unnoticed.

And now here I am, thousands of feet in the air, thinking back to those final moments before I left. It's strange to be away from Southern Lights, but at the same time, there's a pull in my chest—a sense that this is the right path, the one I'm supposed to be on.

As the plane hums quietly around me and the world passes by below, I feel a rush of excitement build. I'm not just leaving Southern Lights behind for a while—I'm heading to Argentina, the homeland of the Criollo horses, the place where Emily first began her journey. This isn't just a trip—it's a continuation of everything that she, my grandparents, and my parents worked for. And now, it's my turn to take the next step.

After what felt like a lifetime on the plane, I'm finally here. Argentina. The homeland of the Criollo horses. Jet-lagged doesn't even begin to describe how I feel right now—somewhere between exhausted and completely wired, like my body can't decide whether it wants to collapse or run a marathon.

Esteban, always thoughtful, had arranged for a taxi to take me to the nearest hotel so I could catch up on some much-needed sleep. The driver didn't speak much English, but I managed a few Spanish words—enough to get by. As we wound through the streets, the city buzzed with life, and I couldn't help but feel a strange mix of excitement and nerves. It hasn't quite sunk in yet that I'm actually here.

My room is nice, quiet. I should be sleeping, but instead, my mind is racing like it's stuck in overdrive. I feel like an Energizer bunny—too wired to sleep, yet knowing that I desperately need it. I did take some pills that I packed to hopefully help me get a few hours of rest, but so far, no luck.

Esteban mentioned in his email that either he or one of his ranch hands will pick me up tomorrow morning. They've planned to show me a few sights around the city before we head out to his ranch later in the evening. Part of me wants to collapse into bed and sleep until then, but I'm too excited for what's to come. The thought of walking through Argentina, experiencing the local culture, and then riding Criollo horses in their homeland—it's almost overwhelming.

As I lay here, staring at the ceiling, I'm trying to calm the nerves, but I can feel them buzzing beneath the surface. Maybe it's the anticipation of meeting Esteban in person, or the fact that I'll be riding some of the finest Criollos in the world. Or maybe it's just the realization that I'm far from home, in a completely different country, about to embark on something that could change everything for Southern Lights.

Either way, tomorrow is the beginning of a new adventure. Argentina awaits, and I'm ready for whatever comes next. If I could just get a few hours of sleep before that happens...

Oh my goodness, sleep was exactly what I needed. I'm still a little blurry-eyed and not quite fully awake, but I'm feeling more refreshed and starting to feel like myself again. Right now, I'm sitting at a small table by the window in my hotel room, the morning sun spilling in through the curtains, and I can finally begin to take everything in.

The hotel is charming in a quiet, old-world way—nothing extravagant, but cozy and full of character. The wooden floors creak slightly, and the walls are decorated with local artwork—vibrant scenes of Argentine life, gauchos on horseback, and vast pampas landscapes. My room has this vintage feel, with its wooden armoire and heavy curtains, and a small balcony overlooking the city streets below. I haven't stepped outside yet, but I've been watching the city wake up, bustling with energy. It's a far cry from the peaceful, open spaces at Southern Lights, but there's something exciting about the contrast.

I've just ordered breakfast from the little café downstairs. I'm starving after the long flight and the restless sleep that followed. I've gone for something simple but local—a fresh medialuna (an Argentine croissant) with scrambled eggs and coffee. I could smell the coffee the moment I stepped into the lobby, and now that I've had a sip, it's as good as I imagined—rich and strong, the perfect pick-me-up.

The staff at the café have been incredibly friendly, even with my stumbling attempts at Spanish. They were patient as I pointed at the menu and tried to piece together my order. I think my accent had them smiling, but they were kind about it. I'll get better, I'm sure—just need a little time to adjust.

I'm sitting here now, waiting for Esteban or one of his ranch hands to arrive. They're supposed to pick me up this morning to take me around the city for a bit before we head to the ranch in the evening. I've been trying to calm my nerves, but it's hard not to feel a mix of excitement and anticipation. Meeting Esteban feels like meeting a legend—he's been a huge influence on the Criollo breeding world, and here I am, about to spend a whole month learning from him.

I keep thinking about all the things I want to ask him. What does he look for in a perfect Criollo? How does he balance tradition with modern breeding techniques? How has he kept the spirit of the breed alive while making them competitive in today's equestrian world? I know I need to pace myself, but my mind is racing with curiosity.

It's still hard to believe I'm here—Argentina, the birthplace of the Criollo horses I've grown to love. There's a sense of history in the air, even in the city. I can't wait to ride through the same landscapes that shaped these incredible horses and learn from the people who have worked with them for generations.

The breakfast is almost gone, and I'm starting to feel a little more grounded. The nervous excitement is still there, but now it's mingling with a sense of calm. It's like everything is slowly coming together—this trip, the horses, and the chance to expand our breeding program at Southern Lights. I can't help but think about what Emily would have felt like on her first trip here. Did she feel the same mixture of excitement and uncertainty? Was she as in awe of the culture and landscape as I already am?

I've got my things packed and ready to go. Soon, Esteban (or whoever is coming to fetch me) will be here, and the real adventure will begin. Today is the start of something that feels monumental, not just for me, but for Southern Lights and the future of our Criollo breeding program.

The horses, the land, the history—I'm ready for it all.

The day has been nothing short of surreal. After breakfast, I was finally collected by one of Esteban's ranch hands, Luis—a tall, quiet man who greeted me with a warm smile and a few words of broken English. Between his English and my still-rusty Spanish, we managed to communicate well enough. Luis was kind and patient, and I could tell he was used to showing visitors around.

As we drove through the city, it was clear that Buenos Aires had its own rhythm—fast-paced yet oddly relaxed, the kind of place where history meets modernity in the most fascinating ways. The streets were buzzing with activity, from locals going about their day to street vendors selling everything from empanadas to handmade crafts. I noticed an impressive mix of old colonial architecture standing alongside sleek, modern buildings. It's such a blend of old-world charm and vibrant city life—nothing like back home, but in a way, it feels like a window into the spirit of the country.

Luis pointed out some key landmarks as we passed through. The Obelisco de Buenos Aires, towering in the distance, stood tall and proud, a symbol of the city's strength and resilience. We also passed the iconic Casa Rosada, its pink façade glowing in the sunlight as tourists milled about, snapping photos. Even from the car, the sense of history was palpable, and I found myself imagining what it would be like to walk those streets, feeling the echoes of the past beneath my feet.

But the real highlight was when Luis took me to a local gaucho market. The moment we stepped out of the car, I was hit by the rich smell of asado—the traditional Argentine barbecue. The scent was mouthwatering, and I made a mental note to try some later if I could. The market itself was bustling, with vendors selling leather goods, ponchos, and traditional bombachas de campo—the wide-legged trousers worn by the gauchos. I picked up a beautiful leather belt and a silver clasp as a keepsake, something to remind me of this place once I return to Southern Lights. I was tempted to buy a pair of Argentine riding boots, but I'll wait until I get a feel for how they ride before committing to that!

By late afternoon, we began the drive out of the city and into the countryside. The landscape slowly shifted from the bustling city streets to wide, open spaces that seemed to stretch out forever. As we left the city behind, I could feel the tension in my shoulders start to ease. The pampas—Argentina's vast, flat grasslands—are something to behold. They're so different from the rolling hills and rugged terrain of Australia. Here, everything feels boundless, like you could ride for days and never reach the horizon. It's no wonder the Criollo horses thrive in this environment. The land feels like it was made for them, and in a way, it was.

Luis must have noticed my awe because he smiled and said, "Beautiful, yes? You will ride here soon." I couldn't help but smile back. The thought of riding through these plains on a Criollo, much like Emily had done so many years ago, filled me with a sense of purpose and excitement.

After what felt like hours, but somehow not long enough, we finally arrived at Esteban's ranch. From the moment we pulled up, I could see the love and care that had gone into this place. The ranch sprawls over what seems like endless acres, with a mix of old and new buildings, all perfectly maintained. The main house is a beautiful blend of traditional ranch architecture, with wide verandahs and warm, earthy tones that blend into the landscape.

Esteban himself was there to greet me. He's much as I expected—tall, broad-shouldered, with a deep tan and a firm handshake. His eyes, though, are what caught my attention. They're the eyes of someone who's spent a lifetime reading the land and understanding horses, full of wisdom but also warmth.

"Bienvenida, Jewel. Welcome to Argentina," he said, his English smooth but marked with the rich cadence of his native Spanish.

We exchanged pleasantries, and I tried to keep my nerves in check as I thanked him for the invitation. He waved it off with a grin, saying, "It is I who should thank you. Your great-grandmother Emily was a legend here. She left a mark, and now you are here to continue that legacy."

Hearing Emily's name brought a lump to my throat. The connection between this ranch and Southern Lights felt more real than ever at that moment. It was like stepping into a story she'd started long ago, and now it was my turn to write the next chapter.

Esteban offered to show me around the ranch, and as we walked, I couldn't help but admire the setup. The Criollo horses were everywhere—strong, sleek, and beautiful, grazing peacefully in the pastures. There's something about them in their homeland that feels different. Their movements seem freer, more in tune with the land beneath their hooves.

The stables were immaculate, with a dozen or so horses poking their heads out curiously as we passed. Esteban pointed out a few of his top Criollos, their coats glistening in the evening light. I could tell he was proud of them—and rightly so. Each horse seemed to carry the spirit of the land with them, and I could already tell I was going to have a hard time narrowing down which ones to bring home.

By the time the tour was over, the sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the ranch. We sat on the verandah of the main house, sipping mate, the traditional Argentine drink, while Esteban told me stories of the horses and the land. It was the perfect way to end the day—peaceful, reflective, and grounding.

As I write this now, I'm sitting in my room at the ranch, looking out at the fading light. I can already tell this place is going to be special—more than just a trip, more than just a chance to bring back horses. It's a connection to the past, to Emily, and to the future of Southern Lights.

Tomorrow, I'll get to meet the Criollos up close, and I can't wait. But for now, I'm letting it all sink in. The journey, the land, the people—it's all starting to feel real, and I couldn't be more excited.

This morning, after a night of restless excitement, I finally got to meet the Criollos up close. The day began early, the way it always does on a ranch, but there was something different in the air—a sense of anticipation I couldn't shake. I'm used to early mornings and ranch work, but today felt special.

I made my way to the stables just as the sun was rising, casting a soft golden light over the pastures. Esteban was already there, waiting with a small group of ranch hands, each of them tending to a horse. As I approached, Esteban greeted me with his usual warm smile and motioned for me to follow him to the paddocks.

"There they are," he said, his voice full of pride as we reached the enclosure. And there they were—the Criollos. Up close, they were even more stunning than I had imagined. Muscular but compact, with coats ranging from deep, gleaming blacks to dappled grays and striking Grullas and Duns. Their eyes were sharp and intelligent, their ears flicking forward in curiosity as they watched me approach. These were horses bred for toughness, resilience, and loyalty—everything I'd always admired about the breed.

Esteban introduced me to a few of his prized horses, naming each one as if they were family. Fuego, a sleek black stallion with a fiery spirit, stood out immediately, his muscles rippling beneath his glossy coat. Then there was Cielo Azul, a gentle Grulla mare whose calm demeanor instantly drew me in. I could already see her leading the charge in our endurance program back home.

But the one who stole my heart the moment I laid eyes on him was Ceniza—a striking Blue Roan gelding with soft eyes and a quiet confidence. Esteban must have noticed my gaze linger on him because he smiled and said, "Ceniza would be perfect for your first ride."

I was a little taken aback, not expecting to ride so soon, but I couldn't resist the offer. After all, this is what I came for—to experience these horses in their element, the way Emily once did. The ranch hands saddled Ceniza, and before I knew it, I was swinging up into the saddle, feeling the strength of him beneath me. He shifted slightly but settled quickly, like he knew we were about to embark on something special.

Esteban mounted his own horse, a powerful Dun stallion named Sol, and motioned for me to follow him. "We'll ride out to the river," he said, setting off at a steady pace.

The moment Ceniza and I started moving, I could feel the connection between us—he was responsive, smooth, and surefooted, completely at ease in his surroundings. As we rode out into the open countryside, the vastness of the pampas hit me again. The land seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions, with the occasional cluster of trees breaking up the horizon. There's a sense of freedom here, a wide-open space that feels like it belongs to both the land and the horses.

We rode in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound being the rhythmic beat of hooves on the earth and the soft whistle of the wind through the grass. Every so often, Esteban would glance over, giving me a knowing nod, as if to say, "This is what it's all about."

At one point, we came across a small herd of cattle grazing near the riverbank, and Esteban suggested we round them up and move them to another pasture. I was more than eager to help, slipping into familiar ranch mode. Ceniza proved his worth immediately—he had that natural cow sense that the Criollos are known for, easily anticipating the cattle's movements and keeping them in line with minimal effort on my part. It felt like second nature, riding him through the herd, working together as a team.

There's something about the way these horses move on the land—it's as if they're part of it, fully connected to every inch of the ground beneath their hooves. Ceniza was steady, focused, and seemed to read my thoughts before I could even give him a cue. It was pure harmony, something I've only felt with a handful of horses in my life.

After the cattle were safely moved, Esteban and I took a break by the river, letting the horses rest. We sat on the grassy bank, watching as Ceniza and Sol drank from the cool water. Esteban started to tell me more about the Criollo breed and how they'd evolved to survive in the harshest conditions. He spoke of the Spanish settlers who first brought horses to South America, and how the Criollos became tough, enduring everything from long journeys across unforgiving landscapes to intense work with cattle. Their history is woven into the very fabric of Argentina, and hearing Esteban talk about them with such reverence made me appreciate them even more.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, we rode back to the ranch. Ceniza seemed to carry me effortlessly, and I felt a deep connection with him—like I'd known him for years instead of just a few hours. It's amazing how quickly a bond can form when you're riding through open country together.

When we arrived back at the stables, I helped the ranch hands unsaddle the horses and give them a good rub down. Esteban chuckled when he saw me pitching in. "You're not just a visitor, are you? You're one of us," he said with a wink. And honestly, that's exactly how I felt. Helping out with the horses, working alongside the ranch hands—it felt like home, just a different version of it.

We spent the rest of the day working on the ranch—feeding, grooming, and getting the horses ready for the next day's ride. I could tell that the work here wasn't much different from Southern Lights, yet there was something uniquely Argentine about the way things were done. It was as if every task, no matter how small, was imbued with a sense of tradition, a respect for the land and the animals that was palpable in everything they did.

By the time the sun began to set, I was exhausted but content. As I sit here now, writing this, I can still feel the connection to the land and the horses. Today was the first of many rides, but already I feel like I've learned so much—not just about the Criollos, but about the bond between horse and rider, the land and its people.

Tomorrow, Esteban is taking me out again, and I can't wait to see what the day will bring. But for now, I'm going to rest, knowing that I'm one step closer to understanding the heart of the Criollo breed, and one step closer to bringing that spirit back to Southern Lights Station.

Sitting here tonight, I can hardly believe how quickly the last few weeks have flown by. It feels like just yesterday that I stepped off the plane, jet-lagged and anxious, but now Argentina feels like a second home. The rhythm of the days here on Esteban's ranch has woven itself into me, and I can't help but reflect on everything I've experienced so far—more rides, more sights, and countless moments that have left an imprint on my heart.

The days have been filled with rides through the pampas. Each ride brings something new—a different trail, a fresh landscape to take in, and always a different Criollo to ride. Esteban made sure I tried as many horses as possible, pushing me to really understand the depth of this breed. I've ridden through fields of wildflowers, across shallow streams, and up rolling hills that seem to go on forever. Every ride felt like a journey back in time, a glimpse into the heart of this land and its connection to these horses.

I've spent countless hours on horseback, getting to know the Criollos on an almost spiritual level. They're unlike any horses I've ever ridden—resilient and sure-footed, but with a sensitivity that makes riding them feel effortless. Ceniza, my Blue Roan gelding from the first day, has become a favorite. There's something about him that just clicks with me, and I've requested to bring him back to Southern Lights. He's exactly what our program needs—strong, steady, and with the kind of heart that wins over anyone who rides him. He may not be a stallion to pass on the genes but he has certainly won my heart.

But there have been other standouts too—Esperanza, a dappled gray mare with a feisty spirit, and Tigre, a powerful buckskin stallion who seems to float over the ground with ease. Each of them carries the history of the Criollo breed in their blood, and it's clear that they've been bred for generations to thrive in this environment. It's hard to describe the feeling of riding a horse that feels so in tune with the land, so capable of handling anything thrown its way.

In between the rides, Esteban has taken me to see more of the Argentine countryside. We've visited nearby ranches and even stopped by a few local gaucho festivals, where the traditions of the land are alive and well. I've learned so much about the gauchos, the legendary horsemen of Argentina, and how their culture is interwoven with the history of the Criollo breed. Watching them ride, with such skill and precision, reminded me of the cowboys back home—but there's a certain grace and fluidity to the way they move with their horses that feels uniquely Argentine.

One of the highlights of the trip was partaking in an endurance ride—something I hadn't expected to do but was thrilled to try. Esteban mentioned it casually one morning over breakfast, asking if I'd like to join in. He didn't have to ask twice. It was a grueling test of stamina and endurance for both horse and rider, but the Criollos were built for this. We rode for miles across the pampas, through open plains and dense forests, stopping only briefly to let the horses rest and drink. It pushed me beyond what I thought I could handle, but riding a Criollo made all the difference. Their endurance is unmatched. They barely seemed to break a sweat, even when I was sure I'd drop from exhaustion.

Tigre carried me through that ride, and by the end of it, I felt a bond with him that can only come from enduring something challenging together. His strength and determination were incredible, and I knew by the time we crossed the finish line that he, too, would be coming back to Southern Lights with me. I can already see him leading our new endurance program, inspiring riders back home with his power and grace.

In the quieter moments, I've helped out at the ranch—grooming the horses, cleaning stalls, and even assisting in training sessions with the younger Criollos. It reminded me so much of home, yet there's a different energy here. The way Esteban and his team care for the horses is rooted in centuries of tradition, and I've learned so much from watching them. There's a patience and respect in every interaction, a deep understanding that the horses aren't just animals—they're partners.

And then, of course, there's Emily. The more time I spend here, the more I feel connected to her and her journey. Esteban has shared stories about her time in Argentina, how she, too, rode through these same fields, searching for the best Criollos to bring back to Southern Lights. Knowing that I'm following in her footsteps, adding to the legacy she started, fills me with a sense of purpose. It's almost as if she's here with me, guiding me as I make my decisions about which horses to bring home.

I've been thinking a lot about what Southern Lights Station will look like when I return. These Criollos, with their strength and resilience, will bring so much to our breeding program. I can already picture them grazing in the fields back home, their spirits blending with the land in the same way they do here. It's exciting to think about the future, about how the horses I choose will shape the next chapter for Southern Lights.

I'm exhausted today. I've experienced so much during my stay, and now that it's almost up, I'm feeling both happy and sad at the same time. Each moment has been exceptional, but today—well, today was something else entirely. Polo. I went to a polo match, can you believe it?

Polo matches aren't exactly part of life at Southern Lights, and to be honest, I hadn't packed anything remotely fancy. So, Esteban, being the gentleman that he is, took me into town, and we found a lovely boutique hidden away on a quiet street. After a bit of convincing (and some teasing on his part), I ended up in a light, elegant dress with a wide-brimmed hat to match. I hardly recognized myself in the mirror, but I must admit, it was fun to dress up for the occasion.

The match itself was nothing short of spectacular. The field was enormous—a pristine expanse of green, surrounded by cheering spectators. The air buzzed with excitement. The Argentine Polo Ponies were warming up when we arrived, their sleek, muscular bodies gleaming in the sunlight. Even from a distance, you could sense their power and elegance.

Once the game began, I was hooked. The ponies raced across the field with such speed and precision, weaving through their opponents with what seemed like effortless grace. I'd never seen anything like it—the way the riders moved in sync with their ponies, guiding them with the subtlest of cues, was mesmerizing. Every thud of hooves against the turf made my heart race.

The agility of the ponies was incredible. They could turn on a dime, accelerate in a heartbeat, and stop just as fast—all while the riders balanced themselves with the skill of seasoned athletes. I couldn't take my eyes off the match. The intensity, the coordination between horse and rider—it was like watching a finely tuned machine in motion, except with far more soul. The crowd gasped and cheered as the teams charged up and down the field, battling for control of the ball.

When it was over, I felt like I had just witnessed something truly special. Esteban must have seen the look on my face because he turned to me and asked, "Well, what do you think? Ready to give it a try?"

---

After the match, Esteban had arranged a visit to a nearby ranch that breeds and trains Argentine Polo Ponies. I was a little hesitant at first—these ponies were clearly on another level compared to what I'm used to—but curiosity got the better of me. The ranch owner introduced me to Solita, a nimble chestnut mare with eyes full of fire and spirit.

Riding Solita was unlike anything I've ever experienced. She was so light on her feet, so quick to respond to the slightest shift in my weight or touch of the reins. We spent time on the practice field, working on sprints, tight turns, and positioning for strikes. It was exhilarating—there was a grace in every movement she made, and for a moment, I felt like I was part of that same dance I had watched on the field earlier.

Of course, I wasn't nearly ready for an actual match, but it gave me a whole new level of appreciation for the sport. The connection between rider and horse in polo is something special—so subtle, yet so precise. Solita moved with such fluidity, it felt like I was riding the wind itself.

After the ride, the ranch owner shared some stories about the history of Argentine Polo Ponies—how they're bred specifically for their agility, endurance, and intelligence. Listening to him talk, I realized how much effort goes into shaping these remarkable animals for such a demanding sport.

By the end of the day, I was both exhausted and exhilarated. I hadn't expected to fall in love with polo, but there's something about it that has left a lasting impression. I'm not sure when—or if—I'll get the chance to ride a polo pony again, but I know it's an experience I'll never forget.

As I sit here now, reflecting on the day, I can't help but smile. From the fancy dress and the excitement of the match to riding Solita on the field, today was another unexpected gift in this adventure. Argentina has a way of surprising me at every turn, and I'm so grateful to be here, soaking in every moment.

As the days here in Argentina draw to a close, I've had the incredible fortune of visiting several ranches in the area—each one offering its own unique insight into the world of Argentine horses.

After the thrill of the polo match and riding Solita, Esteban suggested we continue exploring the diversity of horse breeding in this region, and I couldn't have been more eager to learn. One of our first stops was a ranch that specializes in Petiso Argentino Ponies. These ponies, with their sturdy frames and undeniable spirit, reminded me of the Quarter Ponies we have back at Southern Lights, though with a distinctly Argentine twist.

When we arrived at the Petiso ranch, the first thing that struck me was how small they were, yet how full of energy. Their stocky, compact build makes them perfect for young riders and smaller jobs around the ranch, but what I didn't expect was how much heart these ponies have. I watched as a group of local children rode them around the training paddocks, laughing and racing each other. The ponies were agile, quick to respond, and had that spark of intelligence that I've come to love in working horses.

The ranch owner invited me to ride one of their seasoned ponies, Nube, a sweet dappled mare who seemed to enjoy showing off for a new rider. Despite her small size, Nube was a powerhouse—eager to move, responsive to every cue, and fearless when we trotted through the open fields. Riding her reminded me that size doesn't always determine a horse's capability. It's the heart and the bond between horse and rider that make the real difference. I can see why the Petiso Ponies are beloved here—they're perfect for families and young riders, but they also have the stamina and determination of a much larger horse.

Later in the week, Esteban and I visited a ranch specializing in Argentine Sport Horses—a cross between Criollos and Thoroughbreds. These horses are bred for eventing, show jumping, and polo, and they were some of the most striking animals I've seen in a long time. Taller than the Criollos I've been working with, the Argentine Sport Horses have a blend of strength and grace that is simply mesmerizing.

The first horse I rode was a stunning bay mare named Aurora. She had the elegance and height of a Thoroughbred but with the resilience and sure-footedness of a Criollo. It was clear from the moment I mounted her that she was bred for performance. Aurora moved with a kind of fluidity that made every step feel effortless, whether we were cantering across the open field or navigating a series of jumps. She was athletic, but also calm and focused—a perfect combination for a sport horse.

What I found fascinating was the way these horses seem to combine the best of both worlds. The Thoroughbred's speed and agility, mixed with the Criollo's endurance and adaptability, creates a horse that can excel in any discipline. I watched the ranch's riders take Aurora and several others through their paces in show jumping and dressage, and it was clear that these horses were built for competition. They had the precision needed for the jumping ring, but also the strength and stamina for endurance riding, much like the Criollos.

The ranch owner explained that the Argentine Sport Horse is becoming increasingly popular not just in Argentina but worldwide, and I can see why. They're versatile, talented, and carry a quiet confidence that makes them stand out in any arena. If I wasn't already so focused on the Criollos, I might have been tempted to add one of these incredible horses to our breeding program at Southern Lights.

One thing that struck me during these visits was how much the Argentine horse world has to offer in terms of variety. From the small but mighty Petiso Ponies to the athletic Argentine Sport Horses, the diversity here is incredible. Each breed serves its purpose, and each has its own place in Argentine culture. It's clear that horses are more than just animals here—they are partners, companions, and a way of life.

As I reflect on these visits, I can't help but think about how these experiences will shape the future of our program back home. The Petiso Ponies reminded me of the importance of versatility and heart, while the Argentine Sport Horses showed me how much potential lies in blending breeds for specific goals. While I'm still deeply committed to the Criollo line, these visits have given me new perspectives on how we can continue to grow and adapt at Southern Lights Station.

The day had finally come—time to choose the Criollos that would make their way back to Southern Lights Station. After weeks of riding, bonding, and learning, the decision weighed heavily on me. Each horse I'd worked with had left a lasting impression, and I knew that whichever ones I selected would shape the future of our breeding program.

Esteban and I started the day early, with a quiet breakfast on the verandah overlooking the pastures. The air was crisp, with a soft breeze that carried the scent of the horses in the distance. I felt a mix of excitement and apprehension—excited to bring these incredible horses home, but nervous about making the final choices.

We made our way to the stables, where Ceniza, Esperanza, and Tigre were already waiting for me. These three had been at the top of my list since the first week. Ceniza, the Blue Roan gelding, had become my trusted companion during our rides across the pampas. His steady nature and quiet strength made him an ideal fit for our program, especially with the endurance training we planned to start. Esperanza, the dapple gray mare, had a fiery spirit that balanced beautifully with her intelligence. I could see her thriving at Southern Lights, and I was certain she'd add the kind of versatility we needed. Then there was Tigre, the buckskin stallion. His agility, power, and endurance had been proven time and time again—especially during that unexpected endurance ride. He would lead our new endurance program without a doubt.

But there were a few other Criollos I couldn't ignore—horses that had also shown great promise. Esteban led me to the pens where they stood, their ears pricked forward, watching us closely. Lucero, a bay stallion, had an incredible work ethic, and his calm temperament would balance well with the more spirited horses back at Southern Lights. Solana, a petite chestnut mare, was quick on her feet, and I could easily see her thriving in the Western disciplines.

After spending more time with them, running my hands along their sleek coats and imagining them back at the station, I finally made my decisions. Ceniza, Esperanza, Tigre, Lucero, and Solana would all be coming home with me. Esteban smiled as I finalized the paperwork and arranged for their transport. It felt surreal—these horses, born and bred in Argentina, were about to make a new home in Australia.

With the decisions made and the transport arranged, there was nothing left to do but enjoy my final days at the ranch. I spent as much time as I could riding, helping out with the daily chores, and soaking in the vastness of the Argentine landscape. Each ride felt like a farewell, a final journey through a land that had given me so much. I rode Ceniza and Tigre through the rolling hills, watching the sun dip below the horizon as the horses' hooves pounded the earth. It was a reminder of why I love this life—being connected to the land and these magnificent animals in such a profound way.

On one of my last days, Esteban surprised me with an invitation to visit a famous tack shop in the nearby town. The shop had been around for generations and was known for crafting high-quality Argentine saddles and tack. The walls were lined with bridles, stirrups, and hand-tooled leatherwork, and the smell of freshly oiled leather filled the air. The shopkeeper, an older gentleman with a deep love for his craft, took the time to explain the unique aspects of Argentine saddles, especially those used in polo and endurance riding. I couldn't help but pick out a few custom pieces to bring back home, knowing they would be a perfect fit for our Criollos and our Western programs.

It was a quiet but meaningful outing, seeing the craftsmanship behind the gear that had supported generations of riders. We spent a little more time in town, visiting a local café where we shared a final lunch before returning to the ranch. The simplicity of it all, sipping coffee in the middle of town with the bustling life around us, was a moment of peace I needed before the long journey ahead.

On my final evening at the ranch, we gathered for a farewell dinner. The table was filled with Argentine dishes, and the conversation flowed easily as we shared stories from the past few weeks. It was hard to believe I was leaving the next day. Esteban and his team had become like family, and saying goodbye was going to be tougher than I expected.

Before I went to bed that night, I took one last walk through the stables, stopping by to say goodbye to the horses I wouldn't be bringing home. They were all resting quietly, their soft breathing filling the air. When I reached Ceniza, Tigre, and the others, I felt a sense of calm. These horses were going to be part of something special back at Southern Lights. They would carry the spirit of Argentina with them, blending with the traditions we've built over generations.

The next morning came quicker than I'd hoped. Esteban was waiting for me by the car, and the ranch hands were already loading the horses onto the transport trucks. There were a few hugs and handshakes, and then it was time to go. As we drove away from the ranch, I looked back one last time, the horses and hills fading into the distance. My heart was full—full of memories, experiences, and the knowledge that this trip had changed me in more ways than I could have imagined.

I made a quick call back to Southern Lights, checking in with the team and letting them know everything was on track. Old Ted answered, his gruff voice laced with curiosity as I filled him in on the details. I could tell he was trying to play it cool, but I knew he was as excited as I was to see the new horses. "We'll be ready for them," he said before hanging up.

Now, as I sit in the airport, waiting for my flight back to Australia, I can't help but reflect on everything that's happened. Argentina has left a lasting mark on me—the land, the people, the horses. I came here to learn more about the Criollos, to deepen my connection to the breed, and to carry on the work that Emily started all those years ago. But I'm leaving with so much more.

As I board the plane, I know that the future of Southern Lights is brighter than ever. The Criollos, with their strength and spirit, will bring a new chapter to our story. And as much as I'm looking forward to being back home, I'll always carry a piece of Argentina with me.

Sitting here on the sofa after dinner, the house is finally quiet. The day's hustle and bustle has settled, and I'm left alone with my thoughts, reflecting on everything that's happened since I got back home and my time away. It feels like I've been away for longer than a month, but at the same time, it feels like no time at all. Funny how that happens.

I can't help but smile as I think about the welcome I got when I first arrived back at Southern Lights Station. Jazzy, Ringo, and Boomer were the first to greet me, of course. I hadn't even stepped out of the ute before they came bounding over, tails wagging furiously. It's like they didn't want to let me out of their sight ever again, and to be honest, I didn't mind one bit. Their excitement—full of licks and playful nudges—made coming home feel even sweeter. They've been glued to my side ever since.

It didn't take long before Dan appeared, dust-covered from a day of working the horses, his usual easy grin in place. He was the first person I saw, his Reining session clearly still fresh on his mind. He mentioned that the arena needed to be watered down before tomorrow—because of course, work at the station never stops. Even after a month in Argentina, that constant rhythm is something I appreciate—always something that needs doing, something that keeps us connected to the land and the horses.

I was so jet-lagged I could barely think straight, but seeing Dan and hearing him jump right back into the day-to-day made everything feel normal again. Like I hadn't missed a beat. It was comforting, in a way, to slide back into the life I know so well.

But even with all that, my mind kept drifting to the new Criollos. They're in quarantine now—14 days before we can officially bring them to the station. I knew that was the protocol, but still, it's hard to wait. Ceniza, Tigre, Esperanza, Lucero, and Solana—I've gotten so used to being around them every day for the last month, riding with them across the Argentine pampas. And now, they're just a few miles away, being carefully monitored and kept separate from the rest of the herd until they're cleared to come home.

After dinner, I sent Esteban a quick email to let him know that the Criollos had arrived at the quarantine facility safe and sound. I told him I couldn't wait to start working with them once they're cleared and finally here at Southern Lights. I made sure to thank him again for everything—the rides, the horses, the unforgettable experience—and promised we'd stay in touch. I can't wait to share their progress with him and maybe even visit again one day.

I went by the quarantine facility earlier today to check on them. They seem calm, adjusting well to the new environment, but it's not the same as having them here, grazing in the paddocks or watching over them from my window. It feels like this quiet anticipation, just waiting for the moment they can finally set foot on Southern Lights. I know they're going to bring something special to the station, and I can't wait to see them settled in.

It's funny to think how quickly things shift. Just a few weeks ago, I was riding those same horses through Argentina, feeling the wide-open landscapes beneath their hooves, breathing in the history and the culture of the Criollo breed. Now, I'm back here, in the house I grew up in, but with so much more in store for the future.

And as much as this trip to Argentina felt like a personal adventure, in many ways, it was like walking in my great-grandmothers footsteps.

Emily had traveled to Argentina decades ago, during a time when this kind of trip was even more of a challenge. She had always been drawn to the Criollos—their resilience, their intelligence, their spirit. And it was that passion that led her to start the Criollo breeding program here at the station. She had seen something in those horses, a strength and adaptability that she believed would thrive here in Australia. And she was right.

I still remember the stories my parents and grandparents used to tell me—how Emily would ride across the pampas with the Argentine gauchos, selecting the best of their horses to bring back home. Those horses were the foundation of everything we have now, the cornerstone of our breeding program at Southern Lights.

And here I am, decades later, following the same path she once walked.

It was impossible not to think of her as I rode through Argentina with Esteban and his horses. Some of the bloodlines that ran through their veins were directly linked to the Criollos we already have here at Southern Lights. It was surreal to think that the same horses Emily had chosen, those that became the foundation of our breeding program, were still thriving in Argentina and connected to the horses I was riding.

The bond between the two places felt stronger than ever. Riding Ceniza in the Argentine countryside, I couldn't help but feel a sense of connection to Emily, as if the land and the horses were bringing us together across time. And now, bringing Ceniza and the others here, back to Australia, feels like closing the loop on a journey that Emily started all those years ago.

I can't help but wonder what Emily would think if she saw how far the Criollo breeding program has come. From those first few horses she brought over, to the thriving program we have today, and now, with these new Criollos joining the herd. It's incredible to think that some of the bloodlines we've nurtured here for generations could be directly linked to the ones in Argentina. Maybe there's a connection deeper than just bloodlines—a shared history, a shared spirit between the horses and the land.

As I sit here, the dogs curled up at my feet, I can't help but think how much this trip has solidified my purpose here at Southern Lights. I'm not just continuing Emily's work—I'm building on it, taking it into the future, just like she would have wanted. The Criollo program will continue to grow and evolve, but its roots will always be in both Argentina and Australia.

And as I prepare for the next few weeks, waiting for Ceniza, Tigre, Esperanza, Lucero, and Solana to finish their quarantine, I know this is just the beginning. Once they're here, I'll have a chance to see how their bloodlines blend with the ones we've been cultivating here for generations.

The future of Southern Lights is brighter than ever, and I know Emily's legacy will continue to thrive in the years to come.

The next chapter is just beginning, and I know it's going to be a good one.