Spur Community

First Entry #01

      Written on: December 22
   

      This feels weird and awkward. Im not the one for journals but Jewel gave me this and told me to write stuff down—notes, ideas, day-to-day things—like it's some kind of magic trick that'll make life clearer. I've seen her do it, though. She carries her journal everywhere, scribbling away in those quiet moments like it's second nature. Sometimes she gets so lost in her thoughts, she doesn't notice a thing happening around her. I don't know if this will work for me, but for her sake, I'm giving it a shot.

It's been almost a year since I left Kalbarri Horse Haven and somehow ended up here at Southern Lights Station. A year. That feels crazy to write down. I've changed a lot since then. Or maybe, for the first time, I'm starting to figure out who I really am. Either way, I've found something here I never thought I'd have—family. Even writing that word feels strange.

I didn't even know Jewel Cartwright existed until she tracked me down. Turns out, we're cousins—cousins once removed, or something like that. She explained it to me, but honestly, I still don't get how that works. What I do remember is the moment she told me. She said she'd done one of those DNA tests and my name showed up. I thought she was joking, but there she was, standing in front of me at her Sanctuary, saying, "Alex, we're family."

I didn't know what to say to that. How do you respond to someone telling you you're not alone in the world anymore? At first, I didn't believe her. Then, I didn't want to believe her. People have let me down so many times that trusting someone new didn't feel worth the risk. I've spent most of my life on my own—moving from place to place, home to home. When no one stays, you learn not to rely on anyone.

Part of me wanted to bolt. I even packed my stuff one night, ready to disappear. But then Jewel sat me down, calm as ever, and said, "You've got a choice, Alex. You can leave if you want to. I won't stop you. But if you stay, Southern Lights will be here for you. We'll be here for you." She didn't push me. Didn't guilt me. She just let me make up my own mind.

And for once, I stayed.

At first, it was the horses that kept me here. They didn't ask questions or care about who I used to be. They just needed me to show up, put in the work, and earn their trust. That was something I understood. It reminded me of Cisco, the young quarter horse back at Kalbarri. He was shut off and scared, just like I was. At the start, he wouldn't come near me. I'd stand in the paddock, feeling like an idiot, waiting for him to see me. Slowly, day by day, he did. When he let me touch him for the first time—when he finally trusted me—it was like something unlocked inside me too.

Jewel says horses teach you more about yourself than any person ever will. I didn't get it back then, but I do now. Horses don't pretend. They don't fake it. They don't trust you until you show them you're worth trusting. People aren't always like that, but Jewel is. She's the kind of person who says what she means and backs it up.

She's small—5'2", maybe—but don't let that fool you. Jewel's tough, like solid ground under your boots. She's open-minded, stubborn, and kind in a way I've never seen before. Not the soft kind of kind, but the kind that holds steady when everything else falls apart. I think that's why I stayed. Because for the first time, someone saw me for who I was and didn't turn away.

Southern Lights Station is hard work. The days start early and finish late. There's dust in your hair, sweat on your back, and cattle to move whether it's 40 degrees or not. But I like it. The work feels real, like it matters. At the end of the day, you can see what you've done, and there's a kind of peace in that.

More than anything, though, this place feels like home. That's still a hard word for me to say out loud, but I'm starting to believe it. Maybe staying here—being here—is enough for now.

So, I guess that's my first journal entry. Jewel's right about one thing: writing this down does feel kind of... good. Maybe I'll keep at it.
   

     — Ride Steady,
Alex

First Cattle Drive + Christmas #02

      Written on: December 25
   

      The days have been long, and the work has been tough—grueling, even—but somehow, it's been rewarding in a way I didn't expect. It's strange to say, but being tired like this, from actual hard work, feels... good. There's something real about it.

Right now, I'm sitting by the campfire—or at least where the campfire would be if it weren't Aussie summer. The Southern Lights crew and River View crew are all gathered around, singing songs and telling stories. They're laughing, teasing each other, just having a grand ol' time after another long day out on the cattle drive. I'm not much for singing, but it's nice to listen.

This whole muster happened because a few days ago, Jewel got a call from the owner of River View Station. He needed help moving a herd to the stockyards but was short on hands and running out of time. The muster was going to take days, and it overlapped with Christmas. I shouldn't have been surprised when Jewel said yes—of course she did. That's just who she is. Always ready to help, no matter what.

When we left for the drive, I wasn't sure what to expect. It was my first big muster, and the idea of spending days in the saddle, moving cattle across the outback, felt equal parts exciting and overwhelming. I wasn't sure I was ready for something this big. But Jewel seemed confident I'd manage, and I've learned to trust her judgment more than I trust my own.

The first day was rough. Keeping the herd together, working as part of a team, figuring out how not to embarrass myself—it all felt like a lot. The River View crew were seasoned pros, and I could tell they were watching me, sizing me up. I tried not to think about it too much, but I won't lie—it got to me a bit.

Jewel stuck close, offering quiet advice here and there. Nothing pushy, just enough to keep me going. I don't know if she even realizes how much that helped. By the second day, I started to find my footing. Jasper, my horse, was a rock. Steady, patient, and forgiving when I made mistakes. He made me look better than I probably deserved.

And then today—Christmas Day.

It was strange waking up to Christmas out here, knowing there'd be no tree, no lights, no big feast. Just another day of hard work. Or at least that's what I thought. But Jewel had other plans.

Even out here in the middle of nowhere, she found a way to make it special. During one of our breaks, she handed out a tin of biscuits and some fruitcake she'd packed. Simple, but it felt like a feast after the long ride. Then she pulled out small gifts she'd wrapped for everyone.

Mine was a pocketknife—a beautiful, solid one that felt like it had been made to last forever. She said, "Thought you could use one of your own. Merry Christmas, Alex." I didn't know what to say, but I hope she knows how much it meant to me.

We stopped early today, setting up camp near a shady patch of gum trees by a creek. Everyone seemed a little more relaxed, like we were finally allowed to enjoy the day. The crews sat together, swapping stories, singing (badly, in most cases), and just... being.

I sat back and watched for a while, letting it all sink in. This time last year, I couldn't have imagined something like this. A place where I belong, people who actually want me around, and work that feels real and meaningful.

Christmas out here isn't about decorations or presents or anything like that. It's about the people you're with, the moments you share, and the land around you. It's not perfect, but it's ours.

As I sit here now, with the Southern Cross overhead and the quiet hum of the outback all around, I feel... peaceful. Content, even. I think I'm starting to understand what it means to have a home.

Merry Christmas, Southern Lights.
   

     — Ride Steady,
Alex