Recent posts
#21
Trakand Stables / Re: Renee's Instagram
Last post by Morrigan - Jan 02, 2025, 06:02 PMFall, SY23
badgirlfriend
Whatever you heard it's probably true.
1 Everybody keeps talking about getting a Pumpkin Spice Latte so I did... Morrigan disapproves. #rescue #adoptdontshop
2 may the candles light your way
3 Buying fridge magnets was the best idea I have ever had.
4 Fall Flannel <3
5 Creative block is a bitch.
6 Getting spooky over here!
7 Obsessed with these acrylic shelves.
8 Dreadlord the Overcomer says "Hello Mother."
9 Listen sometimes you're invited to eight Halloween parties and by the end you get lazy and rub fake blood on your face. It's a valid costume!!
10 @whambamdangmaam and @itsmelola adopting senior frenchies together might be the cutest thing ever.
11 Cryptid Coffee coming THROUGH with their latte art!
12 Back to basics.
2000 posts
50K followers
546 following
badgirlfriend
Whatever you heard it's probably true.
POSTS
REELS
SAVED
TAGGED
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
1 Everybody keeps talking about getting a Pumpkin Spice Latte so I did... Morrigan disapproves. #rescue #adoptdontshop
2 may the candles light your way
3 Buying fridge magnets was the best idea I have ever had.
4 Fall Flannel <3
5 Creative block is a bitch.
6 Getting spooky over here!
7 Obsessed with these acrylic shelves.
8 Dreadlord the Overcomer says "Hello Mother."
9 Listen sometimes you're invited to eight Halloween parties and by the end you get lazy and rub fake blood on your face. It's a valid costume!!
10 @whambamdangmaam and @itsmelola adopting senior frenchies together might be the cutest thing ever.
11 Cryptid Coffee coming THROUGH with their latte art!
12 Back to basics.
#22
Jewel / my testing station
Last post by Jewel - Jan 02, 2025, 03:57 AM
This is some right aligned text
hello
#26
Jewel / Re: Story #4: Ties That Bind
Last post by Jewel - Nov 20, 2024, 12:47 PMJournal Entry
Ties That Bind Epilogue
Jewel Cartwright
Happy Trails!
Jewel Cartwright
It's been months since the revelation, and life at Southern Lights has settled into a new rhythm. Alex decided to stay—he's now a permanent part of the station and the family. When we first talked, I told him that nothing had to change if he didn't want it to. I didn't want him to feel like I was pushing responsibility onto his shoulders before he was ready. It's a lot to take on, especially for someone his age.
I remember being his age when I took over the station after my parents and grandparents. It wasn't easy—lots of trial and error, mistakes made, lessons learned the hard way. But I wasn't alone. I had people who cared about me, cared about this place, and helped me through it all. That's what it'll be like for Alex, too. He doesn't have to do it alone.
Because if I've learned anything over the years, it's that family doesn't just mean blood. It's the people who show up, who stick around, who put their heart into the same things you do. And Alex? He's done all of that and more.
I've seen him grow so much since the day he first showed up, this guarded young man who kept everyone at arm's length. He's not that same person anymore. These days, he lets his guard down more often, showing glimpses of the person he's becoming. He still doesn't talk much—no long, drawn-out conversations—but he's opening up in his own way.
I see it in the way he interacts with the crew, how he's learning to trust them and let them in. I see it in the way he handles the horses, with patience and understanding that goes beyond his years. He's stepping up, little by little, finding his place here.
The rest of the crew knows now that we're related. It came out naturally, over a shared meal at the homestead one night. There were a few surprised looks, a couple of jokes, but in the end, it didn't change much. Because, like I said, family isn't just about blood. It's about showing up, about putting in the work, about being part of something bigger than yourself.
And that's what Southern Lights is. It's a family, a legacy, a home. And now, it's Alex's home, too.
I don't know what the future holds—none of us do. But for now, I'm at peace knowing that the station will carry on, cared for by the next generation. And maybe, just maybe, I'll get to see Alex grow into the kind of man who can lead this place with the same heart and dedication that's kept it alive all these years.
Time will tell. But for now, we're here. We're family. And that's enough.
I remember being his age when I took over the station after my parents and grandparents. It wasn't easy—lots of trial and error, mistakes made, lessons learned the hard way. But I wasn't alone. I had people who cared about me, cared about this place, and helped me through it all. That's what it'll be like for Alex, too. He doesn't have to do it alone.
Because if I've learned anything over the years, it's that family doesn't just mean blood. It's the people who show up, who stick around, who put their heart into the same things you do. And Alex? He's done all of that and more.
I've seen him grow so much since the day he first showed up, this guarded young man who kept everyone at arm's length. He's not that same person anymore. These days, he lets his guard down more often, showing glimpses of the person he's becoming. He still doesn't talk much—no long, drawn-out conversations—but he's opening up in his own way.
I see it in the way he interacts with the crew, how he's learning to trust them and let them in. I see it in the way he handles the horses, with patience and understanding that goes beyond his years. He's stepping up, little by little, finding his place here.
The rest of the crew knows now that we're related. It came out naturally, over a shared meal at the homestead one night. There were a few surprised looks, a couple of jokes, but in the end, it didn't change much. Because, like I said, family isn't just about blood. It's about showing up, about putting in the work, about being part of something bigger than yourself.
And that's what Southern Lights is. It's a family, a legacy, a home. And now, it's Alex's home, too.
I don't know what the future holds—none of us do. But for now, I'm at peace knowing that the station will carry on, cared for by the next generation. And maybe, just maybe, I'll get to see Alex grow into the kind of man who can lead this place with the same heart and dedication that's kept it alive all these years.
Time will tell. But for now, we're here. We're family. And that's enough.
Happy Trails!
#27
Jewel / Re: Story #4: Ties That Bind
Last post by Jewel - Nov 20, 2024, 12:43 PMJournal Entry
Ties That Bind Part 6
Jewel Cartwright
Happy Trails!
Jewel Cartwright
It's been a few days since the ride, and I'm still untangling all the emotions swirling around in my head. Relief. Hope. A lingering ache for all the years lost. But mostly, I feel something I haven't felt in a long time: possibility.
I won't pretend that everything has settled neatly into place. Alex hasn't said much since I told him, and I can tell he's still processing what it all means. Honestly, I don't blame him. It's not every day someone hands you a piece of your family you didn't even know was missing.
But even in his quiet moments, I've noticed a shift. He lingers a little longer at the paddock fences, watching the horses with that thoughtful look of his. He asks more questions—not about the ranch itself, but about the people who built it. About Emily and Luther, about Mary and Jonathan. About my parents. About what it means to be part of Southern Lights.
It's subtle, but it's there. A curiosity, maybe even a spark.
---
Ted told me once that Southern Lights has a way of choosing its people. He said the land has a soul, and if you listen closely, you'll feel it call to you. I used to think that was just one of his old-time sayings, something to romanticize the hard work of ranch life. But now, I'm not so sure.
Alex might not realize it yet, but I think this place is calling to him. And if he chooses to answer, I know he'll find something here—something he didn't even know he was searching for.
---
As for me, I feel like I'm finally starting to let go of the idea that I have to do this alone. For so long, I've carried the weight of this legacy, trying to honor my family's memory by holding onto every piece of it myself. But now, for the first time, I can see a different way forward.
If Alex decides to stay—if he decides he wants to be part of this—I think there's a place for him here. Not just as a worker or even as family, but as someone who can help carry this legacy into the future.
It won't happen overnight. I know that. He has his own journey to walk, and I need to give him the time and space to figure out what he wants. But the idea that Southern Lights could be something we share—that it could belong to both of us—it's a hope I didn't realize I'd been holding onto until now.
---
The sun is setting now, casting long shadows over the paddocks. The dogs are curled up at my feet, and the air is quiet, save for the faint rustle of the trees in the breeze.
I don't know what the future holds, for me or for Alex. But for the first time in a long time, the unknown doesn't feel so heavy.
Whatever comes next, I think we'll figure it out together.
I won't pretend that everything has settled neatly into place. Alex hasn't said much since I told him, and I can tell he's still processing what it all means. Honestly, I don't blame him. It's not every day someone hands you a piece of your family you didn't even know was missing.
But even in his quiet moments, I've noticed a shift. He lingers a little longer at the paddock fences, watching the horses with that thoughtful look of his. He asks more questions—not about the ranch itself, but about the people who built it. About Emily and Luther, about Mary and Jonathan. About my parents. About what it means to be part of Southern Lights.
It's subtle, but it's there. A curiosity, maybe even a spark.
---
Ted told me once that Southern Lights has a way of choosing its people. He said the land has a soul, and if you listen closely, you'll feel it call to you. I used to think that was just one of his old-time sayings, something to romanticize the hard work of ranch life. But now, I'm not so sure.
Alex might not realize it yet, but I think this place is calling to him. And if he chooses to answer, I know he'll find something here—something he didn't even know he was searching for.
---
As for me, I feel like I'm finally starting to let go of the idea that I have to do this alone. For so long, I've carried the weight of this legacy, trying to honor my family's memory by holding onto every piece of it myself. But now, for the first time, I can see a different way forward.
If Alex decides to stay—if he decides he wants to be part of this—I think there's a place for him here. Not just as a worker or even as family, but as someone who can help carry this legacy into the future.
It won't happen overnight. I know that. He has his own journey to walk, and I need to give him the time and space to figure out what he wants. But the idea that Southern Lights could be something we share—that it could belong to both of us—it's a hope I didn't realize I'd been holding onto until now.
---
The sun is setting now, casting long shadows over the paddocks. The dogs are curled up at my feet, and the air is quiet, save for the faint rustle of the trees in the breeze.
I don't know what the future holds, for me or for Alex. But for the first time in a long time, the unknown doesn't feel so heavy.
Whatever comes next, I think we'll figure it out together.
Happy Trails!
#28
Jewel / Re: Story #4: Ties That Bind
Last post by Jewel - Nov 20, 2024, 12:41 PMJournal Entry
Ties That Bind Part 5
Jewel Cartwright
Happy Trails!
Jewel Cartwright
I took Alex out for a ride today. I had been holding onto the truth for days, turning it over in my mind again and again, wondering how he would react, wondering if I could even say the words aloud.
Ted's advice came back to me: "It's easier to talk when you're moving." He was right. The ride gave us space to breathe, to settle into the rhythm of the land, and that gave me the courage I needed.
When we reached the sanctuary, I finally asked Alex about his family. I don't know why it surprised me to hear how much he'd been through—how disconnected he felt, how little he knew about his roots. I guess I'd hoped he already knew something, anything, about where he came from. But he didn't.
He talked about his mum not being around, about moving from place to place, and how Kalbarri was the closest thing to a home he'd ever had. My heart broke for him in that moment, even more than it already had. He sounded like someone who had been searching for a place to belong his entire life.
And then, when I asked him about his future, he said something I'll carry with me: "I like it here. Southern Lights feels different." He didn't elaborate, but those words said more than enough.
That was when I knew I couldn't wait any longer. I had to tell him.
---
Handing him the DNA results was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Watching him read those names—James, Mabel, Robert, Lydia, Taylor, Avril—I could see every emotion flash across his face: confusion, disbelief, shock.
When I told him we were cousins, he just stared at me, like he couldn't quite make sense of it. He said he had no idea, that his mom never talked about family. And in that moment, I saw so much of myself in him—lost, searching, holding onto fragments of a story we didn't even know we were part of.
---
We sat in silence for a while after that, letting it all sink in. I tried to explain as much as I could about what I'd found, but the truth is, I don't have all the answers either. I'm still trying to make sense of why my mother kept this from me, why his mom kept it from him.
But there was one thing I had to make sure he understood: that he isn't alone anymore.
I don't know how much of that sank in for him. He admitted it was a lot to process—and it is. For both of us. But when he looked at me and said, "Thank you for telling me," I knew I'd made the right decision.
---
I can't stop thinking about what this means—for him, for me, for Southern Lights. I've spent so many years feeling like I was carrying this legacy alone, trying to protect it, to honor my family. And now, suddenly, there's someone else.
Alex is family. My family.
I don't know where we go from here, or what role he wants to play in all of this. But I'm willing to give him the time and space to figure it out.
For now, I just feel... lighter. Like I've taken the first step in a long journey.
Ted's advice came back to me: "It's easier to talk when you're moving." He was right. The ride gave us space to breathe, to settle into the rhythm of the land, and that gave me the courage I needed.
When we reached the sanctuary, I finally asked Alex about his family. I don't know why it surprised me to hear how much he'd been through—how disconnected he felt, how little he knew about his roots. I guess I'd hoped he already knew something, anything, about where he came from. But he didn't.
He talked about his mum not being around, about moving from place to place, and how Kalbarri was the closest thing to a home he'd ever had. My heart broke for him in that moment, even more than it already had. He sounded like someone who had been searching for a place to belong his entire life.
And then, when I asked him about his future, he said something I'll carry with me: "I like it here. Southern Lights feels different." He didn't elaborate, but those words said more than enough.
That was when I knew I couldn't wait any longer. I had to tell him.
---
Handing him the DNA results was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Watching him read those names—James, Mabel, Robert, Lydia, Taylor, Avril—I could see every emotion flash across his face: confusion, disbelief, shock.
When I told him we were cousins, he just stared at me, like he couldn't quite make sense of it. He said he had no idea, that his mom never talked about family. And in that moment, I saw so much of myself in him—lost, searching, holding onto fragments of a story we didn't even know we were part of.
---
We sat in silence for a while after that, letting it all sink in. I tried to explain as much as I could about what I'd found, but the truth is, I don't have all the answers either. I'm still trying to make sense of why my mother kept this from me, why his mom kept it from him.
But there was one thing I had to make sure he understood: that he isn't alone anymore.
I don't know how much of that sank in for him. He admitted it was a lot to process—and it is. For both of us. But when he looked at me and said, "Thank you for telling me," I knew I'd made the right decision.
---
I can't stop thinking about what this means—for him, for me, for Southern Lights. I've spent so many years feeling like I was carrying this legacy alone, trying to protect it, to honor my family. And now, suddenly, there's someone else.
Alex is family. My family.
I don't know where we go from here, or what role he wants to play in all of this. But I'm willing to give him the time and space to figure it out.
For now, I just feel... lighter. Like I've taken the first step in a long journey.
Happy Trails!
#29
Jewel / Re: Story #4: Ties That Bind
Last post by Jewel - Nov 20, 2024, 12:37 PMJournal Entry
Ties That Bind Part 4
Jewel Cartwright
Happy Trails!
Jewel Cartwright
I confided in Ted today. I seem to be doing that alot lately. He's been my rock for as long as I can remember, always there with a steady word or a bit of wisdom when I need it most. I told him about the DNA results—about Alex—and as usual, he just listened, calm and patient, like he always does.
I asked him what I should do. I know I have to tell Alex—I owe him that much—but I'm at a complete loss for how to start. How do you even bring something like this up? "Hey, Alex, I know we've been working together for months, but surprise, we're family!" It feels impossible.
Ted didn't give me an answer outright. He never does. But he said something that stuck with me: "It's easier to talk when you're moving."
At first, I wasn't sure what he meant. Then he suggested I take Alex on a ride. Out to the back pastures, or maybe the sanctuary. Somewhere quiet, somewhere meaningful. A place where it feels natural to talk without the weight of the station pressing down on us.
The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Ted's right—Alex is careful with his words, and I don't want to corner him. A ride feels simple, unassuming. It's just the kind of space where I can start to explain everything, piece by piece, without overwhelming him.
---
I've decided I'll take Alex out tomorrow. I'll ask him to ride with me, frame it as checking on the pastures or scouting the creek. We'll head to the sanctuary—that spot by the river where the world always seems to slow down.
I've never brought anyone there before. It's always been my place, the one spot where I can think clearly, where I can feel the weight of Southern Lights lift just a little. But if I'm going to tell Alex the truth, it feels like the right place to do it.
It's strange, though. Even with this plan in mind, I still feel this gnawing fear in my chest. What if he doesn't want this? What if he doesn't see Southern Lights the way I do? What if I lose him, even before I've had the chance to know him as family?
---
Ted said something else today that I keep turning over in my mind. "Family isn't about being perfect," he told me. "It's about showing up, being honest, and figuring out the rest as you go."
I don't know if I'm ready to believe him yet. I've always thought of family as something solid, something certain. But maybe it's more like the land—messy and unpredictable, but worth holding onto all the same.
Tomorrow's the day. I'll take Alex out, and I'll tell him the truth. I don't know how he'll react, but I owe it to both of us to take this step. One step at a time, like Dad used to say.
I asked him what I should do. I know I have to tell Alex—I owe him that much—but I'm at a complete loss for how to start. How do you even bring something like this up? "Hey, Alex, I know we've been working together for months, but surprise, we're family!" It feels impossible.
Ted didn't give me an answer outright. He never does. But he said something that stuck with me: "It's easier to talk when you're moving."
At first, I wasn't sure what he meant. Then he suggested I take Alex on a ride. Out to the back pastures, or maybe the sanctuary. Somewhere quiet, somewhere meaningful. A place where it feels natural to talk without the weight of the station pressing down on us.
The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Ted's right—Alex is careful with his words, and I don't want to corner him. A ride feels simple, unassuming. It's just the kind of space where I can start to explain everything, piece by piece, without overwhelming him.
---
I've decided I'll take Alex out tomorrow. I'll ask him to ride with me, frame it as checking on the pastures or scouting the creek. We'll head to the sanctuary—that spot by the river where the world always seems to slow down.
I've never brought anyone there before. It's always been my place, the one spot where I can think clearly, where I can feel the weight of Southern Lights lift just a little. But if I'm going to tell Alex the truth, it feels like the right place to do it.
It's strange, though. Even with this plan in mind, I still feel this gnawing fear in my chest. What if he doesn't want this? What if he doesn't see Southern Lights the way I do? What if I lose him, even before I've had the chance to know him as family?
---
Ted said something else today that I keep turning over in my mind. "Family isn't about being perfect," he told me. "It's about showing up, being honest, and figuring out the rest as you go."
I don't know if I'm ready to believe him yet. I've always thought of family as something solid, something certain. But maybe it's more like the land—messy and unpredictable, but worth holding onto all the same.
Tomorrow's the day. I'll take Alex out, and I'll tell him the truth. I don't know how he'll react, but I owe it to both of us to take this step. One step at a time, like Dad used to say.
Happy Trails!
#30
Jewel / Re: Story #4: Ties That Bind
Last post by Jewel - Nov 20, 2024, 12:31 PMJournal Entry
Ties That Bind Part 3
Jewel Cartwright
Happy Trails!
Jewel Cartwright
I made it through the morning somehow, though I can't say I was entirely present. The chores were the same as always—feeding the horses, checking the water troughs, running a quick perimeter of the paddocks to make sure the fences held. But everything felt heavier today, like I was moving through a dream I couldn't wake up from.
The dogs, bless them, stayed close by, their easy companionship a small comfort. I don't know what I'd do without them some days. Boomer got into the feed again (he's too smart for his own good), and I had to shoo him out of the barn before he made himself sick. It gave me something to focus on for a moment, a small reprieve from the thoughts that wouldn't stop circling in my head.
---
I finally crossed paths with Alex around mid-morning. He was out in the south paddock, working with Murphy again. That horse has given everyone else nothing but trouble, but Alex has this way with him—quiet, steady, almost instinctive. It's something I've noticed about him since the day he arrived, the way he moves like he belongs here. Like the ranch recognizes him, even if he doesn't recognize it.
I kept my distance, though. I wasn't ready to talk to him yet, not with this storm still raging in my mind. I watched him for a moment, leaning against the fence and letting the weight of it all settle over me again. How do you look at someone and not see them differently when you know something like this?
I'm not sure if he noticed me, but if he did, he didn't say anything. Maybe that's for the best.
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur of routine—lunch with the staff, more fence mending, running through inventory with Grace. Normal things, familiar things. But none of it felt real. My mind kept drifting back to the DNA results, to the names printed so neatly on that paper, to the way they seemed to rewrite my entire understanding of my family.
I keep coming back to the same questions:
Did Alex know?
If he didn't, how will he feel when I tell him?
And why did my mother keep all of this hidden?
It feels like there's a part of the story I'm missing, something just out of reach. Did my mother and Taylor have a falling out? Or was it something deeper, something she thought she had to protect me from? I wish I could ask her. I wish I could sit across from her with that piece of paper in my hand and hear her side of it. But that's a door I can never open again, and the ache of it feels sharper than ever today.
---
Ted found me out by the barn in the late afternoon. He's always had a way of knowing when something's on my mind, like he can see the storm before it even starts brewing. He didn't ask any direct questions this time, just handed me a cup of tea and said, "Whatever it is, you'll figure it out. You always do."
I wish I shared his confidence.
---
I think I need to write this down, just to make it feel real: Alex is my cousin.
He's my family, my mother's family. That connection I've been searching for, that missing piece I've carried all these years—it's him. He's been here this whole time, walking this land, working beside me, and I had no idea.
It feels like a gift, but it also feels fragile, like one wrong move could shatter it. What if he doesn't want this? What if it's too much, too soon? He's been so careful about opening up, so guarded about his past. I don't want to push him away, but I also can't keep this to myself forever. He deserves to know.
---
Evening's settling in now, and the ranch is quiet. The dogs are curled up by the fire, their breathing soft and steady. I'm sitting here with the DNA results tucked inside the cover of my journal.
I keep thinking about my mother, about the stories she used to tell me when I was little. She always talked about the importance of family, about how Southern Lights wasn't just a ranch—it was a legacy, something built on love and sacrifice.
And yet, she kept this part of her life hidden. Why? Did she think it would change the way I saw her? Or was it something else—something she couldn't bear to share?
I'll never know for sure, and that's a truth I'll have to live with. But what I do know is this: I have a chance to reconnect with a piece of my family, a chance to bring something whole out of what's been broken.
I owe it to Alex to share what I've learned. I owe it to Southern Lights to honor the legacy my family built, even if it means facing some uncomfortable truths.
I'm not sure when I'll tell him—maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after. But I will.
For now, I'll let the quiet settle around me, let the stars come out over the paddocks, and hold onto the hope that this is the beginning of something good.
The dogs, bless them, stayed close by, their easy companionship a small comfort. I don't know what I'd do without them some days. Boomer got into the feed again (he's too smart for his own good), and I had to shoo him out of the barn before he made himself sick. It gave me something to focus on for a moment, a small reprieve from the thoughts that wouldn't stop circling in my head.
---
I finally crossed paths with Alex around mid-morning. He was out in the south paddock, working with Murphy again. That horse has given everyone else nothing but trouble, but Alex has this way with him—quiet, steady, almost instinctive. It's something I've noticed about him since the day he arrived, the way he moves like he belongs here. Like the ranch recognizes him, even if he doesn't recognize it.
I kept my distance, though. I wasn't ready to talk to him yet, not with this storm still raging in my mind. I watched him for a moment, leaning against the fence and letting the weight of it all settle over me again. How do you look at someone and not see them differently when you know something like this?
I'm not sure if he noticed me, but if he did, he didn't say anything. Maybe that's for the best.
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur of routine—lunch with the staff, more fence mending, running through inventory with Grace. Normal things, familiar things. But none of it felt real. My mind kept drifting back to the DNA results, to the names printed so neatly on that paper, to the way they seemed to rewrite my entire understanding of my family.
I keep coming back to the same questions:
Did Alex know?
If he didn't, how will he feel when I tell him?
And why did my mother keep all of this hidden?
It feels like there's a part of the story I'm missing, something just out of reach. Did my mother and Taylor have a falling out? Or was it something deeper, something she thought she had to protect me from? I wish I could ask her. I wish I could sit across from her with that piece of paper in my hand and hear her side of it. But that's a door I can never open again, and the ache of it feels sharper than ever today.
---
Ted found me out by the barn in the late afternoon. He's always had a way of knowing when something's on my mind, like he can see the storm before it even starts brewing. He didn't ask any direct questions this time, just handed me a cup of tea and said, "Whatever it is, you'll figure it out. You always do."
I wish I shared his confidence.
---
I think I need to write this down, just to make it feel real: Alex is my cousin.
He's my family, my mother's family. That connection I've been searching for, that missing piece I've carried all these years—it's him. He's been here this whole time, walking this land, working beside me, and I had no idea.
It feels like a gift, but it also feels fragile, like one wrong move could shatter it. What if he doesn't want this? What if it's too much, too soon? He's been so careful about opening up, so guarded about his past. I don't want to push him away, but I also can't keep this to myself forever. He deserves to know.
---
Evening's settling in now, and the ranch is quiet. The dogs are curled up by the fire, their breathing soft and steady. I'm sitting here with the DNA results tucked inside the cover of my journal.
I keep thinking about my mother, about the stories she used to tell me when I was little. She always talked about the importance of family, about how Southern Lights wasn't just a ranch—it was a legacy, something built on love and sacrifice.
And yet, she kept this part of her life hidden. Why? Did she think it would change the way I saw her? Or was it something else—something she couldn't bear to share?
I'll never know for sure, and that's a truth I'll have to live with. But what I do know is this: I have a chance to reconnect with a piece of my family, a chance to bring something whole out of what's been broken.
I owe it to Alex to share what I've learned. I owe it to Southern Lights to honor the legacy my family built, even if it means facing some uncomfortable truths.
I'm not sure when I'll tell him—maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after. But I will.
For now, I'll let the quiet settle around me, let the stars come out over the paddocks, and hold onto the hope that this is the beginning of something good.
Happy Trails!