Horses, Heartbreak, and Handling the Unexpected
It’s county fair time here and in western Kansas, and that always stirs something in me.
Some of my best memories were made at the Logan County Fair.
Before I ever competed in 4-H, horse shows, or rodeos, I rode in the Logan County Drill Team. That was my first real experience riding in a group—and it was magic. My mount was Chocolate Drop, a half Quarter Horse pony that my grandpa had raised. She carried me into my first group performances and into a lifetime love of horses.
Chocolate Drop and Drill Team Days
Chocolate Drop and my dad in a fair parade.
Drill team was all about rhythm and unity—riders moving together in patterns across the arena. We weren’t flashy like the Westernaires I’d later see at the National Western Stock Show in Denver, but we had heart. We usually trotted to the tune of Mockin’ Bird Hill—not exactly a galloping anthem. Still, by the time I was a senior leading the drill team with the American flag, we were cantering.
We always rode before the rodeo began, so our horses wouldn’t be spooked by the lights of the carnival. There was a quiet pride in it—a small-town tradition that felt like something much bigger.
And of course, no fair was complete without the water fight on the last day. It was a rite of passage—one last chance to cool off, unwind, and let the week’s tension dissolve.
When Things Don’t Go as Planned
Susan and Reed Man pole bending at the Kansas State High School Rodeo
As I got older and more involved in the competitive side of horses, my fair experiences changed.
One year, my horse Reed Man colicked during the fair. A friend visiting from California and I walked him for hours, doing everything we could to avoid a vet emergency. My mom stayed at the fairgrounds overnight to keep an eye on him. After that, she wouldn’t let me leave my horses unattended there again.
I still competed—somehow. The horse show was either the day before or the day after, and Reed Man recovered enough for me to ride him. But I had to borrow a friend’s horse for drill team that evening.
That’s the thing about horses. They remind you that control is an illusion. Plans change. Emergencies happen. And you keep going.
The Calm in the Chaos
Maybe that’s why, even though my temperament doesn’t always show it, I’ve learned to go with the flow.
It doesn’t come naturally. When things shift suddenly—when an appointment gets canceled or plans fall apart—I still feel that moment of disorientation. But I’ve learned to pause, breathe, and adjust. That’s something horses taught me. Life taught me.
And now, parenting and caregiving teach me again.
What About You?
How do you handle the chaos life throws your way?
Do you resist and dig in your heels—or do you flow with it, like a rider adjusting to a horse’s sudden shift in stride?
If you’re raising a child who has seizures, then you already know this kind of chaos. A day can flip on its head in an instant. One moment you’re making lunch—the next, you’re heading to the ER.
It’s exhausting. It’s isolating. And it’s not something many people truly understand.
An Invitation to Reset
Sometimes I wish I could go back to those county fair days—to the dusty arenas, the sound of hooves, the scent of funnel cakes, and the simplicity of it all.
I can’t go back—but I can offer something that helps now.
Brave Connections is a retreat created just for parents of children with seizures. It’s a place to exhale. To share space with others who get it. To rest, reflect, and reconnect—with yourself, with your life.
You don’t have to carry this alone.
Click the button below to learn more about Brave Connections.
Mockin’ Bird Hill. This song brings back such great memories.
Make a Connection in the comments below.
Onward!
