Let’s take a break from cow talk for a moment and talk about something just as important around a farm—the year itself.
2026 is the Year of the Horse. If you have ever truly known a horse, that title carries a lot more meaning than most people realize.
Now, plenty of folks like to joke and call horses “hay burners.” To be fair they’ve earned the nickname over the years. Horses can eat like a fat kid in a candy store. You can give them a full square bale of hay at night, and by the next morning they will stare at you like they have been starving for three days. Nickering at you like as if they are asking “why is breakfast late”.
But anyone who has ever really owned a horse understands them a lot more than hay-burning lawn ornaments.
Growing up, horses were where my imagination lived.
Long before I ever turned a key in a pickup, a horse was the first vehicle I ever got to drive. No gas pedal. No steering wheel. Definitely no insurance policy. Just a saddle, a set of reins, and the kind of confidence only a kid can have when they believe they’ve got everything under control. Looking back now, I’m pretty sure the horse was the one doing the driving most of the time. That’s part of the magic of horses. They let you think you’re in charge while quietly making sure you both make it back to the barn in one piece.
The truth is, the Year of the Horse represents exactly what horses have always been—powerhouses of strength, endurance, and heart. Long before tractors, combines, trucks, trains, and highways took over the countryside, horses were the engines that built it. They pulled the plows that turned the soil, hauled wagons across rough country, and carried people farther than their own two feet could ever take them. They carried generals through the blood and gun smoke of wars, and Native Americans through their buffalo hunting expeditions.
They weren’t just animals.
They were business partners, the best ones too, non-speaking.
When I was younger, my horses were my entire world. They were where worries disappeared and dreams ran free. On horseback, a simple pasture could become the open frontier. A fence line turned into a trail. A kid could become a cowboy chasing outlaws, playing cops and robbers, exploring new country, or racing the wind just because I could.
Horses have a funny way of teaching lessons along the way. They teach us humiliation. Nothing will knock your ego down faster than a 1,200-pound animal deciding your riding skills are not up to par, that you are better off learning from the ground that day. They teach patience too. Sometimes your adventure turns into twenty minutes of negotiating with a stubborn horse that has decided the gate you want to go through is suddenly the most terrifying object on earth. Lastly, they teach balance, usually the hard way.
Now, years later, horses still carry that same quiet magic.
Sure, nowadays there are side-by-sides, and every machine imaginable to get across a pasture. They’re faster, easier, and a whole lot less stubborn. But none of them will ever replace the feeling of riding a horse down a trail you made yourself.
A machine takes you somewhere. A horse takes you on an adventure.
Some communities, like the Amish, still rely on horses as their everyday transportation, living much like people did generations ago. For others, like me, horses have become something different. Their entertainment, therapy, adventure, and freedom all rolled into one.
Just go to a rodeo. That’s where horsepower meets heart. Riders and horses working together in a dusty partnership that may only last a few seconds but carries a tradition that’s centuries old.
When you’re a kid, they’re your escape. When you grow up, they become your reminder.
They remind you where you came from—dusty summer evenings, long rides with no destination, and a younger version of yourself who believed the world was as wide open as the pasture in front of you. Somewhere along the way life gets busier. Jobs, responsibilities, bills, and worries pile up higher than a winter hay shed.
Horses have a way of bringing you back to center.
There’s a quiet moment that happens when you’re riding—when the only sounds are hoofbeats, wind through the grass, and your own thoughts finally slow down. In those moments it’s hard not to feel like there’s something bigger at work. The truth is, horses teach faith in a way few things can.
When you climb into a saddle, you’re putting your trust in something stronger than you. You guide the path, but ultimately you trust that horse to carry you safely down the trail.
Life with God can feel a lot like that ride.
So, if 2026 really is the Year of the Horse, maybe it’s more than just a title.
Maybe it’s a reminder.
A reminder of the strength God places in quiet things.
A reminder of the trust it takes to follow a path you can’t always see.
And maybe most of all, a reminder that sometimes the best way to understand where you’re going…is to saddle up and remember where you started.
