Some names aren’t chosen. They arrive—softly, powerfully—and stay.
Before Whisper with Horses became the name of my business, it was something else entirely. It was a dream. A visitation, actually. The kind that lingers in your bones long after you’ve opened your eyes.
My grandmother came to me in a dream not long ago. She had always known my love for horses ran deep—deeper than hobby or interest. She used to cut out articles for me, little clippings about horses and women who worked with them, always sending bits of encouragement tucked in envelopes.
The morning after the dream, I felt pulled to go through a box of old things I’d saved from her. Inside, I found the Seattle Times from the week I was born. I had never noticed the front page before—but there it was: a striking gray Arabian on the cover, with the title National Star.
I have a gray mare now. Her name is Stardust. I like to think she was waiting for me all along.
As I kept looking through the papers, I gently unfolded a newspaper clipping I hadn’t seen in years. It was an article about women wranglers at a ranch. As the folds opened, the headline came into view like a gift:
“Whisper with Horses.”
It gave me chills.
I had been tossing around other names—Four Gray Mares, Galloping Goddesses—but none had quite landed. None had that sacred, soul-level resonance. But this? This felt like a message, like it had been placed there by loving hands long before I ever knew I’d need it.
It wasn’t just a name.
It was a calling.
A whisper from the past.
A reminder from the horses.
A hug from my grandmother.
And so—Whisper with Horses was born.
This work is about listening. It’s about slowing down and opening up to what can only be heard in quiet. Horses don’t shout. They don’t demand. They whisper. And if we’re lucky—and willing—we learn how to listen.
In memory of my grandmother, who always believed.
