I would love to sit here and brag about how bad at I am at talking about myself, but that would be a lie. I am very proud of who I’ve become. I created this blog in my 30th year of life. Just before actually. In my first thirty years, I have completed my degree in Paralegal Studies and worked for recognized firms in child welfare, criminal defense, civil rights and personal injury, met the love on my life…twice, gave birth to two beautiful, tentatively productive members of society, all while putting over two and half decades into the local equestrian (hunter/jumper) community in one way or another.
I had what I thought was the “high school sweetheart” story line setup, however that turned nightmare pretty early on, which I guess beats the alternative. Baby at 20, married at 21, separated at 22, another baby at 23, divorced at 24. To say I spent my early twenties doing anything but becoming a walking statistic would be an understatement. But at 25 I was blessed with my match, you know…that person who just makes you want to be better, especially when you’re a hot mess throwing up 12 rounds of Fireball in their one bathroom apartment while their roommate wonders what bar rat they brought home the first week you meet? That one. I met that one. That one is Greg.
Greg being nine years my elder, which I remind him of at every opportunity, pushed me out of the very comfortable have-your-parents-raise-your-kids-so-you-can-pretend-to-still-be-21-with-no-responsibilities kind of mind set. We dated for a few, did the long distance thing for a few, lived together for a few, then decided to make an honest woman out of me. On 10-15-16, I became a Yanko. In fact, it was our wedding DJs that told me I really needed to blog. I am assuming because its a nice way of saying you have no filter, are kind of funny and people enjoy reading that raw crap. When the time came to make our first big investment as a newly married couple, a home just seemed like the right direction to head. We had the cars, we had the kids and we picked up a dog or two on the way. We were living in suburbia and happy doing so, but he knew my involvement with horses wasn’t a phase (probably the reason husband no. 1 was an epic fail) and he made the mistake of asking the question every horse girl LOVES to hear when house shopping: are you really going to be happy buying a home that you can never have your horse at? Uh. No. No I wouldn’t.
I had been riding since I was 6, grew up in the well-respected, rated show barns in my area, had competed in the indoors as a junior (i.e. while mom and dad were paying the show bills), then aged out and went on to things outside of the show ring. I started PMU foals, got involved doing some training rides at a few local boarding barns, 
joined the board for a local H/J association, picked up catch rides with some notable clinicians and landed at a farm owned by a friend of mine to help give their first time riders a more formal education as they started their show and jumping careers. Greg wasn’t (isn’t) a huge fan of the horses purely from the “I don’t like things bigger than me” perspective, but he knew we were a package deal. So we bought the farm.
She Bought The Farm 