A Texan rides at all state parks with equestrian trails, and finds solace along the way. Story and photos by Shannon King August 01, 2025 I didn’t want to go alone, but here I am, leaning against the sidewall of the truck pumping gas in Quitaque, on the downhill side of the Caprock Escarpment. There’s a dog in the passenger seat, a horse in the trailer and a thick layer of dust on it all. I slide the pump handle back in its cradle and turn and walk into the tiny gas station,

Between the book ends we know today as the Republic of Texas and the Civil War lies the dog-eared and faded novella of early statehood, the Antebellum Era of Texas. Although typically measured by the rise of abolition and polarization of the country, the mid-1800’s was also a time of invention and innovation - a new spirit was stirring. While the eastern US navigated a second wave of industrial revolution, the western lands remained wild and unfenced. But “there’s gold in t

I am not a historian, never have been. My degree stops at the simple baccalaureate and the only dates I have memorized are those of my own unfortunate aging and the anniversaries of immediate kin. But I am a Texan, and as every good Texan knows there is a grit here, a grit which anchors us to the very land. Before the internet, the telephone, the automobile, before the iron rails which connected east to west, the mail was an irregular thing. What takes the press of a button a

Like the west Texas wind, it took me a while to settle on a course. But I have... Over the last five years, Dex and I have ridden at least 130 different trails solo across Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona, the southern border from Texas to California and back, and most recently the headwaters of our coveted Rio Grande in Colorado. Confessions of a Saddle Tramp: A Hundred Trails (work in progress) is a collection of short stories and journal entries from 14 hands high, intersper

(as published in the Winter 2024 Cenizo Journal) This is the country they call life. A place where you can be yourself - unencumbered by city lights, concrete streets, and fashionistas. Where the coyote sits alone on the ridge surveying his domain, and the lion crosses in the dark - almost never seen. A place where tumbleweeds play on the highway because, well… they ain’t scared. And I race down that highway, headlights against the setting sun, just to be there for a momen

(as published in the Fall 2023 Cenizo Journal) This is a story of a horse and the girl who loves him. I lie back on the picnic bench and dip one toe into the sand tracing lines to and fro. An arm thrown over my head blocking the sun. A slow breeze rustles the strings of my cut off shorts and I can just make out the sound of waves lapping in the distance. Above, clouds of watered ink stretch across a crisp, white canvas - shaping themselves to the contours of the land. I ris

(as published in the Spring 2023 Cenizo Journal) This morning, when I went outside as I always do to greet the day and smell the desert, the full moon sat on the mesa perfectly balanced, just touching. Like a crystal sphere on a draped table waiting for its scryer. In a second it was gone and replaced by the sun. Gracing my day with her blue skies - celebrating – for today I ride in Mexico. The boat rocks as we step in and find our seat. The river is smooth this morning and