Chapter 3: The years the coast taught me who I was
- JenTGH
- Dec 31, 2025
- 2 min read
I left the ranch with dust on my boots and tradition in my bones, stepping into a world that felt like another language. California greeted me with warm ocean air, palm trees swaying overhead, and a rhythm that moved faster and brighter than anything I’d known.
I lived with Uncle John and my little cousins, nannying while quietly learning who I was becoming. He was the one who showed me the coastline—long drives up Highway 1, the cliffs of Big Sur, the quiet beauty of Monterey, and my first experiences at wineries tucked into the hills. Those drives felt like whispered secrets, moments suspended in time.
There was a border-crossing memory that still makes me smile, the kind of story that becomes funnier with distance. A mix-up, a misunderstanding, and a moment that turned into one of my favorite memories with him.
He also taught me how to ride the waves—warm Pacific water lifting and pulling me, salt clinging to my skin, laughter echoing between swells. Those were the moments that loosened something inside me.
And then there was Uncle Jr—only a few years older, more like a brother than an uncle. His world was louder, wilder, full of late nights, border crossings, and the kind of stories that stay tucked between the lines. I drifted between San Diego and Tijuana with him and his wife, learning the unspoken rules of places that came alive after dark.
Through all of it, I kept taking photographs—small snapshots of the world opening around me. I didn’t realize it then, but I was already shaping the way I see life now.
Working as a wrangler at Camp Winacka grounded me. Teaching girls about horses felt like passing along something sacred—a piece of my dad, the horse whisperer. His quiet gift followed me from childhood into those California mountains, and it still guides me today. It’s what makes me special with my horse clients—the whisper I inherited without ever trying.
California didn’t pull me away from my roots. It stretched them. It showed me who I was when the world grew bigger—and who I remained, no matter how far I wandered.
I always returned to Colorado. But the coast never left me.
Those years didn’t change my identity—they revealed it.
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