The clock may have struck 12 and the ball dropped in Times Square, but according to the Chinese Zodiac, we are in a shedding period of sorts, as the Year of the Snake slithers away to make room for the New Year to begin and what a year it’s set to be.
The Chinese astrological year doesn’t begin until Feb. 17 and, as we prepare to put 2025 out to pasture and to welcome in 2026, the Year of the Horse, the Fire Horse to be exact, we wait for this celestial transition.
Perhaps it’s this time period, between Jan. 1 and Feb. 17, when the Year of the Snake sheds its skin and the Year of the Horse prepares to gallop towards the horizon, that we have an opportunity to celebrate transition.
Horses and snakes aren’t two animals that go together very well. Or come together very often. Snakes conjure up instincts of fear and often, a resulting startle reaction for horses. But whether you’re in the saddle or not, it’s always better to act with intention than to react from instinct.
Startling at the sight of a snake is a good way to get bitten. The Chinese culture says a transition year from snake to fire horse is rare, occurring only once every 60 years and is symbolic of shedding old limitations and embracing a new energetic process.
Perhaps as we prepare to enter this New Year, it’s a good reminder not to spook at the thought of our old skin, remembering it was part of the growth into who we are now. Don’t get bit by a snake in the Year of the Horse by allowing the past to spook you.
For me, it feels good to shed 2025, though it felt more like the year of the Chupacabra for me than the snake. But as I look back, there was a ying to the yang of my equine adventures.
Once I put everything we went through out to pasture, it’s easier to see the bigger picture. We lost a foal 6 months along from a mare we didn’t know was pregnant and successfully bred another mare with a dream foal we will meet in April. We resurrected three kill pen horses bound for a dinner plate after losing a foal born on Easter Sunday. We nursed a filly with a broken femur back to health and celebrated healing of broken bones and belt buckles in the fall.
My daughter taught a new horse some old tricks and an old horse some new ones. I learned that horses that lived only a couple of weeks can leave hoof prints on your heart forever. We made friends in low places over spam and green chili tacos in dirt parking lots and rubbed elbows with higher-ups at fancy barns in big cities.
We learned big lessons in small arenas that there is as much excitement when the dirt flies as when it settles. I learned that carrying saddles builds character, and I watched my kids argue while shoveling manure. I watched them argue, doing just about everything, and watched them learn what happens when the manure hits the fan from a mom tired of them arguing.
There is something to be said for transition, and I, for one, plan to take this in-between time from the ball dropping to the fire horse galloping in, to focus on the slow work in my own existential arena.
I’d like to think that if we approach the New Year the same way we approach our horses, by concentrating on the slow work, then the speed will flow more smoothly. The speed is all so exciting, fiery if you will, but it’s the slow, deliberate work that pays off in the end. Paying attention to the ground work is a sure fire way to prevent snake bites.
So I raise a glass to all of you, my friends in low places and readers. If 2026 is the Year of the Horse, I hope it’s a goofy gelding and not a cantankerous mare.
Jenny Johnston is a fourth-generation Durango local, part-time rodeo announcer and full-time wrangler to two lil’ buckaroos. You can reach Jenny at jl.johnston@outlook.com
