Claudia and Simon Monroe exploring the land.

There’s a place that exists beyond the stresses of the material world, where you can leave your worries behind and simply revel in the beauty of nature.

I remember the first time we hiked the land that would become Centaur Stride Therapeutic Riding Center. It was a seemingly unwanted piece of earth, nestled in the middle of nowhere. Logged only a few years prior, it wasn’t quite a wetland, but a tributary of Chautauqua Creek bisected the 63 acres, and much of the property had a shallow water table, fed by natural springs. That part of the land couldn’t be built on–but it was the perfect setting for a nature preserve. I saw potential. I envisioned trails. Until that day, I was still fronting a very resistive attitude about the whole idea.

Back then, the land was mostly brush with small to medium-sized trees. Any logging trails had long since vanished under new growth. All that remained were paths left by deer, beavers, and other wildlife. It reminded me of “the thicket” in my children’s fairy tales. We literally had to crawl through deer trails just to get a feel for the place.

And then I found it — not exactly a clearing, but a quiet, magical grove of pine trees. The ground was blanketed with soft pine needles, a cushion beneath my feet, and the scent in the air made me stop and breathe it all in. For the first time that day, crawling through the deer trails, I could stand upright. It was a place both grounding and ethereal, where time seemed suspended in the filtered light and fragrant stillness.

Art in nature- the pterodactyl tree.

Next to that grove was the meandering creek. Small ditches crisscrossed the deer paths — evidence of beavers, using the water channels and springs to transport trees to the creek. The lodge sat right in the center of a dammed section. Gnawed stumps surrounded us. The flooded meadow created a beaver pond.

In the distance, a doe stood silently. Her large, calm eyes watched us. She didn’t run–she simply looked, as if to ask, “What are you doing here?” That moment lingered. It felt like I had crossed some invisible line, stepped out of the modern world and into something ancient, through a portal. I was mesmerized — caught in a dream I didn’t even know I had.

What is it about animals and nature that’s so comforting?

Maybe it’s that they don’t ask anything of you–not in the way people do. There are no expectations, no performances, no controlled dramas. In nature, you’re just another creature with no titles or labels and not compared to anyone. You just are. And in simply being, you belong.

Our “real” world is loud and stressful. So much to do, so many responsibilities. It’s an endless race with no finish line. For many, it is struggle just to ensure that basic needs are

met. But out here, surrounded by birdsong, trees, the earthy aroma, and the gentle whisper of the wind, there are no demands. Just presence. A peaceful rhythm. A suspension of time.

In that stillness, I felt something deeper — a sense of something greater. Perhaps divine intervention.

I looked around, everything designed and orchestrated with such a symphony of coexistence. And in that realization, I felt part of something very purposeful. Maybe the whole idea of a therapeutic horseback riding center wasn’t just another overzealous idea of my husband’s. Maybe it was my destiny. The pieces of the puzzle (all the things that seemed to be contrary to my goals and controlling my life) were seemingly fitting together into a logical pattern.

I thought again of the children I worked with–those with disabilities. They, too, were created with intention. Purposeful. Loved.

I now envisioned children in wheelchairs or having difficulty walking, having access to such a wonderland.

There is something profoundly joyful about helping others, being needed and needing in return. It’s a love language often spoken without words. Children with disabilities embody that. They radiate and redeem unconditional love — the kind the world desperately needs more of.

At Centaur Stride, there’s no need to strive for acceptance. The therapy horses are magical. You can just show up — and they’ll carry you. Literally and emotionally.

It’s a ride that wakes up your senses. Where body language speaks louder than words. Where silence is full of meaning, and connection is healing. Horses teach us so much. And when they bring us into the embrace of nature, the benefits multiply.

Centaur Stride is a place where we can become the best version of ourselves. A place where inclusion is recognized as a very intentional part of the divine plan of coexistence.

There still is not a boardwalk or platform to study and observe pond life but trails are accessible on horseback and even after 32 years, the dream remains to make nature adventure accessible to people in wheelchairs or those who would not otherwise have access to such a wonderland, where imagination can take you on great adventures.

Claudia Monroe is president and founder of Centaur Stride.