Lenore Mitchell Writes Mystery Rooted in Decades of Trail Riding with Mare Babe

The dust on a trail doesn’t just settle; it waits. It hangs in the air, thick with the scent of sage and the damp, earthy smell of a horse’s coat after a long day’s work. Lenore Mitchell knows this dust better than most. She has breathed it in for decades, riding through the high country until her muscles ached and her mind quieted.

But before the mystery novel and the botanical lectures, there was just the horse.

Mitchell, a lifelong Colorado native, didn’t get her own mount until she was 26. She was married. She had a toddler. She was living a life that, on paper, left little room for the chaotic, muddy reality of keeping a 1,000-pound animal. Yet, she had been bitten by the “horse bug” early on. That obsession didn’t fade. It evolved. It found its anchor in Babe, a Half-Arab mare who arrived at Mitchell’s door at age three and stayed until she was forty.

That is not a short marriage. That is a lifetime.

Babe wasn’t just a pet. She was a teacher. And now, that teacher is the heart of Mitchell’s second book in the Everything Equine series, a mystery that uses the backdrop of competitive trail riding to explore something deeper: human connection.

Here’s the thing about trail riding. People assume it’s a race. It’s not. It’s a timed event, overseen by a veterinarian and a horsemanship judge, where the goal isn’t speed but endurance and care. Mitchell has logged over a thousand miles of these rides, each one stretching 60 miles long, often completed in two-day increments. It’s grueling. It’s exhausting. It’s also where you learn who you are when your legs are shaking and your horse is tired.

"Babe schooled me and my daughters about life and about love," Mitchell says. "during well over a thousand miles of NATRC (North American Trail Ride Conference) competitive trail rides in 60-mile increments over two days."

Picture this: You’re miles from the nearest paved road. The sun is beating down on your neck. Your horse, Babe, stops to nip at a fly. You stop with her. You wait. In that pause, you realize you aren’t just riding an animal; you’re sharing a burden. The bond cements itself not through commands, but through shared silence and shared effort.

Mitchell uses this rhythm in her writing. She’s not just writing a mystery; she’s writing a love letter to the mustang population. She believes they are abused, overlooked, and misunderstood. Her goal is simple: make readers care. Whether you own a horse or just watch them from a fence line, she wants you to see the intelligence, the history, and the vulnerability in these animals.

The book itself is a dual mystery. The first chapter sets the stage, weaving together the hazards and rewards of friendship with the universal need for connection. It’s a structure that mirrors Mitchell’s own life. She’s spent 20 years leading hikes with the Colorado Native Plant Society, teaching field-based Native Plant Master courses through CSU. She knows the land. She knows how things grow. And she knows that the best stories, like the best horses, require patience.

Writing the manuscript wasn’t a sprint. It was a series of fits and starts. She worked on it for years, revising until she thought she had it perfect, then realizing she’d spent too much time on it. That’s the trap of the perfectionist. That’s the reality of the creative process. But the core remains the same: the bond between a woman and her horse.

It’s easy to romanticize the West. We talk about freedom and open spaces. But the reality is often dirt, sweat, and the quiet dignity of an animal that has given you its life. Babe did that for Mitchell. She gave her decades of trust. She taught her that love isn’t just a feeling; it’s a discipline. It’s showing up, day after day, mile after mile, until the trail ends and the dust settles.

And that matters because we forget, sometimes, what it costs to care for something else. We forget that the bond isn’t just about us. It’s about them. It’s about the mare who waits for you at the gate, the horse who knows your voice in a crowd of strangers, the animal that teaches you how to be gentle in a world that isn’t always gentle back.

Mitchell’s book is a reminder of that. It’s a mystery, yes. But it’s also a record of a life lived in the saddle. It’s about the miles. It’s about the dust. It’s about Babe.