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Noelle Floyd: My Life With Horses

Under The Sun

As Featured in Noelle Floyd and

Written by Alli Addison

Photography by Taylor Rea Photography


I was born the quintessential summer baby. No - truly, I really was. Many moons ago I came into this world like a beaming ray of sunshine, on a bright and sunny June morning – the 21st to be exact - also known asthe summer solstice. I was raised on the coast of California, living out my childhood days on our family ranch located five miles from the Pacific Ocean. I spent more days at the beach, the lake, out in the country and on the ranch than I can recall. In fact, I’m still here, living out my days on that same ranch, at those same beaches and on those same lakes.

As a little girl, I looked every part the California summer child. My skin was naturally olive-toned (attributed to my mother’s Swedish heritage and my father’s Mexican heritage), my face and arms peppered with sun-kissed freckles, my light brunette hair was layered with golden natural highlights that I’ve spent a solid 15 years attempting to chemically recreate.

My summers were filled with fun in the sun – I rarely covered up, riding my pony in shorts and swimsuits, barefoot and such. But let me interject here; while I, the child, rarely covered up, my parents still did their parental obligation in covering my tan little body in Coppertone, Banana Boat and Zinc galore. Oh, and the zinc. It was the late 80’s / early 90’s... Do you remember the colored zinc sticks in blue, pink and yellow? Those were my jam.

The teenage years brought less sun protection and more sun exposure. I recall several summers that I spent exercising multiple horses a day in jeans and bandeau tops. Just call me a multitasking savant – hack and tan, hack and tan, hack and tan. And boy, oh boy, was I tan. Like most late 90’s/early 2000’s teenage girls, I had a tanning salon membership. We took our tanning very seriously back in those days. Several nights a week, the hoards of us sun-worshiping California teenage girls would meet at the local tanning parlor, taking our turns in the booth, comparing tan lines and talking shop with total social club atmospheric bliss. What a time, what an era, and looking back, what a mistake. At least for me.

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