Why I Started Watching Heartland

I’m not even kidding — I went into Heartland with my arms crossed.

It was 2020. I was stuck at home like everyone else, and the days had that weird blurry feeling where you can’t tell if it’s Tuesday or the same Monday for the 40th time. Between my husband and me, we were mowing through shows like it was a job. Episode after episode, season after season.

And at some point I had that guilty little thought: who watches this much TV??

But also… the world felt like it was on fire. So yeah. Streaming became the escape. Not proud, not ashamed. Just real.

I’d heard about Heartland forever.

Horse friends brought it up constantly, like it was some kind of rite of passage. I’d seen the memes. I could recognize a few faces from random clips online. And every single time it came up, I was that person who’d go, “Nope. Haven’t watched it.”

The reactions were always the same.

Wait… you haven’t watched Heartland? But you’re a horse person.

And here’s the thing. Horse people know. Most horse stuff on TV is… rough. Even when it’s trying to be respectful, there are usually a bunch of little things that make you wince. The riding, the tack, the “that horse would never,” the barn logic that makes no sense. It’s like watching someone hold a fork like a shovel.

So I kind of assumed Heartland would be one of those shows. Cute, but cheesy. Wholesome, but not really for me. Especially at a time when there was so much “bigger” TV to watch.

Maybe that makes me a snob. I don’t know.

But when the pandemic hit, clearly I got desperate.

Heartland popped up on Netflix with a giant pile of seasons sitting there like, “Hey. You’re not going anywhere. Want to try?”

It had thirteen seasons ready to go.

Thirteen.

With nowhere to be and not much to look forward to, I finally clicked play.

At first, I felt very validated.

It was a little cheesy. It had that softer, calmer vibe that I usually don’t go for when I’m in my “I only watch prestige television” era. The tone was gentle. The drama was real, but it wasn’t the kind of show that leaves you emotionally wrecked for three days.

And I’ll be honest — it took me a minute to settle into it.

I watched while working from my laptop on the couch. I watched while folding laundry. I watched while cleaning the house. It was background comfort, the kind of thing you glance up at and go, “Aw,” and then keep moving.

But then the characters started sneaking up on me.

Jack, especially. (Ahem. Jack.)

There was something about him that just works. The steadiness. The quiet humor. The way he can say one simple sentence and it somehow feels like a hug and a lecture at the same time.

And as the episodes kept rolling, I realized something else.

The horse stuff was… believable.

Not perfect, obviously, because TV is TV. But it felt like the show actually cared. Like someone in that world knew what they were looking at. The barn didn’t feel like a cardboard set where a horse gets parked for one scene and then disappears.

It felt lived-in.

And that matters more than people realize.

Because if you’re a horse person, you’re not just watching horses. You’re watching everything around them. The handling. The routine. The way people move in a barn. The small habits that real riders and barn folks don’t even think about because it’s just… normal life.

Heartland (for the most part) gets that.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped having it on “in the background.”

I started actually paying attention.

Then I started saving episodes for later. Like, “No, don’t put that on while you’re half-distracted. That one needs full attention.”

And then I started doing the thing where you tell yourself you’re going to watch one episode and suddenly it’s 2 a.m. and you’re sitting there like, “Okay, just one more.”

And yes, I cried.

The plane crash. Spartan’s injury. Those moments where you’re already emotionally fragile because it’s 2020 and everything feels upside down… and then this wholesome horse show comes out of nowhere and punches you right in the feelings.

It’s almost annoying how good it is at that.

Because it’s not trying to be edgy. It’s not trying to be clever. It just tells the story straight, with heart (no pun intended), and somehow that hits harder.

By the time I realized it, I was fully hooked.

I cared about what happened next.

I cared about the family. I cared about the ranch. I cared about the horses in a way that felt familiar, like the show understood that horses aren’t just an aesthetic — they’re a whole life.

And in the middle of a year where everything felt heavy and uncertain, Heartland became this strange little anchor.

Not because it was perfect.

But because it was safe.

It was warm. It was horsey. It was wholesome without feeling fake (most of the time). It was the closest thing to being at the barn when being at the barn wasn’t possible the way it normally is.

So yeah.

Thanks, Heartland.

For being the comfort show I didn’t want to admit I needed.

And for giving me a little glimpse of horse-world wholeness during one of the weirdest stretches of time I can remember.

Some shows are just entertainment.

Heartland felt like a deep breath.

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