Author Archives: Laura Lindblom

Ranch Wife Musings | Distracting in Coveralls

Posted on by under Agriculture and Ranching, country life, Writing

Originally printed in the Custer County Chronicle on February 7, 2024

I still remember the look on my now father-in-law’s face when he rattled up in his blue ranch truck to the middle of the pasture we call Hidden City. His dogs piled out, then he climbed out, and then he just looked at me. Brad and I were scooping muck out of a stock tank, getting it ready to cement the bottom. Dave had brought the sacks of cement. And to my knowledge he had no idea I’d be out there helping. We had been dating for about six days. Maybe ten. You know, the time in a relationship when the guy is trying to impress the gal?

I was sunburnt, covered in mud, and grinning.

“Boy, I bet you’re impressed,” he said.

“I volunteered,” I replied.

And that dynamic characterized our whirlwind four months of dating, and our whirlwind six months of engagement, which spanned fall cow work, preg testing, shipping calves, calving, and branding. Whenever I wasn’t on shift at the fire department, I was out at the ranch, sometimes truly helping, sometimes there “just in case.”

Honestly, it was pretty handy. A lot of our dating was spent with me riding behind him on the ATV, a convenient place to be. Not only was the view nice, but it was a great excuse to have my arms wrapped around him for extended lengths of time. I’m not sure who invented the fabricated “date” as the best way to get to know someone, but give me an afternoon riding double on a four-wheeler or perched next to him in the tractor any day.

And it prepped us for life together. We learned to work together from the get-go. We learned what each of us was like at our best and at our worst, when having fun and when frustrated, when things went well and when things fell apart. Anyone can pull it all together to go out in public, anyone is on their best behavior when other eyes are observing, but it is the day-to-day that truly reveals a person’s character. We both learned how much better, sweeter life can be with a suitable companion, that 1+1 is way more than 2, and I learned that I truly loved to play the role of the helper. If all I did was make things a little easier, that was enough.

Valentines Day is approaching, with all the wildly unrealistic expectations set primarily, I believe, by women, aggravated by Hallmark and Hollywood and romance novels, of flowers and fine wine and fine dining, and with all the myriad opportunities for men to fail to meet these unrealistic expectations. How certain things became culturally accepted as the pinnacle of romance and the standard expressions of love, I sure don’t know, and I don’t know anything about those things either.

But what I do know is I wouldn’t trade reality for those things. I guess I see real romance as something altogether different.

Real romance comes in the form of bouncing over frozen ground on an ATV to tag calves together during a snow squall. Real romance is gingerly kneeling down on the heaving flank of a 650-pound steer choked out on the ground when your husband looks at you and says sweetly, “Do you want to sit right here, honey?” and hands you the manure-crusted tail. Real romance is the satisfaction of a long day of working together. Real romance is a quick break over a cup of coffee before heading out into the cold again. Real romance is rattling along in the feeding pickup or the tractor, tagging along to be the gate-getter and net wrap cutter, encumbered by coveralls and heavy chore coat and drifts of snow. Real romance is having that strong shoulder to cry on when a cherished cat dies, or life just feels heavy. Real romance is time together over a home-cooked meal, or holding hands walking into the feed store. Real romance is hearing your husband’s voice next to you in church, even though he can’t hold a tune. Real romance is winning (almost) every single game of cribbage, even though he taught you how to play specifically because he thought you wouldn’t be any good at it (true story). Real romance is a disagreement followed by an exchange of apologies. Real romance is trust in your spouse’s faithfulness, and learning to understand someone else’s love language. Because how often is your spouse communicating love? All the time.

I love the shared experiences that are knitting our lives together into one. I love catching his eye over the backs of 200 cows, or pouring him a cup of hot coffee in the scale shed, or our exchanged smiles as we go our individual ways during chores. It doesn’t look like the movies. It sure isn’t always mushy and sweet. Life is life. It doesn’t look like the Hallmark version of a romance. A lot of the time we are covered in muck and sweat and don’t smell great. It might be routine, normal, and mundane.

But he still says I’m distracting in coveralls.

Gallery | “The Beautiful Mundane”

Posted on by under Uncategorized

If you enjoy the photography on this blog, I’d encourage you to check out my Photography page, and the galleries nested underneath it! I update them periodically throughout the year, but often don’t share when I’ve updated them! The Beautiful Mundane and This is Ranching are my favorites.

To the Women with Simple Dreams

Posted on by under Writing

There is a loneliness walking out of step with society. Have you ever felt that? With culture. With friends and family even.

Do you ever feel like your dreams aren’t big enough, or your ambitions not great enough, or your desires not important enough? Are you happy with a modest home, and a modest life, and a family-oriented existence, while the world around you is telling you to strive after the opposite?

To the women with simple dreams…You are not alone.

I’ve noticed a ripple, a growing wave even, of women realizing that we have been misled. Culture has lied to us. Society has lied to us. Other women have lied to us. Culture has told us that happiness is found in ladder climbing, that our worth is defined by a paycheck, and that it isn’t only possible but is in fact the best choice to be a career woman at the expense of our families. Culture has told us that it is strange and bizarre to be happy in our homes, and that we should feel disrespected if we serve our husbands. So women have chased after what the culture has peddled, and guess what? They are finding it wanting. They have left their homes, and grown desperately homesick. They have lived one life while their husband lives another, and they seen how much harder life is because of it. They have striven after the glitzy jobs, the paychecks, the vacation days, only to realize that there is another way.

I’m not saying it is the only way. I’m not vilifying working outside the home. It might be that in a given situation that is the noble and necessary choice. I’m not saying a woman is inherently negligent of her family by working outside the home. Sometimes there is no other option. But I’m so tired of hearing the traditional roles of the wife, the homemaker and the stay at home mother demeaned by women who have chosen to climb the corporate ladder, or even women who wish they could work at home but out of necessity work outside the home and feel a sense of guilt. If your need to feel validated in your choice – whether by luxury or necessity – requires demeaning someone else, then you are idolizing your feelings and sacrificing truth on that altar. But I digress.

To the women with simple dreams…you are not alone.

Your desires to give your best energies to the care and keeping of your home…

To love and honor your husband…

To serve your husband…

To serve your community…

To be useful and industrious within your home, truly useful, in a way that matters long term…

To fill a role that no one else can fill…

Those desires are good. They are beautiful. They are worthwhile.

And you are not alone.

There are many women realizing that what society tells us defines us does not actually define us. Where society tells us we are useful is not actually necessarily where we are most useful. What society tells us demeaning might actually the most honored place of all, because it is the sphere in which we can potentially have the deepest, farthest-reaching impact. Women are realizing this. And women are pushing back.

To the women standing over hot stoves, or elbows deep in dishwater…

Doing work that goes unrecognized by many and unacknowledged by most…

Embracing tasks that many don’t understand, making choices that confound and confuse but make so much sense to you…

You are not alone.

Women are returning to the roles and responsibilities that generations of women have embraced for hundreds of years, returning to endeavors that bring meaning and beauty to the sphere of the home, and by extension to their extended spheres of influence. Women are putting their hands to skills that have been fading from our modern way of life, fading and leaving a void.

Women are coming alongside their husbands, rather than contending against them, and finding out that one plus one equals way more than two.

And this tidal wave is amazing to see.

To the women working harder than they ever worked outside the home, yet consistently hearing that they took “the easy way out”…

What you do matters.

To the women who have heard “I’d be so bored if I had your life!”, while wondering if there is something wrong with you because you are content and happy with your simple and quiet life…

What you do is a blessing.

To the women feeling guilty for having so much joy while being your husband’s help meet, working hard to make your home a beautiful and comfortable haven, feeling guilty for doing what women have done for generations…

Take joy in what you do.

Folding endless baskets of laundry, spending hours in the kitchen, or on hands and knees to mop the endless dirt from the floor…

There is meaning in what you do. Meaning that isn’t demeaning, but dignified, life-giving. Meaning and dignity that does not require someone else’s approval.

The world might not see you. That’s okay.

The world might see you, and misread everything about what you are doing and who you are. That’s okay.

Even those closest to you might misunderstand. That’s okay.

God sees you.

So to the women with simple dreams, homemade dreams, family-oriented dreams, husband-serving dreams…you are not alone. And what you are doing is beautiful.

Photo Roundup | 2023

Posted on by under Agriculture and Ranching, country life, gardening, Photography

It used to be a custom of mine to do a “favorite photos” post at the beginning of a new year, and I’d like to bring that back….This last year was one for the books, and as I look back over my photos from 2023, the first thing that strikes me is how beautiful life is. The second thing that strikes me is how much joy God has brought to my life…my photography tends to flow from that joy, as I try to capture moments of happiness and wonder. The third thing that strikes me is how the color palette changes over the course of a year, with each season having its own colors and textures and flavors, from the gentle, muted tones of the winter, to the emerging greens of springtime combined with the rustic tones of leather and denim during branding, to the rambunctious chaos during our green summertime as the landscape into into a wild array of colors and wildflowers bloom, then settling into the rich, warm tones of autumn, as each little bit of sunlight is reflected in the ripening fruit and golden leaves and the flame-colored jars of canned jams and jellies and whatever else.

How beautiful life is. 2023 was a beautiful year.

Winter Pastimes

Posted on by under Agriculture and Ranching, country life, gardening, the homestead

Winter really gets a bad rap. Too cold, too dark, not enough to do. But that is just our insufferable modern American way of thinking, too reliant on recreation and not enough on creation, too caught up with thinking ahead to have time to think back, yet somehow too caught up in today to think to tomorrow. We are too addicted to being constantly occupied, too addicted to having something constantly vying for our attention, too addicted to convenience to be able to appreciate slower, quieter, and the sweetness of inconvenience.

This is really a wonderful time of the year. Harder in some ways, of course. Easier in other ways, because the short days and cold temps out of necessity weed out a lot of things that just don’t need to be done (or can’t be done) when it is this cold or so dark at 4:30. But the earth is resting. So why can’t we? Our modern conveniences have taken away the necessity of building our lives and daily rhythms around the seasons and the lengths of days and seasonal tasks. But we still are fighting against nature. Frankly, I think that is bad for us. I don’t think that is how we were made.

So it makes sense, then, that winter just becomes a frustration for so many people.

But I truly love this time of year. A little forced lull in the busyness of spring, summer, and fall. A chance to dream. A chance to make plans. I love envisioning my garden, and ordering seeds, and having time to bake and cook and be busy in my kitchen, and to put things up for later, especially with a milk cow giving me more milk than we can use! Mornings are often occupied making butter and yogurt and bread and cheese, and there is now about 15 pounds of butter in my freezer, and plenty of frozen milk for when Posey is feeding calves and I’m not getting much from her. But right now, even this late in her lactation, she’s giving me close to two gallons a day!

I have been happily watching some elderberry cuttings put out little leaves, sitting there in the sunniest window in the house, and I’m anxiously waiting for roots to sprout. They will be a wonderful addition to the garden. I made fire cider recently, and will be making some elderberry syrup and tincture with dried elderberries from Black Hills Bulk Foods.

It makes my husband chuckle a bit to see me leafing through my field guides, and I have been poring over books on growing and using herbs and making herbal medicines, something I have long been interested in, and my excitement grows for the spring and summer, for planting and harvesting and wildcrafting. Soon it’ll be time to roll a bunch of newspaper pots, and the picture window in the living room will become the designated spot for starting seeds. It is invigorating to see something green and growing thriving in February, or March, while the world outside is inhospitable.

The chickens are looking beautiful, in spite of the cold. All the extra protein and calcium and other wonderful nutrition they’ve been getting from the leftover whey after making yogurt and cheese, has made for some brilliant plumage and a great recovery after their hard molt. Egg shells are hard with the extra calcium, and egg numbers are slowly increasing already (when the eggs aren’t breaking from the cold, that is).

Long, dark evenings are a good excuse to read and write, and I love the chance to catch up with old literary friends, or make new ones. Spring is right around the corner. There is a lot of winter left, a lot of time for plenty of cold and snow and hard days, but spring will come. And it always comes faster than we think.

Ranch Wife Musings | “Cold Enough”

Posted on by under Agriculture and Ranching, country life

Well, brrr. It is somewhere in the icy realm of 25 below, with wind chills somewhere yet further than that. I’m thankful for our furnace, and my heated blanket, for a handful of black-and-white border collies who like to share body heat.

And we say, “Yeah, it’s cold enough.”

“Cold enough,” for the record, involves what I call work pajamas, so named when my husband noticed my clothes didn’t change a whole lot from in bed to out of bed. I informed him that I have my sleeping sweats and my working sweats. Because nice thick sweats are way more comfortable underneath insulated bibs than are stiff, cold jeans.

“Cold enough” is lingering a little longer over that cup of coffee, and it taking 45 minutes to muster the courage to bundle up, watching the thermometer creep upwards to a hopeful 4 below. Suddenly the house desperately needs tidying, and the spice cabinet needs organized.

“Cold enough” is when it takes 15 minutes to layer up — long johns and vest and bibs and sweater and coat and scarf and ski mask and hat and hood and gloves — only to realize you drank too much coffee and have to strip back down.

“Cold enough,” is when the smallest wind burns and bites any exposed skin, and your toes are cold before even leaving the house. Maybe you strip back down when you realize you forgot your second pair of socks. It is stomping the fire out of your feet after chores, and feeling the life come back with a vengeance.

“Cold enough” is a welcome mug of something hot, wrapped tight in chilled hands.

It’s when all the chicken eggs crack, one by one, when they hit the even colder air of outside the coop. It’s when eyebrows freeze and ice covers eyelashes from frozen breath. It’s when the front of my coat is frozen with droplets of milk after milking, from the spray of the milk zinging into the bucket. It’s a wonder Posey isn’t giving ice cream.

Yeah, it’s cold enough.

It’s breaking ice multiple times in a day, and my husband taking an axe with him anywhere he goes. It’s stomping blocks of ice out of the water pans, and feeding extra to everything to fuel their little furnaces.

It’s vehicles choking to life and clouds of exhaust in the frigid air, and clouds of breath from every nose and mouth.

It’s the dogs sticking inquisitive noses out the door and promptly changing their minds, or running through the snow packing a paw, ice caked between their toes. You thought you wanted a walk? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Yeah, it’s cold enough.

And rather understating the case, I’d say.