Category Archives: country life

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.

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.

In Deep Winter

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

Originally printed in the January/February 2024 edition of Down Country Roads Magazine

Winter. It really sets in after the Christmas season has drifted past, after the festivities have waned away. Usually, January is when the temperatures permanently settle into their winterish lows, and we forget the autumn and forget the spring and all that’s left is winter.

The short days seem shorter still. The skies, heavy with snow or icy blue, outline the skeletons of trees in the shelterbelts, and the sentinel ponderosas standing resolute on the ridgelines of the forest.

Snow crunches underfoot, and there is no give in the ground. Dams freeze, stock tanks freeze. All is rock hard. Dead sprigs are all that remain of summer gardens, with the plants sleeping snugly out of sight, unconcerned for what’s above.

And everything is cold.

The cows are cold, standing with their backs to the wind. The horses are cold, following suit, while the chickens sulk with abandon, staring at their food and refusing to leave the coop. Even the dogs, usually so eager to escape in the morning, hesitate when the world outside is cloaked in white. We don layer upon layer to armor up against the winter, dreaming of when we can walk about without coveralls and long underwear and sweatshirts over sweatshirts impeding every action. Out we tumble in the morning, with only our eyes visible, maybe our noses, stumbling down to the barn and the chicken coop and the tractor and the corrals, fumbling with mittened, cold-bitten fingers while our toes freeze in our boots.

And it is about halfway through January’s bleakness that I start remembering why springtime is such a welcome relief, and why people dislike the winter.

And so winter goes. The festivity of Christmastime gone, the excitement of the New Year behind us, the winter drags by, sleepy, depressed, and frostbitten.

But there is another side of winter, if we can see past the thermometer and the frozen fingers.

Under the biting cold is an energy. In between snowstorms. In between days of gale-force winds. A slumbering energy, ready to burst out in joyful excitement. There is an invigorating beauty, if one knows where to look. If one chooses to look.

It’s in the horses running fresh and free in a falling snow. It’s in the dogs dashing through drift after deep, new drift, gleeful against the cold. It’s in the whirling snowflakes of a snowglobe snowfall, and the silence of a winter night under a starry sky.

How do we miss those things?

It’s the acrobatics of chickadees at the birdfeeder.

It’s the first set of footprints in a fresh snow. Or the tiniest of tiny tracks between clumps of grass, evidence of the littlest of lives at work.

The hilarious energy of the pups when they’ve been inside too long, minutes before they are kicked out again.

It’s the fire in the fingers as they warm around a mug of coffee. It’s the frosty windowpanes, those amazingly intricate flowers that only grow in winter. It’s in the crystal-clear sound of a morning glazed over. It’s in the blue-sky, springlike days that punctuate our South Dakota winters. It’s in the clouds of warm breath from every nostril, and frost-covered backs of our black angus cows, when the wind isn’t blowing and their natural furnaces have made them comfortable. 

It’s the glittering brilliance of fresh snow under a cold, waking sunrise, or under a full moon.

It’s the blue hues in the white landscape, the purples and pinks that are in every drift, every shadow, the subtle glaze of color that is anything but stark white. It is the strange and exquisite shapes chiseled into the snow, and the beautiful music of a melt-off.

Deep in winter, it is that kind of energy, that kind of excitement. Deep in winter, those glimpses of beauty so profound, against which spring in all its glory pales.

After all, winter doesn’t last forever.

Dreams and Reality

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

At the beginning of a new year, I always look back at the old year. So I pulled out the box in which I keep the hard copies of articles I’ve written. God is so good.

Taking this simple photo brought a happy lump to my throat. It is so surreal to see my words and photographs in print, and this isn’t even everything that was printed last year.

Looking back at the old year, it is natural to look back even further, and it is truly delightful to see the ways that God has prepared me and opened doors and answered prayers and to see the seeds of dreams as far back as 20 years ago. I fell in love with the written word as a youngster, at about the age of 12, and the writer’s dream is (almost) the first dream I can remember from childhood. The other dream I remember was that I would grow up and live in South Dakota and have horses. Little did my 9-year-old self living in Illinois know how that would turn out…

But these photos of magazines, magazine articles, and newspaper columns represent years of hoping, praying, waiting, and even forgetting. Until the time was right. And then God opened doors.

It just makes me think…how much can happen in such a short span of time. A year ago, writing was still a dream. How much can change in how little time. How different life can look in just a year, or five years. We can get so caught up in things that aren’t going right, or disappointments, or failures, and yet God can and does use those things to build our courage and our trust in His goodness and provision, and when He chooses, He can make things happen.

These little articles aren’t anything spectacular. They sure aren’t particularly prestigious. Other than two articles last year published in MaryJane’s Farm and Bella Grace, which are nationally distributed magazines, my other articles are in local papers and magazines with limited readership. And do you want to know something? I love it. I love that it is my friends and family and community that I am writing to and for. I love hearing from neighbors that they read my column, and I love interviewing locals and friends and having the privilege of telling their stories. And I love how God has given me an outlet for something I have loved for so long.

How humbling.