Category Archives: Writing

Ranch Wife Musings | Well Wintered

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

Originally printed in the Custer County Chronicle on March 6, 2024

The longest part of the year is officially over. And it flew by. Just yesterday it was October and the trees were losing their leaves, and then it was November and Thanksgiving and we were shipping calves. Now we are standing on the brink of springtime, watching the first calendar day of spring approaching from not even a calendar page away, and the first 50 calves are already skipping blissfully through their short first days of life. We are ready for springtime.

There’s a saying I heard from my father-in-law, that has stuck with me: “Well summered is half wintered.” In other words, livestock that have had been through the summer with plenty of good grass and good water have a healthy fat layer and ample energy stores and are well equipped to face the coming winter. Half the struggle of winter is already taken care of. If, however, cows struggle during the summer, with stricken pasture and bad water, they will continue to struggle and the hardest season will be even harder. They will be bags of bones halfway through January.

2022 was a rough summer, with too little rain and too many grasshoppers, resulting in incredibly poor winter pastures. We were not well summered. Cows looked rough and rougher still as the winter wore on, and the extraordinary cost of feeding hay to get the cows through the winter added up. Cattle prices in the fall just added insult to injury. This time last year, calving season was getting off to a not-so-great start, with a number of odd and unpredictable losses, with a cluster of birth malpresentations and birth defects compounding that. March came in like a lion, indeed, bringing much needed moisture but in the form of calf-killing storms. So, we looked ahead to the spring and the summer with a sense of foreboding. Another summer like 2022 would have been devastating. Springtime was anticipated with dread.

“Well summered.”

I have pondered that saying a lot, actually.

Because it really doesn’t have a lot to do with the hard seasons themselves, but has everything to do with what leads up to those hard seasons. It is so tempting to coast during the easy times, so that we are less than equipped when things get tough.

We do that in marriage, by failing to put in the work to build up our marriage when things are easy and then being taken completely by surprise when our marriage struggles hard when life gets hard.

We do that physically, taking our health for granted while we are healthy, neglecting it rather than working to preserve it, and then being surprised or devastated when our bodies give out.

We do that spiritually, starving our souls, failing to feed ourselves through God’s Word and fellowship and solid teaching when life is easy, and then being shocked when our faith falls apart when life falls apart.

And there are a million other examples. What we do in the good times matters, and it changes how we handle the bad times.

But there is also another facet of this illustration: Sometimes the anticipated rough seasons aren’t as rough as anticipated, or perhaps the preparation was sufficient to offset the challenges. Maybe both. That’s when things are just extra, especially good, and the future is anticipated eagerly.

What a difference a year can make. Going into this winter, we were incredibly well summered. In spite of some wild weather events, the pastures were green and lush leaving plenty of forage for winter, dams caught quite a bit of good water, we actually had a hay crop and full stackyards, and the cows were sleek and fat as winter approached. And they are still sleek and fat. They could have handled much worse of a winter than we experienced. But God was an extra measure of kind, and the winter we had was the sort of winter that would make South Dakota too expensive a place to live, if that was our normal fare. But it was still winter. We still had cold snaps that put stress on the livestock and their keepers, stretches of days that made us extra, especially thankful for being well summered, but also extra, especially thankful for the winter we were given.

And here we are, standing on the brink of springtime. Winter isn’t over yet, and we can get snow until June, but what is generally the hardest part of winter is behind us. There is a bit of green starting to show under the cured grasses of last year, and a few brave little things are poking up out of the soil in the garden. The calves are thriving in the gentle weather, their healthy and maternal mothers unusually capable for first-time mamas, and a new season is just ahead, just around the corner.

Springtime coming looks sweet.

We were not just well summered. We are well wintered. Well wintered, and ready for spring.

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.

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.

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.

Ranch Wife Musings | Beginning Well

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

Originally printed in the Custer County Chronicle on January 3, 2024

And just like that, we are standing on the threshold of a new year.

For better or for worse, last year is gone, done, nothing to be added or subtracted, and a brand-new year is just beginning. For some, it is exciting to look ahead to the future, gleaming with possibilities, while for others it feels like more of the same, and maybe is discouraging to look ahead and see nothing changing. It is bittersweet to see the last year pass away, with all of the joys and sorrows, successes and failures, regret at what we didn’t accomplish and gladness at what we did. It is easy to fall to the negative in all those things, seeing the struggles much more clearly than we see the joys. It is easier somehow to remember everything that went wrong, and to forget all the things that went right. But here we are, standing on the threshold and peering ahead into an unsullied year. And many of us, maybe most of us, catch at least a little of a sense of excitement.

Seasonally, it is a refreshing time. A dusting of snow underfoot, brisk breezes to nip the face, glorious watercolor sunsets we only ever enjoy in the dead of winter, and trees reaching up their bare branches into the pale skies. By South Dakota standards, we are halfway through our winter season, and spring is on the horizon, or just over it. The days are getting longer again, releasing us little by little from the long, dark evenings. Seed catalogs, colorful reminders of the joy and work of summer, have been perused, and in no time the seed starting will begin in earnest. Chick orders are being placed, and heifers are looking heavy, starting to waddle in their pregnant-ness, and could calve in as little as six or eight weeks for us, imminently for others. The lull in the ranching calendar is truly short lived, and a lot of folks are gearing up for the impending rush that will launch us into a new cycle of work on the ranch.

I admit, I love the start of a new year. I love the process and the discipline of reflecting back on the last year, seeing the ways in which God provided, the joys that He brought, the ways I have changed and grown, skills I have learned, people I have met, opportunities that were presented. And there is a sense of relief in being able to identify things that I truly wish to change, and to look ahead with hope and optimism and with trust that God isn’t done working on me. We get so caught up in our routines and habits, it can be hard to think outside the box we have built for ourselves, to shake some cobwebs off our thinking and our dreams and get to work doing something better, something new.

The New Year provides just that opportunity, and the freshness of the year gives permission.

Some people scoff at the idea of setting New Year’s resolutions, probably because so often those resolutions fail within a week or three of the New Year. Some people see failed resolutions as training in failure, but I think that’s just an excuse, and I think there is benefit even in an uncompleted or imperfectly kept resolution.

I think a lot of resolutions fail because they are poorly thought out, poorly conceived of. Maybe they are arbitrary, just another thing to add to the to-do list, without any real reason behind it. Maybe they are overly specific, so that they are almost impossible to keep, or under specific, so we can easily talk ourselves out of them. I think a lot of resolutions fail because they aren’t really honest about what our struggles are, what our habits are, and we don’t solicit help from our family and friends, and we don’t invite accountability. I think resolutions fail mostly, though, because we are complacent in our comfortable habits.

Personally, I like to think of goals, rather than resolutions. I find the exercise to be a beautiful reminder that life is a process. We don’t get to skip the work and reap the benefits. Without being intentional in our personal, spiritual, physical, and relational development, growth will be inconsistent at best. Growth takes work, it takes sacrifice, and sometimes it takes some backsliding and incomplete successes and downright failures. And that’s okay.

Sometimes the very act of setting a goal in our sights is enough to at least keep us pointed in the right direction. We might get off, we might fail, but we can reorient towards that goal and get back on track. It is hard to make changes without specifics, without something concrete to be working towards.

So, I love to use this season as a time to write my lists and set my goals, and I take the time to evaluate, dream, and ask questions. What would a richer faith look like? What would greater trust in God look like? What would time better spent look like? What benefits would that reap? What would a sweeter marriage look like? How can I grow in love and forbearance and patience? What is something I want to learn? Something I want to do better? A way I want to grow?

New Year’s resolutions and goals don’t have to be complicated. Honestly, it is probably better that they aren’t. But having a vision and goals can help to infuse hope and optimism into the New Year, and help us to begin well.