Bravo to the magic hour…

Posted on August 1, 2011 by Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

It’s been pretty scorching hot around the ranch these days, and I’ll tell you it’s not because of the sexy outfits I’ve been wearing to stay cool.

No, that’s not it at all. It’s just typical late July/early August for you. But you have to appreciate a place on the map where in the matter of six months you can experience a 130 degree weather shift.

March

July

Seriously.

I will be remembering this past weekend of 90+ temperatures when I am in my seven layers topped off with a hooded down parka that reaches my ankles.

Oh yes, I will remember.

But this morning as the thermometer stretches toward 80 degrees and it is only 8 am, I am remembering 30 below…and thinking no matter what, I like summer better. Hands down.

Because after a long, hot day where we’ve watched the sun emerge from the horizon and make its merry little way across the sky, beating down on our lawns and flower beds, sweating up our skin as we stand there, coaxing the flies to buzz around our ears and the corn in the east to stretch its arms a little higher, we sigh and sip our iced tea knowing that in a few hours we may be awarded a sweet reprieve. A breath. A sigh. A little cool-off before we hastily throw some burgers on the grill at dark and crawl under the sheets.

I call it the magic hour.

Others call it evening. Sunset. Dusk. Twilight. It’s that fleeting time where the sun moves slowly toward the west side of the world, promising soon to sink below the horizon, but not before it casts long shadows, turns the hilltops to gold, calls out the dragonflies, kisses the coulees with cool air, and fills our nostrils with the scents of crisp clover, wildflowers and grasses.

It’s the perfect time to grab your horse and head for the hills. Because if it was a windy day, the witching hour calms the breeze. If it was a hot and muggy day you might find yourself some cloud cover at the cusp of an oncoming thunder storm. If it was a sunny, 80+ day and you are out during the perfect time, you will literally feel the temperature dropping around you and your skin cool down as you ride or walk in and out of the draws and up the hill to catch the sunset.

We wait for it here, the magical hour, as we wipe our brow, salty and glistening from a day of work or play. But it’s all about timing, and we have turned it into a science.

See, if you jump the gun too early in the day, you will be saddling your horse in the intense sun of the late afternoon. The flies will still be nasty, you will be sweating profusely, your horse will be stomping at the pests and heat and you might get a little cranky riding toward that sunset waiting for the orange ball in the sky to move along already.

If you head out to the barnyard too late you will be rushing things trying to race the dark. And by the time you get on and move out you will have missed the the moments where the sun highlights the black backs of the cows on the side hill, the air shifts and cools your skin, the sun changes from yellow to pink and the deer might be moving and emerging from the thick trees. And your ride will be cut short, because once that sun touches the last hill your eye can see, it gets dark fast.

So you can see why it’s a craft can’t you? You can see why we watch the sky, take notice of our skin and the shadows and when the sun is in the just the right spot, more west than middle, more down than up, more moderate than hot, we pull on our longer sleeves, head to the tack room to grab a bucket of grain and saddle up.

We climb on and head out along the edges of the oak groves and stay in their shadows while the sun moves a little closer to the edge of our world.

And when we’re cooled down we climb up to the nearest hill to see if we can catch a deer as it moves out of the trees to graze among the clover, to watch the dragonflies dart and dive, to catch the moment when the landscape turns from a painting with all the right highlights to a mysterious shadow with a strip of orange hovering above it.

And before that sun greets the other side of the world completely, we turn and head back home, cooled off, satisfied, decompressed, a little tired, a little hungry, a little more alive…

Because it turns out there are others who are waiting in the shadows for the cool down, for the sun drop, for the magic hour…

for the dragon flies…

And we don’t want to miss their show…

Bravo summer.

Bravo sky.

Bravo my crazy cats.

Bravo, bravo, bravo magnificent world.

To be alive…

Posted on July 26, 2011 by Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

So here I am in Red Lodge, MT getting ready to climb into husband’s new pickup with him and my built-in-best friend and take the trek with a camper up Beartooth Pass and on into Yellowstone Park for our family reunion last week.

I was excited to set my eyes on the magnificent views of this intensely steep, stunning, rustic and dangerous highway, so although I may come across as graceful while captured in the air, I will tell you I stayed true to form and landed awkwardly on the ground only to limp my way across the parking lot as husband shook his head and told me to get in the pickup already, geesh.

So we got on with it, happy we finally made it this far after spending fourteen hours on what was scheduled to be a six hour route.

But before we go much further I have to say that the open road, big sky, crisp air, home in my rearview mirror, family next to me and more waiting ahead made me more grateful than ever to be alive.

That and the fact that sometimes in the middle of your grand plans interrupted by flat tires and small deer that fly out of the ditch to dent your new ride, life hands you a deep breath, a close call, a reality check to make you say a silent prayer to whatever you believe in for perfect timing, that damn flat tire and another day to live in this magnificent world.

Because as we climbed up the pass that day, our eyes focused on the snow capped mountains and the cold blue lakes pooled at their feet…

as we stopped to pick up an ambitious young man who was attempting to roller-ski up the pass and talked to him about his life full of adventure and challenge, as we counted yellow wildflowers and inched closer to the peak, our thoughts were with the man we found laying on the interstate the night before.

The man who, just moments before we found him, was celebrating a beautiful summer evening on the back of his motorcycle. A man who appeared before us a pile of broken flesh, bone and steel alongside the road as the sun sunk down over the horizon– a perfectly uneventful, every day drive, stopped short by an unexpected twist of fate and timing.

We could have been miles ahead of him, long gone and safe in our campsite by the time the man’s motorcycle made contact with the deer in his path, violently sending his body hurling toward the cool, rough pavement on the shoulder of the interstate.

We could have missed the entire thing and not thought twice as we made our way through winding highways, forest, flowers and mountain streams calling to us quietly.

Or we could have been a moment too soon, laughing as we told stories of good times spent together. We could have glanced over at one another just long enough to miss the headlight blinking in the middle of the interstate, to miss husband’s chance to slow his pickup down enough to maneuver through the lifeless deer, the dented bike and the broken man.

We could have been telling a different story entirely.

But no. We are telling this one. The one of our pickup parked safely along the road, the 911 call, the run to the nearest mile-marker, a cloth held to the man’s wounded head while he sucked in the Montana air and recounted his birthday. The one where kind-hearted and capable travelers stopping to help work through it, to direct traffic, to talk to him and tell him everything was going to be ok.

The one where the man was broken but alive.

The one where we were shaken but alright.

The one where we moved on to stand at the brink of a waterfall,

to sing around a campfire and climb a mountain,

to feel the steam of a geyser on our hot faces, the cool-down of the star-lit night and a prayer for a stranger on our lips.

We awoke the next morning to a stream bubbling by our campsite, little man laughing next to us and the mountains reaching toward a crisp, clear sky.

I couldn’t help but notice my senses were heightened, my heart more present, my body positioned closer to the family beside me.

And so we went into the mountains this way, all of us feeling more alive and grateful.

We laughed louder.

Embraced longer.

Climbed higher.

Looked closer.

Saw more clearly

Reached a bit further.

Took more time

Held our breath and found more patience to exist in an another day…

because we were reminded it is nothing but a gift.

Thank you family for bringing us all together here, for letting me hold your babies, for climbing that mountain with me, for cooking me a s’more and some chicken, for making sure we were all together as Old Faithful was erupting…

and holding on tight as I held on tight too.

Thank you for existing, in this masterpiece with me.

The Yellowstone I remember…

Posted on July 20, 2011 by Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Today I am packing up everything practical I can grab in preparation for a trip to Yellowstone National Park. The plan is to wagon train with the immediate family and meet the rest of the hooligans there for a family reunion.

And although the number one place I like to spend time in the fleeting summer is right here in the cozy little nook of the ranch, I am so looking forward to gathering with relatives I haven’t seen for years.

I am also excited to go back to a place that holds some of the best memories for me.

See, Yellowstone was the first vacation husband and I took together, before the ring, before the wedding under the big oak tree, before we knew exactly what we were doing and where we were going, knowing somewhere int there that it didn’t matter, we just wanted to go together.

So I am writing this in a hurry as that man I would go anywhere with has just walked in the door from work and is ready to pack up and head out. That same man who, eight years ago, loaded up his dad’s old pickup and pickup camper in 110 degree temperatures and drove his girlfriend across the state of North Dakota and on into Montana with no air conditioning, watching affectionately as grasshoppers from the open window flew into her hair and sweat dripped down her back. He drove the entire way, up mountain passes, stopping in tiny towns for her to pee and cool off to show her a place he loved, and knew she would love too.

This trip will be different, we will be more prepared, we will not have the oldest camper in the tri-state area, we will have air conditioning and we will be surrounded by people who we both call family now.

But, taken from the archives, this is the Yellowstone I remember, and I know it will not disappoint. Because some things have stayed the same since then–and sitting next to him with miles and miles of road and adventure stretched out ahead of us, our favorite song in our ears and an affection and trust that just keeps growing between us are some of them.

That and my fear of grizzly bears.

Don’t worry, I’ve been practicing dropping quickly into a fetal position…

See you back at the ranch!

Meanwhile, the cows are getting out…

Posted on July 11, 2011 by Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Some summer weekends are spent in the car rushing to get to the next destination, some summer weekends are spent cleaning out garages full to the brim with stuff gathered over years and years of saving, some summer weekends are spent on the water, some are spent in tents, some are spent washing windows and scrubbing floors, some are spent at weddings, some are spent singing for your supper, some are spent in bed sick with the flu…

Ahhh, summer, short-lived and spectacular around here, jammed packed with all of the above. Oh, if only I could read a book while relaxing on a blanket in the sun while tearing down the old garage while enjoying a cocktail while fixing the corrals while riding two horses at once while kayaking a crystal clear river while training for that marathon I swear I’ll run someday…

…if only…ah well…frolic, frolic, bask, swim, sing, work a little, climb, drive, camp, summer fun things and….

meanwhile, back at the ranch…

the cows are getting out.

Oh, there’s nothing like ranch living to bring you back down to earth. It’s a gift really, to slow us down and remind us why the hell we’re living here in the first place…and for the love of Martha there is work to do, so pay attention.

And this weekend husband and I had the ranch to ourselves while momma and pops enjoyed a much-needed extended holiday. That’s the nice thing about living as a two family unit on the ranch, there is generally someone to stick around to cover your ass. And mom and pops have been covering ours for a good portion of the summer and to be honest, I have been itching to cover theirs…

wait, that didn’t come out right…

Anyway, what I mean is I have been anxious to just stay home for a weekend and tinker around the barnyard, mow the lawn, work on tearing down that damn garage and watch the grass grow to unprecedented heights. Really, I’ve never seen it like this before. So on Saturday after we spent a good few hours sorting out old tires, a boat, a jeep, seventeen dressers, thirty-seven old grills and a microwave that may or may not have been my pops’ wedding gift to my momma, I threw my sweaty arms up in the air and declared it was time to go check on the cows.

Because there was a new mare in the barnyard I was anxious to ride, cool coulees calling my name, and hours of quiet time under the big setting sun…just what a girl with a scary old garage needed to decompress.

So we pulled on our boots, grabbed some bug spray and our horses and took off at a nice, leisurely pace to check the place.

I just have to take a moment here, before we get to those cows, to explain that even though I grew up here, even though I grew up here with this boy who became this man who rides this pretty bay horse, even though I walked these hills all my life and can hold this guy’s hand anytime I wanna, I still can’t believe I exist out here with him.

And on a night like Saturday night when the grass was tickling the bottoms of my boots, the tiger lilies were stretching out their petals and the new mare was stealing little nibbles of the clover anytime the softy on her back would let her, I was just blissed out to the max.

To the max.

So much so that I think I got off that mare approximately 15 times to measure the grass, to snap a photo, to pick a flower, to just mosey and stick my nose in sprouting things…

Poor, poor, patient husband…

So when we reached the gate to exit the fields and heard some conspicuous mooing coming from the next tree row, I was not disappointed that the cows were out.

Because it meant that we got to move them, my hubby and me.

And as the air was getting cooler and the sun was casting long shadows and kissing the tops of green hills, I tested out the mare’s trot while I headed west and husband headed east, loping that bay horse out across a sea of clover.

I got to use my cow-moving lingo (Example with left arm slapping my leg: “Move on mommas…yip yip…come on babies..hya, hya…get along girls…” ) as the mare and I pushed the reluctant cattle through the tree rows and the lush grasses they had stumbled upon and weren’t so eager to leave behind.

I got to weave that mare back and forth along the back of the line, gathering and pushing nice and easy toward the gate, just like my pops taught me a long time ago.

And as I watched husband bring in a few scragglers from over the hill I realized something: It was just he and I out here doing this. Pops was a couple hundred miles away instead of in his usual spot next to us, giving us the plan of action, giving us advice and telling us where we needed to be. Pops was a couple hundred miles away trusting that we could keep it together and we were out here alone with these cattle in the wrong spot, just husband and I fixing a little mishap, taking care of things together.

I am sure we had done something like this before, the two of us. But at the moment we got those cattle in the right direction, moved them on up over the hill, made plans to fix up that fence and decided things had gone pretty smoothly it was the first time I truly believed that perhaps, the two of us, as a team, were capable of handling this ranch business ourselves after all.

Because I would be lying if I said I don’t have my doubts sometimes as I climb into bed next to his body and we listen to the crickets chirping outside our windows, the frogs singing their night songs. I would be lying if I didn’t wonder if it would be easier to buy a house in a suburb with a well manicured lawn, a nice clean garage, close to the grocery stores, conveniences and supportive friends down the block.

I would be lying if I didn’t admit that sometimes the weight of it all, the thought of being out here without my father riding next to us, a little voice in our heads, our lifeline for the hard decisions, push down on me hard some days. Days when a horse and I have some major disagreements, days when I fall through the barn floor, days when the cows don’t gather but head for the brush in all different directions…

Those days pops is there to laugh and say there is always tomorrow.

But on Saturday we were given the best gift of summer. A gift of companionship, good horses, a beautiful night and the opportunity to show one another what we are made of.

And we might not have it together tomorrow, but on nights when the ceiling of this little house pushes on my confidence and makes me feel lonesome and crazy, I will close my eyes and think of Saturday…

and breathe a sigh of relief knowing that with all of the opportunity, all of the traveling and vacations and lake days and parties and music and summer adventures I was given these past few months, it was that day on the back of the new paint mare who couldn’t take a step without taking a bite of clover, next to the man I married, riding home with the setting sun on our backs, it was that day my smile was the biggest and I felt the most like me…

It was Saturday and there was nowhere else I would rather be…

Sweetclover in my skin

Posted on July 8, 2011 by Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

I wish I could bottle this up and send it to you.

I wish I could pick the right words to describe the sweet, fresh scent that fills the air tonight and gives me comfort when I breathe it deep in my lungs while standing still or moving across the landscape, stepping high, eyes on the horizon. Or maybe my hands are on the wheel and the windows are open in the car as I reach out my arm. Or I may be laying down, ready to drift to sleep while the breeze kisses my skin laying silent in the night air.

I imagine everyone has something like this that hits their nostrils and brings them back to a time in childhood when they felt so deeply loved, so overwhelmingly safe, so much themselves, so free. Maybe it’s your grandmother’s warm cookies from the oven. Maybe it’s the smell of a diesel tractor plugging across a field. Maybe it’s your parent’s home or your fur on the back of your old cat or the salty air blowing across the ocean and onto vast beaches.

For me it is sweetclover.

It’s not something that graces us with its presence every year, but when the ground is saturated enough and the sun is warm it seems to pop up overnight like an old friend knocking on your door unannounced–and you just happen to have the coffee on and bread warming in the oven.

And so I think I have sweetclover in my skin. My first best memories are laying among it, rolling down the highest hill on the ranch as the sun found its way to the horizon and my cousins, tan and sweaty, hair wild, would fling their bodies after me. We would find ourselves at the bottom in a pile of laughter and yellow petals would float and move around us and then stick to our damp skin.

For us the clover was a blanket, a canopy of childhood, a comfort. It was our bouquet when we performed wedding ceremonies on the pink road wearing our grandmother’s old dresses, an ingredient in our mud pies and stews, our crown when we felt like playing kings and queens of the buttes, feed for our horses, our lawn, a place to hide from the seeker, to rest after a race, to fall without fear of skinned knees, a promise of summer.

A wave of color to welcome us home together.

And so it has appeared again, just like it did last July, only bigger, more bountiful, taller–up to my armpits even the sweetclover grew! It’s there all season, the seeds tucked neatly under the dirt, and still I am surprised when I open the windows of the pickup after a late night drive and the fragrance of the lush yellow plant finds its way to me.

The night is dark but I know it’s there…

And I am taken back…

I am seven years old again and my grandmother has our bunk beds made up in the basement and my cousins will be coming down the pink road soon. And when they get here we will climb Pots and Pans and we will put on a wedding and look for new kittens in the barn. We will play “The Wizard of Oz” and I will be the Tin Man. We’ll catch frogs in the creek and take a ride on the old sorrel. We will play tag on the hay bales in front of the barn.

We will hide from each other in the clover that scratches and brushes against our bare legs.

Oh, I wish I could bottle it up for the cold winter days that showed no sign of release.

I wish I could build my house out of it, weave it inside my walls, plant it in my floor and lay down in it at night.

I wish I could wrap my family–my father and mother, my sisters and cousins and aunts and uncles, my grandmother and grandfather and all of the souls who have touched and breathed and lived where the clover grows–I wish I could wrap them in its soft petals and sweet stems and watch as they remember now.

And tell them not to leave. Not to grow older.

I wish I would have sat still long enough to smell it on my skin when I was looking to find the real me.

I wish I would have always known I had it there.

But mostly I am just glad that it came to visit me this year…

so I could remember.

From the lake…

Posted on July 5, 2011 by Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Greetings from far from the ranch on a lake somewhere in Minnesota. Our vacation was extended due to an issue with a wheel baring and a pickup that is well over the 200,000 mile marker. But you know, I’m ok with that, no matter what it costs.

Because I think it was a little blessing as we got to exist one more day here with family and water and sun and sailboats and fireworks and fireflies and campfires and enough mosquitoes to literally pick you up and drag you away.

Ahh well, it’s a small price to pay to be able to soak all of this into a heart full of celebration for the freedom to wear whatever you want, eat whatever you want, sleep as late as you want, pick up and smooch on this adorable little nugget whenever you want…

and maybe get drug behind a boat or two with your feet strapped into two 64 inch pieces of slicked up plastic just to say that you can.

Or you might chose to fish.

Or sleep in the hammock.

Whatever, it was Independence Day and in this family we’re all about celebrating that freedom to the fullest…

Hope your weekend was safe, full of sunshine and just the happiest.

Sorry, just had to plop him in there one more time...

See you back at the ranch.

Yawn…happy Monday…zzzz

Posted on June 27, 2011 by Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Yawn.

Happy Monday.

Please indulge me while I utilize my dramatic cast of characters to express myself today…

After a weekend of long island iced teas, hugs, long lost friends (and their small duplicates called children), swinging a golf club at a tiny white ball and only making contact on about half my attempts, a campfire, a few beers, a pot luck and belly laughs I am considering asking these two if I can join their pile…

I hope they don’t mind if I drool.

Because if I could close my eyes right now there most definitely will be drool.

In the meantime I will not be operating heavy machinery, making major life decisions, running for president or putting on an epic dance recital complete with Lady Gaga costume changes.

Maybe tomorrow.

Today I will be using my time awake to write myself a quick reminder that unless there is an emergency or I need to get up to pee, it would be wise to never again be conscience on the other side of 2 am.

And I will get some work done.

Just give me five more minutes…

Small town reunion

Posted on June 24, 2011 by Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Here I am. Graduating from high school.

Do I look happy? Maybe just a little.

That was 10 years ago.

WHAT! Aren’t I still 17? What happened?

Yup, today I celebrate my 10 year class reunion.

Me and 54 of my classmates from ranches, small town neighborhoods, farms, the outskirts of town and tiny communities along the way graduated from WCHS at 17, 18 and 19 years old and made our way into adulthood somehow.

I just finished going through old photos and memorabilia to bring with me to the event this evening and was struck by how long ten years actually is (and how bad I was at managing my hair back then…).

To be honest, I am known for my poor, if not selective memory. I am also known for having a camera attached to my hip at all times. So I am thankful to my 12, 15, 17 year old self for having the foresight in the time of film cameras to dish out the cash to get these priceless photos developed, you know, the good old fashioned way.

Because it reminds me, as I imagine I’ll be reminded tonight, what it really meant to me to have grown up as a student of a small town. I thumb through photos and it is like thumbing through family albums. Because these kids making goofy faces at me from the pages of my scrapbook were by my side, for better or worse, during the years of my life when I was trying desperately to figure out who the hell I was. And for a girl from the sticks, a girl who wore wranglers and boots and took the dirt road on the small yellow bus to a country school until I was 11 years old, it was of vital importance that there were a few souls who could help save me as I opened the glass doors to the big school and prepared myself for a world completely foreign to me.

Me and my country school pal

Oh, yes, there were issues. There were fights, there were misunderstandings and tears in the halls of WCHS–that’s a given. That’s what happens when you are working your way into and out of best friendships, relationships, difficult tests and the fact that you weren’t cut out for the basketball team.

I wasn't cut out for the basketball team...

But you know what else I found in the halls of that high school besides teachers who inspired me and continue to cheer me on to this day?

Friends.

Friends who helped me remember the combination to my locker, who welcomed me into their homes after school while I waited for musical or volleyball practice to begin, who practiced with me for hours as we perfected the art of goat tying, barrel racing and cowboy chasing at high school rodeos across the state. Friends who sat next to me in the back of the pickup on the way home and got me laughing even though I may have bobbled my tie or face-planted from a tumble off my horse.

Friends who helped fix my hair for prom and came to listen to me play my guitar at my first real concert.

Although many of us may not ever be in the same room together again like this (in a matching velvet trend) I can’t forget that it was those girls who taught me about friendship, what it is and how truly amazing and heartbreaking it can be.

And the boys? The boys have no doubt turned out be some of the best men. Because they just don’t make them like that anywhere else–good North Dakotan boys who grew up in baseball caps, tinkering with the engines of their father’s trucks, fishing on the banks for Cherry Creek and Lake Sakakawea, hugging their football teammates after a sorry loss, helping their neighbors brand cattle and always searching for the next big adventure on the back of a horse, a 4-wheeler or anything they can drive too fast.

I love one of those boys and love him more everyday.

And that a man who first met me when I looked like this…

married me anyway is a gift my small town high school gave me that I will never be able to repay.

And it makes this reunion for me more reflective, more special I think.

A Junior Prom version of husband and I...

Because in a small town you don’t have a large pool of friends and boyfriends to pick from, so it is my theory that you love stronger, hold them closer and lean on each other and often, as a result, a bond forms between two opposite people who may have not connected otherwise.

All grown up with my very blond, very athletic, very clean and organized, very lovely, very opposite high school best friend...

And between the blacktop and dirt roads that didn’t stretch far enough for teenagers with windows open and plans stretched out wide, sometimes the rumors hurt, you felt confined and wished away the time it would take to get you to the date when you could leave this place…a place where you knew all your friends’ parents’ names and they knew what time you were to be home at night.

High School Musical, "Bye Bye Birdie"

Yes, as students of a small town we grew up in a circumstance that gave us every reason to set our eyes wide on the open highway ahead of us. But as we drove the gravel roads at night with a CD of Red Hot Chili Peppers blaring through our speakers, or built a bon fire in the middle of a field or on the edge of the big lake, when we celebrated birthday after birthday with the same neighborhood kids who drank Kool-Aid with us and gave us our first My Little Pony when we turned six, when we could sit on the roof of our boyfriend’s house in town and count the stars in the quiet of the hour before curfew, when we had our first kiss in the back our best friend’s old, beat-up car, we didn’t realize how free we really were.

And when we pushed the limits, when we drove too fast, drank too much, yelled too loud or loved too quickly, when we got our hearts broken, missed the winning point, forgot the lyrics to the song, or failed the test, we thought, indeed, the world would come to an end at 14 or 16 years old. We didn’t have all our muscles yet and didn’t understand, we didn’t appreciate that the world we lived in protected us enough to allow for these kinds of mistakes.

We didn’t appreciate that our world just picked us up, shook their heads and said things like “she’s a good kid, this will be a good lesson for her…” and then went on loving us anyway.

And now as I prepare to reunite with old friends at 27, 28 and 29 years old, I can’t help but think that’s what most of us want right now: our best friend living next door, a place where our children, born or unborn, can see the stars, casual conversation between friends on Main Street, an open road and a home that welcomes us, no matter how far we’ve traveled away, with open arms.

Welcome short, spectacular season!

Posted on June 21, 2011 by Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

I would like to interrupt the drizzling skies, raging rivers, mud puddles and frizzy hair to wish everyone a happy first day of summer.

I’ve been waiting for this for a while and went out last night, despite a threatening sky, to see how things are growing–

Martha, how they’re growing!

The cat came with.

I don’t know why he comes with.

Neither does he.

He was pretty pissed when the sky opened up and dumped buckets of rain on the grass that reached well over his head, so he disappeared somewhere…

that cat is weird…

Anyway, I didn’t care about the rain (or the cat really) I just kept trucking up on to the top of a hill that, just months ago, required a good set of snowshoes and a hearty breakfast to reach.

Let’s reminisce for a moment:

December

June

December

June

December

June

December

June

December

June

What a difference a few months makes in this country!

I am always amazed how summer seems so far away during the depths of February when your cheeks are frozen, the FedEx man is stuck in your driveway and you find yourself wearing two parkas at once, only to wake up one morning to find grass up to your knees and every color of wildflower reaching for the sky.

But this summer is shaping up to be as challenging and unpredictable as its cousin winter–with unprecedented precipitation and unexpected rising rivers. So today I celebrate, and then send my thoughts and prayers to those battling flood waters, farmers who can’t get in their fields and families displaced.

Because Mother Nature, true to her form this first day of summer continues to be unpredictable, miraculous, stunning, gentle, quiet, subtle, colorful, splendid, nurturing and unforgiving all at once.

Here’s hoping that whether the rain soaks your skin, the sun hits your shoulders or the gentle breeze tousles your hair you can find a way to take a moment and give thanks for a season so short and so spectacular today.

The only cow dog on the ranch

Posted on June 13, 2011 by Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

This is Pudge.

She’s an Australian Shepherd.

She’s approximately 107 years old, give or take.

She has one blue eye and one brown eye and it freaks me out a little. So do the large twigs that occasionally get stuck in the wooly fur of her backside while she’s traipsing all over the countryside looking for something to chase. Because this is Pudge and age only slows her down when it comes to work.

When it comes to chasing things she’s not supposed to chase, she’s only 85.

Anyway, this is Pudge the Australian Shepherd and she’s sitting on the 4-wheeler waiting for Pops to come out of the house and do some fencing.

Pops is her human…her human who lets her ride with him on the 4-wheeler.

I can’t be certain, because the two haven’t specifically let me in on the agreement, but I think she gets these special privileges because Pudge the Australian Shepherd is the only legitimate cow dog on this place and Pops needs her sometimes to actually chase a cow out of the brush on command (instead of on a whim) or to herd a few strays toward the open gate.

That is my assumption anyway, given the fact that I’ve never seen Big Brown Dog or the One Eyed Pug enjoying the breeze that bounces through their floppy ears as they scoot and bump along the pastures on the cushioned seat behind Pops.

I really can't imagine why...

Nope, they are left at the mercy of their own legs when it comes to tagging along, while Pudge continues to ignore them and pretend that they never came to eat her food, tear up her beds, sniff her butt and all out ruin the good thing she had going when it was just her and Pops.

Anyway, I just wanted to introduce her to you because the girl is an underrated fixture on this place. She’s a pet, yes, but also an actual necessity. She is timid at home, lazy even. But when it comes to doing her job behind cattle, she is fierce and holds nothing back. Pure instinct.

Pops got Pudge on hand-me-down when I went off to college. Her previous owners moved to town and couldn’t keep her anymore and Pops needed a new cow dog. She happily fit in and found her cozy spot under the heat lamp in the garage in the winter, in the pickup box in the summer and through the window screen and under the covers of little sister’s bed during a spring thunderstorm.

The dog’s deathly afraid of thunderstorms, so when mom heard the crash and nearly had a heart attack thinking some insane burglar had finally managed to locate her house and had broken in to steal all of her crystal, potted plants and her diamond earrings only to open little sister’s bedroom door to find Pudge nudging her way under the covers, we cut the dog some slack.

And poured mom a tall glass of wine.

Because that thunderstorm thing, I think that might be the dog’s only flaw.

And don’t tell the pug, but I think Pudge might be my favorite.

Oh, he'll get over it...

See, the dog didn’t have a say in where she ended up in life. She’s a dog and dogs generally don’t go house shopping. But Pudge has this reputation of showing up where she needs to be at the right moment and shining her fluffy little light. I think she did it for Pops when she jumped in his pickup to head to the ranch.

And it turns out she did it for me when I came home one winter from college in Grand Forks, lonesome, overwhelmed and a little depressed. My family’s solution? To bring Pudge with me back to college. She’ll love the attention and I’ll love the company.

So I did. I brought her back to my duplex in the middle winter in the windswept, freezing cold college town, introduced her to her food dish, the clipper for her out of control coat (another reason we can relate), and a leash as I bundled up for long walks with my new therapist.

Once the dog got used to the idea that she couldn’t just wander off looking for squirrels like in her previous life at the ranch, she settled into her new role with ease. She slept on the cool wood floor at the foot of my bed, sat at my feet as I plugged away at research papers or strummed my guitar, left fluff-balls of fur all over the carpet, laid in the winter sunshine on the front stoop quietly watching the cars pass by, and in general eased my nerves and made me feel closer to sane as I got my big girl legs back under me.

I eventually brought her back to the ranch, back to her pickup box and back to where a dog like her belongs. But every time I returned to the ranch for holidays or summer visits after that I made sure to linger a bit longer outside to give her an extra scratch.

Maybe she knows why.