The Idaho Rancher's Wife

The Ranch From the Wife's Perspective

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This branding day looked a little different than the rest. Having already branded this same group two before, it was a slow and steady cleanup day. We didn’t complain!

I think we spent more time chatting as we waited for lunch than actually branding. In the end, we put our mark on about sixteen calves, leaving just one that no one could quite claim. Even so, it felt good to get them finished up and ready to turn out in the next couple of weeks.

Not every branding day is fast-paced or full, but they all play their part, and, if you can believe it, there’s one more big still weekend.

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Peterson Place: Our Desert, Our Branding Day

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Peterson Place branding day always feels a little different. It’s our desert ground, but this year it felt more like our place than ever before.

We went into the day expecting cold temperatures and high winds, but it turned out just about perfect. Good weather, good help, and a crew that made the work go as it should. It was a mix of old hands and new ones, with plenty of kids jumping in wherever they could—learning as they went and not afraid to get right in the middle of it.

Some of the best parts of the day were getting to rope alongside my kids, especially my ten-year-old who has really started to throw himself into the work. And somewhere along the way, after being part of this crew for more than a dozen years, it felt like I truly found my place in it.

Between the work, the laughs, and even the boys gathered around the fire cooking up their castrated snacks, it was one of those days that reminds you why these brandings matter.

Branding, Chaos, and Cattle: Season Kickoff on the Ranch

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There are days we look forward to almost as much as Christmas—or maybe even more. For some, it’s the beautiful morning drive. For others, it’s roping in the branding trap, the dirt pile full of toys, the good food, and even better company.

I lost count trying to tally everyone who showed up—our Saturday brandings can draw 60+ people, some attending for most of their lives, some for the first time. Everyone is welcome, but you’d better be ready for work, teasing, and a whole lot of dust.

Things have changed over the years, but the heart of what we do has always stayed the same.

Click the photos below for a close up view of shots of the day.

Between Here and There

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Turns out you can love where you are and still miss somewhere else.

There are days I wish life would slow down just a little.

Not forever. Not in a big, dramatic way. Heaven forbid that the long fencing days last longer than they already do (although, I don’t mind fencing that much). I just need things to slow down enough to catch my breath and feel like I’m not missing something somewhere else.

Because lately, life hasn’t slowed down at all.

It’s been full in all the best ways—coaching, kids’ activities, opportunities to serve, even a little travel with my husband. The kind of full that I love and am truly grateful for.

But while I am away somewhere else, I still feel the pull of the ranch.

I’ve learned a hard, unrelenting truth—life on a ranch doesn’t wait. I know, it’s a mind-blowing concept. Who knew my world didn’t actually revolve around me?  Actually it’s not a new concept at all.  These feelings were similar when instead of chasing my kids between games, clubs and meetings, I was chasing them between naps and snacks. 

But somehow I have to learn again that cows don’t pause because there’s a basketball game. The weather doesn’t hold off because I’m out of town. Work keeps moving, whether I’m there for it or not.

And I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t get to me sometimes.

Some days I want to shout that it’s unfair and cruel that I have to choose between being here or there when I want to be both. Other days, it’s quieter than that. There’s a kind of anxiety in knowing things are happening at home without me—not because I don’t trust the people there or think the work won’t get done, but because the opposite is true. The work goes on without me. It doesn’t miss me. It doesn’t need me. And somehow, that’s the part that stings a little.

Because I want to be part of it. I want to show up. I want to carry part of the weight.

But if I spend every day waiting for the ranch to need me, I miss the chance to say yes to other parts of my life—the parts where I get to coach, support my kids, and learn, serve, and chase passions outside of a set of corrals.

So I’ve been learning something I didn’t expect.

There isn’t a version of life where I get to be everywhere I want to be, all at once. Some days I choose the ranch, and some days I choose to be somewhere else. And neither choice makes me less committed to the other—or at least, I hope it doesn’t.

It just means I’m living a life that doesn’t fit neatly into one place. I know the ranch will still be there when I get back, with work that still needs done. The cattle will still need to be gathered and water checked. The seasons will keep turning.

Life doesn’t wait. But maybe it was never meant to. Maybe it was meant to be lived in the middle of all of it—the going, the missing, the showing up, and the coming back again.

Riding for the brand,

– Allison

Reservations and Runaway Cows

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Ranch romance doesn’t always look like candlelight.

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

We had Valentine’s plans…

But the cows broke through!

Boots polished, hair in place,

Dressed up for our night,

Reservations waiting

Under the city lights.

But then we saw them—

Or maybe we didn’t,

A herd of wild backsides

Slipping out of sight.

Nothing says romance

Like a runaway cow chase,

Down the winding highway,

Our hearts racing to match the pace.

Flying out of the pickup

Before it came to a stop,

I’m fairly certain

The Rancher thought I was hot.

Finally to dinner,

Out on the town,

With a hint of manure

Dusting my cowgirl gown.

Maybe this is romance,

Rough, wild, and true—

A night just for us,

Until the cows break through.

It was cloudy and starting to get dark—no surprise we were running a little later than we’d hoped for our Valentine’s night. It didn’t take long to see the cows had broken through the fence… again. And for no real reason except that they wanted more than what they already had, as cows often do.

With a curse and a grumble under his breath, The Rancher sped down the road to get around them. It didn’t take much to shift gears and get them moving the opposite direction, but with cows spilling off the road into the borrow pit, I realized I needed to hop out and chase on foot. Of course my fancy town booties were NOT the footwear of choice, but there was little to do except go regardless of tweaked ankles or scuffs.

It wasn’t long before others realized the problem and joined in, everyone feeling the frustration of a herd that never quite stays settled. Of course they wouldn’t all simply go back in the field. A large handful busted through more fences, complicating an already irksome evening. Running through tall brush and scooting through barbed wire, I prayed the nice clothes I rarely get to dress up in wouldn’t fall victim to the circumstances.

Some on foot, some on four-wheelers and motorbikes, we finally funneled the cattle through brush to find the gates and get them back where they belonged. But the truth was, if we left them there, they were just going to get out again. Not because of the hole they had just made—we had panels and wire ready to patch it—but because once they learned they could break through, they knew they could do it again.

So we adjusted the plan.

Instead of simply fixing the fence, we decided to relocate them to the corral—a sturdy metal pen far less likely to give to their unrelenting pressure. The Rancher and I headed to set gates and turn the herd while the others bright then from the pasture, not just fixing the problem for the night but hopefully creating a more long-term solution.

Once the cows were finally penned, we took a breath and admitted it could have been much worse. They got out, yes—but we caught it within minutes. We had plans, but dinner could be pushed back. It could have been a disaster.

The frustration was real.

The chaos was real.

And yet somehow, the night didn’t fall apart.

What makes these moments memorable isn’t just the humor or the absurdity—it’s how we show up for each other when it’s not easy. When things go sideways. When plans are interrupted. When the evening could easily end in frustration.

We made the best of what we had. The night was already simple—no flowers, no chocolates, no candles. Just a tired rancher trying to say “I love you,” and a ranch wife grateful for any moment together, even if the promise of no gates to open fell a little short.

Boots scuffed. Jeans dusted with sage. Hearts racing from the chase instead of the date—we handled the mess, laughed at the chaos, and eventually made it to dinner.

That’s partnership.

That’s love.

It shows up in the smell of sagebrush, in the quiet evening air, in the exhaustion, and in the decision to keep going together. We work side by side when it’s fun—but more importantly, when it’s hard.

Romance isn’t always candlelight or perfectly executed plans. Sometimes it’s teamwork in town clothes. Sometimes it’s laughter after chaos. Sometimes it’s knowing that when plans go sideways and problems appear out of nowhere, you both show up anyway.

And that kind of love?

It lasts any time of year.

More Than One Right Way

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Lessons in humility, experience, and learning to mind our own operations.

I never thought I would say this, but I believe I’ve found a downside to teaching our five-year-old the ins and outs of ranching. With all his newfound knowledge, my little rancher is suddenly convinced he knows everything there is to know — and he’s more than happy to tell you all about it.

It’s adorable when he narrates his toy setup in his bedroom. It’s even endearing watching him work alongside his dad, small as he is, doing his best to keep up. But the cuteness wears thin when he’s ready to explain to everyone else how it should be done.

Living out in ranch country means we spend plenty of miles on the road, often passing someone else’s operation. And almost without fail, a commentary begins from the back seat.

“That pivot shouldn’t be off.”

“Why are those cows still there?”

I have to suppress a smile at the certainty behind such strong opinions coming from such a small person. But at the same time, it’s hard not to notice how familiar it sounds. Apparently, confidence comes early — experience follows later.

And unfortunately, this isn’t unique to my five-year-old.

It seems far too easy to jump to conclusions about how someone else runs their operation — when they irrigate, how they feed, when they move cattle, or why something looks different than we expect. Somewhere along the way, observation turns into judgment, even when we don’t have the full picture.

They say there’s more than one way to skin a cat. I’m here to say there’s more than one way to ranch.

Take haying, for example. Round bales versus square bales — one must be better than the other, right? Except both serve a purpose. Round bales can be put up sooner with a little more moisture, and net wrap protects them well in the stack. Square bales, on the other hand, shine when it comes to hauling and efficiency. One isn’t right and the other wrong. It depends on the operation.

Branding season brings its own debates. Calf tables versus roping and dragging. For us, range brandings and skilled cowboys make roping the clear choice. But for operations with fewer hands or closer corrals, a calf table might be exactly what makes sense. Different circumstances call for different tools.

Even moving cows can stir strong opinions — horses versus four-wheelers. There are cows to move either way, and as long as they get moved, the job is getting done. Though if I’m honest, if there’s a chance to saddle a horse instead of turning a key, I’ll take it every time.

Calving systems, feeding programs, grazing rotations — every ranch is a balance of land, livestock, labor, and goals. What works beautifully for one may be completely impractical for another.

The trouble comes when we forget that.

When it’s time to make decisions for an operation, there are a few things that matter more than outside opinion. First, knowing your goals — what you’re actually trying to accomplish. Second, knowing what your operation has to offer — the land, the resources, the skills, and the help available. Systems that align with both will always make the most sense.

From there, you can try new things. Not because your neighbor is doing them. Not because they’re trendy. But because they might help you do your job better.

And sometimes, they won’t.

That’s part of it too.

The older I get, the more I realize that experience has a way of softening certainty. Confidence earned through repetition looks different than confidence born from assumption. One listens more. One asks better questions.

My five-year-old will figure that out in time.

Until then, I’ll keep listening to his opinions from the back seat, smiling to myself, and reminding us both that ranching — like most things worth doing — isn’t about finding the one right way.

It’s about finding your way, being open to learning, and leaving room for the possibility that someone else might be doing it differently — and doing it just fine.

The Price of Learning on a Ranch

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How a broken swather, a six-year-old on the tractor, plus a few other hard lessons taught me exactly how knowledge is earned- usually the hard way.

The little Montana town I grew up in was dotted with small family operations. Nearly every outfit welcomed extra help during the summer months while school was out, and I was lucky enough to have neighbors just down the road who took me on. I helped with everything from moving early-morning wheel lines and hand lines to pushing cows, spraying weeds, and putting up hay.

I was young and inexperienced, but willing to work hard and learn. There were plenty of growing pains — jobs I didn’t understand yet, equipment I hadn’t mastered — but at the end of the day, going home tired, dirty, and satisfied made the hard moments worth it.

With acres of hay to put up, I spent my fair share of time in the swather. My favorite was an old red International that looked rough but wouldn’t quit for anything. It did have one flaw: it wouldn’t stay cool. I remember my boss drilling it into me — keep an eye on the temperature gauge, know when to shut it down, and don’t push it past its limits.

Summer after summer, I ran that swather without incident. I stopped strategically to let it cool while moving irrigation lines, taking a quick break, or heading in for lunch. By my final summer, I was confident I had it figured out. Confident enough that I’d quietly crowned myself the queen of the hay crew.

Leaving for college was exciting, but daunting. I clung to every last moment I could spend in the fields. On my final night of work, I put off heading home, lingering in the comfort of that familiar old swather — until it sputtered, stalled, and died completely. It wouldn’t move. It wouldn’t start. Stuck in the middle of the field, I called my boss for help.

It took him only a moment to diagnose the problem. I had overheated the engine, and it had seized up. As the reality set in, I felt awful — for the cost of parts, labor, lost time, and delayed haying. Weeks later, I learned the parts were so expensive and hard to find that the swather was never fixed. The following year, they replaced it entirely.

Maybe, in the end, I did them a favor by forcing an upgrade. But I never forgot the lesson: pay attention to what you’re responsible for, and don’t let overconfidence lead the way. I would have given anything to do it again the right way. Since that wasn’t possible, all that was left was to learn — and never repeat it.

That lesson has followed me into motherhood.

Over the past few weeks, our six-year-old has been desperate for his turn to help bunch bales. He’s watched his older siblings take their place on the open-cab tractor, convinced that he, too, was big enough. Despite being told he was still too young, he didn’t give up. Eventually, his dad decided the best way for him to understand what it took was to let him try.

They headed out together. Dad explained the knobs and levers, walked him through the simple but important instructions, and then stepped back. Slowly, they moved bales into place for the trailer. The work wasn’t perfect — some bales dragged, some were crooked, and the throttle took a while to finesse. But at the end of the day, there was a tired, dusty, proud little boy climbing off the tractor. All it took was the chance to learn.

Learning looks different at every age.

Our oldest has made huge strides in his cowboying. This year, we saw his best roping yet — smooth runs, confident throws, calf after calf caught clean. Midway through branding season, during a big desert branding, it felt like he couldn’t miss. His pride was earned.

A few weeks later, cleaning up the last calves at the ranch, it was a different story. Easy shots were missed. Slack got tangled. At one point, he roped a cow while aiming for the calf beside her. The hit to his teenage ego was sharp — and necessary. It forced him to slow down, reassess, and figure out what had gone wrong. Paying with pride is painful, but sometimes it’s the most effective teacher.

He learned the same way his grandpa did.

My dad still tells stories from his early farming days, when he was certain he had everything figured out. One season, he dug irrigation furrows exactly as he thought they should be — until he turned the water on and realized water doesn’t flow uphill. Only the ends of the rows needed fixing, but they had to be redone by hand. His dad handed him a shovel and walked away. He never made that mistake again.

The fear of making mistakes can keep us from trying at all. It would be far easier for the cowboys on our operation to do everything themselves — less time, fewer breakdowns, no bent nails or bruised egos. But teaching the next generation how to work, how to pay attention, and how to recover when things go wrong is worth the cost.

On a ranch, learning is rarely free. We pay with time, energy, pride, or pocketbook. But the lessons last longer than the mistakes.

And we can only hope they’re less expensive than a new swather.

Doing Scary Things- Ranch Wife Style

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The comfort zone- a place of ease, perceived control, and little stress.  Let’s be honest, we all want to operate inside our comfort zone where we can keep anxiety at bay, feel confident, and know what we are doing.  We fear failure so we ensure success by only doing those things we have already done.  But experience teaches that the most growth and learning happens when we step outside that comfort zone.  Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Do something everyday that scares you. These small things that make us uncomfortable help us build courage to do the work we do.”  

Life on the ranch tends to give us all plenty of moments outside our comfort zone that we can either embrace and learn through or shy away from and stay stagnant.  I’ll admit that embracing those moments feels especially hard when my failures are out on display for so many others to see.  It’s ok for my growing children to learn from failure, but as a grown adult, I too often feel like I should just know, well… everything.

Just last week I took the opportunity to do something new and outside my comfort zone.  For some, this might seem like a simple daily chore but for me, it was a whole new experience- feeding cows solo.  Now I go out and help feed often, sometimes daily.  I know the routine, what to feed, how much, but I’ve always been the crew that opens the gates, cuts the net wrap off and such.  

What I haven’t ever done is be the guy in the tractor behind the wheel.  If we had to choose between my very capable husband and myself in the seat, we choose him because we want to get the job done and move on.  And, really, why should I do it when he is there?

Eventually the day rolled around when all of the usual feeding crew were gone.  The roping that was supposed to get done with plenty of time for the ranchers to get home and feed, went long, lending to one of two possibilities.  Either they would have to feed late after getting home or I could jump in and try to do it myself.  I pulled on my big girl coveralls and jumped in the tractor seat, sure that I could feed three bales of hay without disaster striking.

There were a few things I knew I had on my side as I set out- first I had the basics of tractor mechanics down so that I could drive faster than at a snail pace and move the loader in all the necessary directions.  Second, if I had questions, FaceTime put me just one phone call away from help.  And third, cows don’t care how pretty the feeding is, they just want the hay out.

Getting to the stackyard I found the right hay, and through a little trial and error, managed to get a bale on the forks and grab one with the three point bale squeeze on the back.  It wasn’t as smooth and easy as when the guys do it, but I was doing it.  I headed up the hill to the hungry heifers, planning in my mind how I was going to go about feeding.  I would set the first bale down, cut the wrap off, tip it over, send it rolling down the hill and that would keep the cows out of the way while I put the other two in bale feeders around the pasture.  Easy enough.

Everything started off according to plan until it was time to send that bale rolling down the hill.  What seemed like a simple little push with the forks was hardly so and because it was taking longer than usual, the cows were now starting to get in the way.  To complicate things even more, it was suddenly dark outside.

I was definitely outside my comfort zone, but also so in the thick of what I was doing that there was no quitting.

Scooping up the bale I had intended to roll down the hill, I put it in the first feeder and opted to try again with the second bale, learning from my earlier mistakes.  It took a little trial and error but bale number two was finally rolled out and the cows were content to leave me alone while I fed the last bale.

Heading to the feeder, I saw that it was on a hill and while I might be in a tractor, I had better be smart about how I went about getting there.  Between the snow and mud, the hill was slick and in that moment, a distinct memory of a teenage girl failing to turn a tractor up a muddy hill came rushing back to me.

Putting the tractor in the low, snail pace gear, I carefully headed down the hill, making sure I had a clear plan out of there after dropping my load.  All seemed well as I made my way to the feeder until I stopped the tractor to pull off the net wrap and noticed the tractor continued to slide.  I quickly turned the wheels and that was enough to keep it still.  I knew I could dump the bale but I wasn’t sure how I would get out of my predicament once I straightened out again.

Four wheel drive.  That was the solution.  I really should have thought of that before heading down the slippery hill but at least I was thinking of it now.  The only problem was that of the millions of buttons, levers and switches, I had no idea which to toggle.  And I was sure that the wrong one would probably make the whole tractor implode.

Mustering the courage to make that phone call that admitted a bit of failure, I called my husband and asked for help.  Without laughing at my mistakes or making me feel even more dumb than I already felt, my rancher easily helped me get out of my sticky situation.  I dropped the last bale, skirted around the feeder, and headed for home quite proud of what I had finally accomplished that night.

For some, this was a simple chore, something they could probably do with their eyes closed, although I don’t recommend it.   They made it seem easy but as I went through the very steps they did, it seemed so complicated and almost dauntin.  I hope you chuckle about this little ranch wife willing to help even when the job is outside her comfort zone.  But more importantly I hope you learn a few lessons from her.

Learn that you can accomplish far more than you think you can.  You just have to try.  New things are hard and scary- they are supposed to be!  But, trying, jumping in with both feet is the only way to grow.  Learn that people are here to help you.  Asking for help isn’t admitting failure, even though it feels like it.  Learn that the only real confidence in life comes from conquering those moments of fear, big or small.  I might not be on the “A team” when it comes to the feeding crew, but if the job needs doing, I know I can do it.  Next time, I just might have to start a little earlier and find the four wheel drive a little sooner.

When You Give a Ranchkid a Pocket Knife

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Nothing is safe at our house right now.  We have three little boys, ok one is a teenager and not quite so little, that have begged to have their own pocket knives like dad.  Between babysitting, Christmas and birthdays, somehow they all have their own shiny multi-tool and belt toting pouch to keep them in and I’m just not so sure how we got to this point.  The teenager, yes, I’m on board with outfitting him with some tools that will help him be more useful.  But the recently turned five year old… we must be crazy.  Before anyone falls into the state we are in, let me share a few little nuggets that we have learned when you give a ranchkid a pocket knife.

Learn From Me…

First, like I said earlier, nothing is safe.  It seems that everything is begging them to try that little blade out.  From just random pieces of paper to the box of your most recent packages to the first stick they see, they just have to start slicing it all up.  And somehow they don’t see the trail of destruction they leave behind as annihilated boxes, paper shreds and whittling shavings mark their owner’s territory.  I don’t know if it is some sort of premonition or warning but my greatest fear is finding one of my knife-toting little boys carving his name into the wooden baseboards or window trim that is just his height and so inviting.

Next, if they insist on wearing their new multi-tool in the very cool new pouch on their belt, make sure that belt is cinched up as tight as possible, for two reasons.  Between the belt and the tool, those pants are going to weigh ten times as much as usual and are highly likely to sag straight off their ranchkid rears.  And secondly, if that belt buckle isn’t on good and tight, it isn’t the pants that will bounce off, it will be that new little tool filled pouch.

Cheapest is best in this scenario…

Which leads me to my next lesson- if you are going to buy a forgetful, carefree, inattentive, neglectful five year old a pocket knife, make it a cheap one.  It won’t be long before he sets it down somewhere or it slips out of a pocket or falls off of his belt.  The loss will be much less painful for you if you haven’t put in a large investment.  He will still be devastated, but at least you are somewhat prepared.

The minute you find your ranchkid digging up rocks or cutting in the dirt (or cutting the dirt…), you will be grateful you didn’t spend even an extra nickel on their shiny new knife.  If they manage to not lose it right away, that fun new tool will take a beating, literally, because even though there isn’t a hammer tucked up inside there next to the can opener, it will be used like one.  Trust this all too experienced mama…

Now, I still can’t decide if it was better to buy the multi-tool or if we should have just stuck with a simple, plain-Jane pocket knife.  With the knife, I’m sure more things would have fallen victim to its blade, something we don’t need to tempt these already spellbound, curious little boys to.  But it seems that giving them a knife and pliers and screwdrivers and the like just leaves a bigger swath of destruction.  Sister’s dollhouse has screws, let’s take ‘em out with my new screwdriver!  Crackers for snack time, let’s see how many I can crunch with the pliers!  How many of these soup cans can we poke holes in with the can opener?! See what I mean?

After a day or two, your friends and neighbors might question if your kids have been wrestling the barn cats because I can almost guarantee that all that fun with their new knife will lead to scratches up and down their arms.  No matter how many times you teach kids the boy scout knife safety rules, they will still manage to cut themselves.  Here’s my advice- buy a large package of bandaids when you succumb to your insanity and buy a ranchkid a pocket knife.

Finally, expect your work to take a little bit longer now that you have equipped your little helpers with their own tools.  There is no twine you can cut, screws to pull out or fences to be fixed without them jumping in to help you work.  And really, that isn’t a bad thing after all.  Oscar Wilde said, “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” and it is in that moment of imitation that every ranch dad swells with pride as he sees his kids want to be like him.

We just might be mad for handing over wrecking gear to a kid that is sure to destroy them and everything is their path.  But for the chance to help them work and be just like dad, it is worth the little bit of crazy that we will have to endure.  There will be a day when a tool in their hand will be second nature and they will be able to build or fix anything.  And it will all have started with that long lost little pouch and multi-tool you were sure they were too small to have.

Just Bad Luck Days on the Ranch

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“If I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all!”  There might not be a truer phrase for a rancher to admit to than that.  Some days it feels like all the stars have to align for the work to get done without any hitches, hiccups, or holdups.  Whether it is Mother Nature the parts man or ornery old boss cow, someone, somewhere is cooking up a disaster to derail even the best laid plans.  You can always count on the fact that in the middle of the cattle work, farm work, machinery fixing, fence fixing or anything else on the never end to-do list, something, without fail, will go wrong.  And while I don’t have any research data to back me up, I’m pretty sure that the probability and the size of such a disaster goes up exponentially when its a high stakes situation, and goes up even more so when there is zero time for a breakdown and a do-over.

Okay, yes that may be an overdramatization, but you have to admit that there are days when things, not only don’t go right, but seem to go especially bad.  It’s those sort of days you might have to concede the victory to fate, turn in early so nothing else can go wrong and laugh at the day to keep from crying.  Looking back, we have had our fair share of bad luck days, some we can laugh at now… some that we still need a little more time.  

This last winter felt like one stroke of bad luck after another.  I mean, to begin with, it had to be bad luck that after years of drought and praying for moisture, it all comes pouring down in one, unending winter.  Of course, we never look a gift horse in the mouth, but if I could have been in charge of the timing of said moisture, it certainly wouldn’t have come in a near record breaking winter fashion.  

In a season where we really needed all the things to go right, I swear everything would go wrong, especially on the days when we were far from home and help.  We put one fire out after another (not literally fires, but that surely would have warmed things up while we were freezing our fingers off).  If it wasn’t the tractor door shattering (on a rented tractor, no less) to keep the work from being done, it was the blown hydraulic hose on the back.  If it wasn’t the flat tire on the backhoe that kept us from feeding, it was the massive sinkhole that swallowed the newly fixed tractor.  Not only did the gator break down but the snowmobile wouldn’t start either.  You’ve heard of the hand Midas that turns everything that it touched to gold?  We had the exact opposite.  We touched it and it died, quit, or broke.

Sometimes it isn’t the hand that is cursed, it’s just the machine that refuses to stay in running condition. Our problem child of a pivot is simply dubbed “the old pivot” although it might be more accurate to call it the-leaky-run-down-dilapidated-old-pivot.  As soon as one hole is plugged or fixed, a new pinhole starts gushing.  Aside from its leaky bits, there are computer problems and electrical problems.  You might say that running an old pivot just signs you up for breakdowns, but I think this pivot runs at a higher level of breakdowns.  If we have any luck this year, it’s getting that old thing replaced… hope I didn’t just jinx it!

We might just make our own bad luck for the number of times we say things like “we are all caught up with the shop work” or “all the cows are settled.”  It’s like those darn cows know when we breathe a sigh of relief and work to stir things up.  If I had a dollar for everytime we think the cows are settled and then get a phone call that says the cows are out, we could pay someone else to keep them in.  They are masters at finding the down wires, gates left open or just barging their way through.  And with the sort of luck we run, we get those cows back in but can’t find the hole they are crawling through, so they just keep getting out.

Mother Nature especially likes to throw a wrench in our carefully planned out days.  Despite knowing the old adage that you bale hay while the sun shines, it always seems we get into the wrong project for the weather.  We meticulously check the forecast, make plans to best fit the conditions of the day, only to find the weatherman was wrong once again.  It’s spraying weeds or cutting hay because it’s sunny for days on end to only have thunderstorms suddenly come in, day after day.  Or planting fields just before the predicted storms never roll through.  We move cows or plan to brand, sure it’s supposed to be a nice, sunny day, only to be caught in Idaho’s blustery wind, something we should learn to count on anyway.

 Oh the luck of a rancher.  It seems the ball never bounces our way.  But truth be told, we are far luckier than we deserve with the great industry we have to be a part of.  We have the great fortune of working the land, having the satisfaction of working as a family, and doing a work we love.  There may be moments, some days more than others, that it feels like we have nothing but bad luck.  But I will take these bad luck days on the ranch over any other day.  Who needs luck when we live a life so blessed.

About Me

Hello! I'm Allison, The Rancher's Wife! There's nothing I love more than being out on the ranch with my husband and kids. Join me for a look at what goes on here at the ranch and the life being a rancher's wife!

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