The Idaho Rancher's Wife

The Ranch From the Wife's Perspective

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

by Leave a Comment

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.

Why Ranch Laundry Is Never Just Laundry

by Leave a Comment

Twisted socks and jeans full of sand and hay dust smelling like manure, sweat and faint hint of something I can’t name. That’s what laundry looks like for a growing ranch family.

There are a number of reasons I’m grateful to be born in this century, but near the top of the list is this: I don’t have to do laundry in a creek with a washboard and a bar of soap.

Because if that were the case, I’m fairly certain I’d own about two dresses and call it good.

Every laundry day, I thank the man who invented my fancy electric washing machine with all its bells and whistles that make our far-from-simple mound of laundry doable. I have no proof of this, but I’m convinced ranch life laundry is a step above your ordinary washing.

Ranch moms know the only way to keep a wardrobe with a few unstained shirts is to have “work-play clothes” and “nice clothes.” I sometimes wonder if that strategy actually adds to the work. On a typical day, a busy little boy manages to get marker, lunch, and glue all over his nice clothes, only to come home and change into work-play clothes that collect grease, manure, and mud. And then, being so responsible, both outfits find their way into the dirty clothes pile.

But somehow, we still manage to save a few shirts for town days.

It’s a little ironic that I’m the one requesting so many wardrobe changes. We dreaded the toddler days when outfits were changed hourly, but now I welcome it if it means preserving the few school shirts we have left. If we catch things soon enough, we might even get a second day out of one.

There might not be any hard and fast rules for ranch laundry, but there are definitely a few necessities. It must have been a ranch wife who convinced the laundry detergent gods to create things like Febreze and OxiClean, because we need far more than just soap to deal with the stains and smells that come with ranch work. Add in that little spray bottle of pre-wash magic, and a few items might actually survive.

There isn’t much difference in the level of dirtiness between big ranchers and little ranchers. The real difference shows up in the presentation. If there is any possible way for a shirt, pair of pants, or sock to be twisted inside out, it will be. Shirts and hoodies are manageable enough, but socks are a different story entirely.

They’re usually sweaty, stinky, and crusty, with a high likelihood of an ambush of sand, hay, and tiny rocks spilling out as you try to turn them right side out.

The seasons don’t bring less laundry, no matter how much I hope they might. Winter means layers—t-shirts and hoodies stacked on top of each other. You’d think at least one of those layers would stay clean, but somehow they all end up just as dirty. Summer brings long-sleeve, collared shirts to keep the sun off, which take a little more effort to keep presentable. I’ve never understood why every shirt can’t be wrinkle-free. There isn’t a rancher alive with time to iron that many shirts, and if the cows don’t mind the wrinkles, neither do I.

It’s really only the town shirts that get pressed.

Just as much as I wish for a season with less laundry, I always hope for a season with less mess. But it never quite works out that way. Winter trades mud for grease from shop work. Calving season brings its own kind of mess that doesn’t need much describing. And even out on the range, the dust has a way of working itself into everything.

Mom’s ranch clothes are a bit of a wild card. If I’m out on the ranch all day, I’ll put on my work jeans like anyone else. But if I’m going back and forth between the house and outside, I usually stick to my comfy leggings—despite my husband’s reminders that they aren’t proper work apparel. I like to point out that coveralls were made for exactly this purpose, but even I have my limits. So on the hotter days, I go rogue and risk the leggings.

It may not be practical, but it’s comfortable—and it still ends up as another load of laundry.

Checking pockets is a given for any mom, but on a ranch it feels especially important if I want to save my washer, my laundry, and my sanity. From nuts, bolts, and fencing clips to tagging markers and paint sticks, there are plenty of things that should never make it into a washing machine.

And then there are the treasures—little collections gathered throughout the day and tucked away for safekeeping. If I miss those, there’s a good chance they’ll disappear into the washing machine’s black hole, never to be seen again. I try to avoid that kind of heartbreak when I can.

Despite the dirty laundry roulette we play every wash day, I wouldn’t trade this ranch life for easier laundry. Every stain, every worn-out shirt, every load that takes a little extra work comes from days spent working, learning, and living out here together.

Turns out a pile of dirty laundry isn’t just a chore. It’s proof of a life being lived.

But I’ll still take the fancy electric washer over the washboard.

Where Gratitude Grows: A Heartfelt Thanksgiving on the Ranch

by

In 1789, President George Washington declared a “Day of Publick Thanksgiving”, continuing the tradition started in 1621 when the early settlers and the Wampanoag tribe held a three day feast to celebrate the year’s fruitful harvest.  During the Civil War in 1863, President Abraham Lincoln proclaimed the fourth Thursday as a national holiday simply named Thanksgiving.  He hoped the holiday would help bridge the chasm between the north and the south.

The Thanksgiving season is steeped in history and tradition- taking time to account for the blessings brought in through a year of hard work and intentionally giving thanks to overcome the challenges this life brings.

The few weeks of the season are almost forgotten as so many skip on to the joy of Christmas.  And while the magic of a winter wonderland and the celebration of Christ’s birth is so deserving of our focus, pausing to count blessings and have an attitude of gratitude is always worth it.

In agriculture, an industry that makes it from one year to next by the grace of a higher power, we feel that gratitude deeply.  We see hardships of drought, loss of livestock, dropping market prices, and rising expenses.  But somehow we tend to have just enough rain to make it through another season, enough cattle to fill our contracts, and enough funds to keep our operations running for another year.

So I’m going to take this opportunity to point out the things I’m thankful for, especially those things in this industry that bring peace to my soul.

I am thankful for the buddy seat in our big green tractor. It allows me to come and sit with my husband when I need to chat.  It gives me a chance to see him on days I might not otherwise.  It gives my little boys a place to sit and ride when they want to be like dad.  And it gives my big boy a place to learn to work with his dad by teaching by his side.

I am thankful for slow old horses that might seem broken down and even a little worthless until I throw my babies on their backs.  Carrying my most precious cargo, their plodding pace seems just right.  Their steady gait teaches my young learners to keep going, keep trying, and keep holding on.

I am thankful for weekly water checks that might seem to eat up a day, but provide the perfect excuse for me to go for a quick lunch date with my man.  Some trips we conquer the world’s problems and other days we sit in a peaceful silence as we look out over the beautiful vastness of this country.  Every once in a while there is actually a water issue to take care, and on those days we are thankful for all the weeks that nothing went wrong.

I am thankful for a western heritage, a way of living that we are able to continue to this day.  There may be innovations and advancements in farming and ranching that have progressed the industry that I wholly embrace, but branding on the range like the old timers did feels like a nod to the foundation they gave.

I am thankful to have our work right outside the back door.  Somedays it feels like it never quits, but every day I am thankful to look out the window and see our cattle, watch my husband drive around the corner and send the kids off to work.  Jumping in to help work is just a quick walk away where everyone is welcome and no one is turned away.

I am thankful to be in an industry that feeds the world and feeds the world something they desperately need.  We can debate all day about the health and nutrition facts but no one will convince me that beef at your table isn’t just good for your body, it’s good for the soul.  I know that because the same beef I raise for the grocery store sits on my table to feed my own family. 

I am thankful for a sometimes dirty, smelly, disorganized shop that not only keeps our equipment up and running, but my own rig too.  It’s a place for my kids to take apart their dirt bikes.  It’s a place for new ideas and projects.  It’s a place to huff up a basketball or a flat tire.  It may call for too many late nights working, but it also expands the possibilities for my family.

I’m thankful for bright lights- in the arena, on the tractor, outside the shop, and the flashlight I use to check cows in the night.  All too often I complain about having to use them, that the work is going too long and too late.  But these lights help finish the work and finish it right.

I’m thankful I get to see the miracle of life and also witness the grief of death.  Whether it is a favorite pet or just another cow in the herd, we feel the gift every life is and the loss of every passing.  Instead of becoming calloused to either, the beauty, strength, fragility, and hope of every life has become a counted blessing.

I’m thankful to watch the seasons come and pass every year.  The hope of a new spring is exciting and invigorating.  The eventual growth through the summer makes the hard, long days worth it.  Making an accounting of the year’s production with the fall harvest is satisfying.  And then resting through the winter as Mother Nature prepares for a new year is peaceful.   

I could go on and on finding things to be thankful for.  From the little cowboy hats and boots that line my mudroom to the chickens in the coop, there is something that brings joy and peace to my life.  

If you haven’t taken time to pause this season to be grateful for the blessings around you, take a little timeout and give thanks.  The hustle and bustle of life might have you believing there isn’t a lot to be thankful for.  And while Christmas is in a hurry to splash across your front door, don’t let it push a season of gratitude aside.

The Rancher’s Wife Bloopers

by

If there was a reel for this ranch wife’s time spent on the ranch, there would 100%, hands down, for sure be a bloopers cut at the end.    One that was dedicated to all of the blonde moments, huh-ohs and flops that add a little excitement to our ranch life.  Now don’t worry, the ranch is still standing, our marriage is still solid and nothing that had to be undone, couldn’t be done.  Truth be told, once I moved passed the shame of my failures, some of them were actually pretty humorand added a little humor that we can use a bit more of.   

Not a Chicken-Herder

I’ve said it before and will likely say it again and again, but I don’t like chickens.  Like, really don’t like chickens.  I don’t do chickens.  And even less so with the herd (flock?) of chickens that we have now.  These chickens apparently don’t have a personal bubble and aren’t afraid of anything because they like to get all up in my business.  Anymore I don’t gather eggs or check chickens without someone to protect me, like my kids.

 Super impressed with my mothering, right?

I feel like I have been plenty patient with these hens wanting to peck my hands and toes and try to fly up in my face but when they had me cornered in the coop I decided this was no longer a one mom job.  Someone walking past might have thought the scared screeches and squawks were coming from the chickens, not the other way around. These days I brave the chickens with my courageous four year old taking the lead, boldly shooing away the chickens as we walk across the coop to the nesting boxes.  Then I hoist him up to gather the eggs as fast as he can while I keep watch.  Every time I wonder if this is the day I will have to call retreat and leave the eggs in order get out of there in one piece. 

I know.  Its ridiculous.  They are just chickens and it only takes a few minutes to gather those eggs.  I should totally be up to the task but when it comes to the chickens I have a faint heart and fall short.

Backing up is Just Like Going Forward, Just in Reverse.

 The science of backing up a horse trailer is beyond brain surgery and rocket science.  Ok, not really, but when it comes to this rancher’s wife there is a lot of room for improvement.  The Rancher just laughs at my deficiency and reminds me over and over the backing up is just like going forward, but in reverse.

Genius.

I understand the principles of it but applying it can be a little challenging.  If I’m lined up with a straight shot and all tires are straight and I’m praying really hard I can usually pull it off.  Or if someone is there to tell me which way to go and shake their head when I turned the wheel the wrong way I can manage to get backed in where we need.  (Why someone would let me back up instead of kicking me out of the driver’s seat kinda blows my mind…)  But if I’m on my own it can be somewhat problematic.

Like the day we decided to move a group of heifers on our way home.  The Rancher hopped on his horse and asked us to drive the truck and trailer around to open the gate.  Sure.  Easy.  I am a professional gate opener.  So we get there, open the gate and wait. Unfortunately the heifers weren’t having anything to do with the truck and trailer there by the gate and wouldn’t go through.  That meant I had to roll up my sleeves and back ‘er up.  I was doing so good, backing up with the trailer heading where I wanted it and then I turned too much this way and that and before I knew and I was taking up the whole road.  Traffic isn’t all the busy down our road so I wasn’t too worried but one glance up and down the road proved me wrong and I couldn’t just wait for The Rancher to bail me out as he has done more times than I would like to admit.

Don’t worry.  Common sense prevailed and I just pulled ahead enough to be out of the way of traffic and the heifers and all ended well.  Something I probably should have done to start with.  But my rancher’s wife ego took a serious blow.  I mean what kind of ranch raised  cattlewomen has such a handicap?

From Hero to Zero

Its not very often that The Rancher calls me to save the day to help him out of a pickle and I relish the chance to be the hero.  More often than I would like, there are those days that my triumphant moment turns to a flop.

One of these days stands out in my mind so distinctly because I quickly turned from rescuer to rescuee in a hurry.  It was a cold January morning, The Rancher was out feeding cows and was pushing to get done quickly.  The ground was covered in snow and the intense wind had blown drifts in some places and bare ground in others.  The Rancher had thought he would be safe to drive through some snow but realized too late that he had just sunk the truck into a well disguised drift.  He gave a good effort to get out to find that he was too stuck to get out alone.

With no one else around to help, The Rancher called me to bring our truck down to see we could get him moving again.  I come charging in to save the day, beaming with pride that he would call me to help (pretending that it was do more to my skill than to his desperation).  I pulled up to him to get my set of directions- pull around in front so we can yank the truck out.  I put the truck in gear and start to go around where I was so sure The Rancher had told me to go.  Seconds later I realized that was NOT the way I should have gone and sunk my truck up to its axels in snow.

What a rescue…

I’m sure The Rancher was kind and patient and understanding at my less than helpful efforts.  Maybe not, but we can’t help but be sympathetic to his situation of having not one, but two trucks to pull out  when we were already running behind…

With true stick-to-it determination, The Rancher managed to first dig his own truck out, and then pull mine out.  He has been brave enough to call for help again, but jumps in the drivers seat before things go from bad to worse.

Helping in the Wrong Direction

While I love every opportunity to jump in and help, I realize that there is some amount of time that I am going to need to get caught up to whatever the guys are working on.  Sometimes it takes just a second and I’m ready to roll.  Then there are those days that I am rolling in the opposite direction. 

Literally.

On the hot summer evenings, I think that moving wheel lines is a great way to end the day.  We load the kids up, enjoy riding across the field and cooling off in the sprinklers.  Its refreshing, even fun!  Having my own pipe-moving-experience I have no problem jumping in to help.  I consider it one of the perks of marrying me, that The Rancher got a wife willing to do a little irrigation.

On occasion, he just might think otherwise.

After a few irrigating oopses, there are always two things The Rancher is sure to tell me before I head off to move any lines on my own.  First which direction the wheel line is moving and second, how many turns I need to go.  Even as I’m writing this I’m second guessing how many we should do.  To be fair to me, it can be hard to notice which direction you are moving across the field.  Sure you may go the same direction year after year and it isn’t that difficult to see what is wet versus dry.  But when the alfalfa is tall, the kids are distracting and you are just trying to get the work done, you just start moving and its entirely possible you are rolling in the wrong direction.

Maybe this sort of sub par help is why we have gotten rid of most of our wheel lines for pivots.  Hhmmm…

I hate to admit that  some of my out on the ranch skills have gotten a little rusty.  Don’t get me wrong, I am helpful, more often than not.  But in all honesty, I have my days that I just can’t win.  Part of my charm has to be helping the rest of the crew look good.  I’m sure that if all of my time and energy was dedicated to just the ranch, I would sail along, no problem, day after day.  But its not and  so I will take the ranch wife flops and laughs along the way.  They always say, “laughter is the best medicine.”

Photos by the great Kendra Bird at kendrabirdphotography.com

2018 Cowboy Calendar

by


Ah!!  Oh my heavens friends… I’m in big trouble.  I haven’t told any of you here that my calendars are up for sale.  They arrived yesterday and I am so excited to ship them off to their new homes for the upcoming year.  I can’t believe I haven’t shared them with you.  You could have seen them on Facebook or Instagram because I posted them there but apparently I didn’t get my crap together and finish things up.  I’m gonna blame it on the fact that I was doing all of that after just getting my tonsils removed, so I was drugged up and not doing much except watching Christmas movies and sleeping.  Lots of sleeping.

But they are ready to go to your homes!  Because of my surgery and a few other things piling up at the end of this year, I cut back on how many I ordered, so if you want one, claim it QUICK!  As usual you can order by commenting on this post or emailing me directly.  The calendars are $12.50  ($15 with shipping) and if you are local, feel free to make arrangements for pickup to cut out on the shipping.

Here is a peek at a few of the pages!

A Letter to a Sandwich

by


When you have three kids and your husband is gone a lot and returns home tired to the bone and just falls asleep, you tend to not get much adult interaction.  And when that happens, you tend to start having conversations with yourself.  And when that time is prolonged for a few weeks, the conversations with yourself in your head turn  sideways.  All of the sudden you think, “Man if I have to make one more sandwich…!  Boy, I’d tell that sandwich…!  I’d tell it….!”

Suddenly you have a letter written to a sandwich, that doesn’t exist, and if it did, it did nothing to you to deserve such retribution.  And that letter would go something like this:

Dear Sandwich,

We are back to our annual hot-and-heavy-relationship again.  I must say that as the days drag on, I find you less and less desirable.  Getting together every once in a while is manageable, but lately you have been coming around WAY too much.  Lets face it, you have nothing new to offer.  When you whittle it down, you are just two slices of bread with a piece or two of meat and cheese in the middle with a little mayo slathered on to provide a little lubrication for the trip down.

Sure, you could be a bit more.  A little fluff can really go a long way.  In fact, I enjoy a little tomato and lettuce on my sandwich.  Heck, I’ll even take some pepper or cucumber to make things a little interesting.  But that’s only when its fancy-sandwich-day at home.  Sorry to tell you, but a fancy sandwich doesn’t fly out on the range.  A juicy tomato turns a sandwich sitting in lunch box in the back of the truck soggy REAL fast.  And limp lettuce is even less appealing!  Knowing that adding the extras in an attempt to change things up is all just wasted effort and  just makes you even less alluring.

I know that if we get creative things could be a little exotic with some tuna.  But The Rancher is a land creature and can only take so much tuna.  And we could get the creative juices flowing and pull out some spicy mustard and add a little zip or zing to it.  Heck, The Rancher even gets creative out on the range when he tries to pep you up with a few chips to give you a little crunch.  But even with all the creativity, you are still just two slices of bread with a piece or two of meat and cheese in the middle with a little mayo slathered on to provide a little lubrication for the trip down.

What I am trying to say is that I am done with you.  I am tired of all your fixin’s taking up so much space in my fridge.  I’m tired of looking for ways to mix it up.  I’m tired of making you and then seeing you come home when you just weren’t worth eating.  Lets go back to the days of only getting together once in while.  A man needs a man lunch that will stick to his sides for these long days.  Sorry, but a sandwich day after day isn’t going to cut it.  I’m severing ties and turning to cold pizza for now.  Go find some other lunch box to fill…

Sincerely (tired of fixing and eating you!),

The Rancher’s Wife

Counting Our Blessings, One Fat Cow at a Time

by

Our Monday morning drive to check water- oh how I love it. When else do I get to sit and ride with kids constrained (I mean buckled, of course) and just take pictures. I hate those days when something comes up and we don’t get to go. Like all January…

Finally I got my turn to trip around Locomotive with my main man and small peeps. I came to a few conclusions- Locomotive is prettier with snow, we don’t have a lot of feed, and our cows are fat. Somehow the last two parts of that don’t seem to go together but it’s what’s happening down south. The few, but saving fall rains have done the good we needed to give our cows the nourishment for the winter. It may be dry and we still need rain, lots of rain, but we are counting our blessings. We have fat, healthy, pregnant cows- a wonderful beginning to our new year!

Sample Post With Threaded Comments

by

Delenit perfecto ne mel, facete utamur in mea, cum ceteros fuisset repudiandae eu. Delenit omittam philosophia per ea, eos te omnium discere. Nam adhuc percipit et. Viris comprehensam quo ea. Vel cu omnes feugiat, zril probatus no est. His ut dicit senserit adipiscing.

Detraxit vulputate constituam ne quo, ne justo contentiones nec. Eu eum impetus forensibus, has vidit similique repudiandae ad. Eos id enim vidisse perpetua. Magna ornatus vim ea, has ne ipsum labore oblique, ne error quidam fabellas vim.

Et usu habeo invenire intellegam, mei no dicant impedit nominavi. Id maluisset repudiandae has, eu cum tota aeque, elitr audire in mel. Porro ponderum insolens et vis, at nec nihil doctus. Qui facer regione temporibus ea, ne delenit pertinax eloquentiam mea. Mei te ornatus abhorreant.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, iudico sanctus commune pro at. Sea te propriae scaevola iudicabit, eripuit percipit in duo. Cu mei consul ubique, no his audire nonumes. Cu sed diam bonorum feugait, no sit adhuc reprehendunt. Prima paulo quando his id, ne audiam disputando vel, eos semper ponderum te. Te pro nobis viderer.

 

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!

instagram

Recent post