The Idaho Rancher's Wife

The Ranch From the Wife's Perspective

A Letter to a Teacher

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Dear Teacher of My Ranch Kid, Four Years Later,

Well, here we are again.  Four years ago, I wrote you a letter apologizing for my ranch kid. I warned you that after a summer spent on the ranch instead of buried in books, there was a chance they might walk into your classroom a little behind.  

I owe you an update.

The ranch kid has grown up a little.  The ranch has continued its very unconventional educational program.  We still don’t do worksheets.  We still don’t have a summer reading schedule.  And I can confidently say that nobody has ever handed my ranch kid a packet and said, “Complete problems 1–25 before lunch.”  

Instead, the ranch has continued teaching lessons that don’t come with a grade.  For starters, the ranch has provided an advanced course in responsibility.  Cattle don’t care if you’re tired. Calves don’t care if you have plans. A broken fence doesn’t care if it’s 100 degrees outside. Hay certainly doesn’t care that you were up late the night before.

Apparently, this is one of the ranch’s favorite lessons because it always seems to be taught when no one really wants to learn it.  If we were to give a grade, we might not have quite earned an A+ yet, but thankfully we can be sure we are always enrolled in that class.

The ranch kid has learned that hard work doesn’t always look impressive as much as they try to glam it up.  Let’s be honest, as some of the youngest ranchers on the job, they get the grunt work.  And that’s on purpose.  The only way for them to truly appreciate the air conditioned tractor is by racking up countless hours in the hot sun from the seat of an open cab tractor.  Or jobs like moving hand lines, picking rock, and pulling rye.  It’s character building, at least that is what grandpa used to say.

The ranch has also provided a practical education in problem-solving.  I can’t say that all of the problems were of natural happenstance.  Yes, cows get out of their own accord, and equipment has their own break downs.  But getting stuck in the mud because you were sure the four wheeler would make it through 8 inches of mud could definitely be avoided. 

Out here, there isn’t always an answer key and dad is rarely available to come to the rescue, if you even want him to know there is a problem.  We may laugh at the amount of used barbed wire, baling twine and duct tape is used to fix a problem but this is what we call critical thinking.

This summer has also offered an extensive course in agriculture economics.  The ranch kid has learned that money doesn’t magically appear because you need something.  Or especially, when they just want something.  The bumpy field can’t just be dug up, smoothed out, and replanted.  Renting a rock picker is much more expensive than the free labor of ranch youth.  Buying a new swather really would be nicer than fixing up the old one but just isn’t in this year’s budget.  And maybe not in the next five.

When in doubt, fix it up and make do.  I return to the bailing twine and duct tape.

We had a more advanced course in consequences now that we are taking on more responsibility.  These lessons were not the theoretical kind.  More like the immediate kind.  Leave a gate open on the coop?  You get to gather the wild chickens.  You stay up late playing?  The work still starts with the sun and now you get to do it tired.  Haphazardly drop your phone in the storage tank?  You get to go swimming for it.

The ranch has a… lasting way of making cause and effect remarkably clear.

One of the most needed lessons on the ranch has been the ongoing course in patience.  We need to retake this class.  Breakdowns, breachy cows, and consistently overdrawn timelines have provided plenty of class time.  Most test days proved that patience is short and had an inverse effect on language.  In essence, less patience resulted in more curse words and yelling.  I’m going to turn to you for lessons on more appropriate synonyms, better grammar, and complete sentences.  I don’t know if that will help our course in patience but at least communications might improve.

There has been a fair amount of science, too.  Not always the kind with goggles and carefully controlled experiments.  Usually ones like- the purpose of locking a trailer to the hitch is to keep it secured and avoid bouncing off as we drive across the bumpy range.  Another has been to painstakingly following the path of electricity to the broken taillights to find why in tarnation they aren’t working.  Getting older has also meant a more advanced class of reproduction.  Let’s just say we solidly know where babies of ALL species come from and could even explain IVF.  

Perhaps the most valuable lesson the ranch continues to teach is confidence.  Not the loud, “I know everything” kind.  Yes, we still have some of that.  But I’m talking about the quiet kind.  The kind that comes from being trusted with something important and realizing you can handle it.  A ranch kid who once followed someone else around eventually becomes the person a younger sibling now follows.  The kid who once needed every step explained eventually gets handed a job and told, “You know what to do.”

That lesson doesn’t fit neatly on a report card.  Neither does learning to show up when you’re tired.  Or to finish what you started.  Or to take responsibility when something goes wrong.  Or to keep working when the job isn’t fun anymore.  Or to recognize that the work you do today may not pay off for months.  Those are lessons the ranch teaches exceptionally well.

So, Teacher, when my ranch kid walks into your classroom in a few short days, I may not need to apologize quite as much as I did four years ago.  The summer reading list may still have been more of a suggestion than a schedule and the handwriting may still leave something to be desired.  And there is a very good chance the backpack contains something that should have been thrown away several months ago.

But my ranch kid learned.  Teacher, I’ll let you handle the books, the essays, the equations and everything else that happens inside those four walls.  We’ll keep working on the things that happen outside them.  Between the two of us, I think we might just have this education thing figured out.

Sincerely,

A Still-Proud Ranch Mom

An All-Hands-on-Deck Kind of Day

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When a broken water system, wandering cattle, and a handful of unexpected problems all hit on the same day, everyone on our ranch had to pitch in—even the youngest hands. It was a reminder that on a ranch, there’s always work for someone willing to learn, and today’s little helper often becomes tomorrow’s dependable hand.


He may not be old enough to fix a pump or haul a trailer, but he already knows what it means to lend a hand.

Some days, some jobs, and some outfits only need a cowboy or two to keep things running. The tractor has only one seat, and the pickup has only one driver. A job in the shop requires the master mechanic instead of a budding apprentice. You get the picture.

Then there are days that demand help from even the littlest and least experienced ranchers. All they require is a willing heart and able hands to be hired on for the job. Those sorts of days remind us of an important lesson about ranching: if you’re willing to help, there’s always a job for you.

Not long ago we had one of those days on our operation, an all-hands-on-deck sort of day.

It began innocently enough with one man heading out for a routine water check, another into town for some off-ranch business, and another climbing into the swather to knock down some hay. I joined The Rancher with a couple of kids, loaded up the pickup, and headed to the meadows to drop off a few pairs and do a quick ride through.

Our divide-and-conquer approach had the handful of us steadily checking things off the list. It didn’t take long, however, for the day to start adding its own to-dos in the most urgent ways. The first wasn’t unexpected, just moved up on the schedule.

The grazing association had purchased several heavy-duty custom panels that we’d hauled as far as the ranch. They still needed to be delivered to the proper allotments, and another rancher had volunteered to unload them. Since he was already hauling his own tractor, we needed a second driver to haul the panels. We hadn’t made it back from our cattle check, so my husband called our teenage son to step in.

It wasn’t much longer after he coordinated that move that his phone rang again. As if fate knew no one was home, a neighbor down the road called to say he’d watched a herd of cattle slowly make their way through a lazy stretch of barbed wire fence and into our roping heifers. As soon as he hung up, The Rancher called the range rider to let him know something was going on with the neighbor’s cattle and they needed checked on, stat.

No sooner had that call ended than the phone rang again. This time someone reported that the pump on the BLM range had gone out, and more hands were needed to troubleshoot the problem and haul water to the nearly empty troughs.

That call had barely ended when the range rider called back. He’d found the reason for the breachy cows.  Their own trough had gone dry, sending them tiptoeing into our pasture in search of a drink on a hot summer day.

All of a sudden, we had more problems than people, and everyone was going to have to step in somehow.

Our son had a few minutes before he needed to leave with the panels, so he jumped on a four-wheeler to straighten out as many cattle as he could. One of the ranchers who was home headed straight for the BLM range to get the water system back up and running.

Not long after we arrived home, The Rancher climbed into the water truck to keep the troughs full until the pump could be repaired. That left me and the kiddos to take care of the wandering cows. Without a solid fence, we knew they’d hop right back over unless we helped them find another source of water. So we loaded up on bikes and pushed them through the brush to the nearest working trough.

We also had a second, smaller herd along the opposite fence that we figured had better be moved before the two groups mixed together. We weren’t convinced either herd would stay put, no matter how good the fence looked.

As we finished the job, I realized that when it comes down to it, everyone on our little operation can help get the work done. Young and old, experienced or not, there’s work that fits every set of hands.

My little cowboys and cowgirl weren’t fixing pumps or hauling custom panels. They weren’t stringing fence or troubleshooting tractors. But they could ride a bike through the brush, encourage a stubborn cow in the right direction, open and shut gates, and be another set of eyes when we needed them most. Their contribution wasn’t measured by its size but by the simple fact that it helped.

That’s one of my favorite things about ranching. There is always a place for someone who wants to learn. You don’t have to know everything before you’re invited to be part of the work. You start with the jobs you can do, and before long those small responsibilities become bigger ones. The little kid pushing cows on a four-wheeler becomes the teenager trusted to haul a trailer. The teenager becomes the one solving water problems, fixing equipment, or teaching the next generation.

A ranch has a way of growing people right alongside the cattle.

It reminds us that the value of a person isn’t determined by how much they can do, but by their willingness to do what they can. Every capable rancher was once the kid carrying tools, shutting gates, or trailing behind, hoping someone would trust them with a little more responsibility.

The work has a way of making room for those willing to show up.

Maybe that’s a lesson that reaches far beyond the ranch. Whether it’s on a family operation, in a community, at church, or in a workplace, there will always be moments when there are more jobs than people. In those moments, experience certainly matters, but so does willingness. A willing heart and able hands have a remarkable way of becoming exactly what is needed.

On the ranch, we don’t wait until someone knows everything before we let them belong. We hand them a job they can do, work alongside them, and trust that today’s helper is tomorrow’s hand.

More Than a Kid Horse

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These old ranch horses might not be worth much on paper—but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Our kids have put in the miles on their horses these last few months, jumping in to work with the crew almost like they were grown cowboys and cowgirls. In a way that can only make a ranch momma’s heart swell, they have put in the long days right by our side, coming home hot, tired, and dusty.

This could be a note about how proud I am of them, and don’t get me wrong, I am. But I’m also grateful for those four-legged partners that have carried them across the range all those long days. Looking back, I can see countless times those kid horses earned their keep in ways that had nothing to do with getting the actual work done.

Having a determined child who was not about to wait to enter the branding pen meant that we had to have a horse that was ready, willing, and able to take care of him in any situation. We needed to put him on a mount we knew we could turn our backs on and everything would turn out okay, every time. It wasn’t until midway through the season that I realized we had chosen just the right mare for the job.

On this particular branding day, we were short-handed, battling the wind, and had already tallied half a dozen days out on the range working. My boy was eager to swing into the saddle and start roping. Following his dad, he scooped up heels left and right as they teamed up to bring in the calves. It was almost like he couldn’t miss.

As every kid does, he wanted to “do it himself,” meaning he wanted to heel a calf and drag it from the herd to the fire all on his own. After finding a calf paired up, he threw his shot, managed a catch, and stacked his dallies only to learn he had caught the calf by just one foot. Startled by the rope, the calf started running around, ducking right behind his horse.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened in the branding pen that day, but it was the first time it had happened to him, and he wasn’t sure what to do. Without even being told, that mare simultaneously did two things to take care of the situation. First, she tucked her tail under faster than you could blink to keep from getting “rim fired.” At nearly the same time, she spun around to keep the calf in front of her, avoiding the kind of tangled wreck that can happen in a hurry.

I was a little amazed that this simple ranch horse had it in her to navigate what could have been a really tricky situation. We knew she would take care of our boy while roping—trailing the calf right, stopping when he went to dally, and dragging it to the fire—but we didn’t realize she was ready to keep him square in the saddle in just about any circumstance.

It isn’t only in the branding pen that I have seen these kid horses step up to take care of my kids. With all of the spring and summer turnouts and cattle drives, even our littlest is game to come along and ride. It’s exciting that even at seven years old he wants to brave a long, dusty day on horseback, but it is also worrisome. I’m always torn between the help I need to give and the responsibility I have as a momma to keep them safe.

When the kids are riding along with me, I work hard to take the best route for them, keep them close, and avoid leaving them behind if I can help it. Every once in a while I have to gather in a stray pair or bring up a pocket of cows to the herd. Usually they trail along together and everything turns out great.

But lately my independent child has decided he wants to be the one to go after the stray animals. Without a word, he will spur up his horse, duck into the trees, and be gone before I know it. Then, not long after, he will pop back out trailing the cattle he went in after. I used to worry in those moments, but I’ve learned that trusty steed has things under control. Now, instead of fretting that everything is okay, I’m full of pride when I see what my little cowboy can do.

These old ranch horses might not be worth much on paper—they aren’t fancy bred, haven’t won any awards, and probably wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye. But I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Their value isn’t measured in dollars. It’s measured in confidence, independence, and peace of mind.

They are the horses that teach kids how to work, how to solve problems, and how to handle responsibility. They are the horses that bring them home safe after a long day, forgive their mistakes, and quietly take care of them when Mom and Dad can’t be right beside them. Around here, those old kid horses have carried far more than calves and cowboys across the range. They’ve carried my greatest treasures, and that’s worth more than anything money can buy

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.

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.

How to Declutter a Rancher (Yes, It’s Possible)

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A practical, good-humored guide to sorting hats, gloves, boots, and everything in between.

No one has written a chapter on how to declutter a rancher. Until now.

Everywhere you look, someone is taking on new habits, breaking old ones, or reorganizing their life. I’ll admit — my curiosity often gets the better of me. I scroll through the upgraded life hacks, improved menus, and color-coded cleaning schedules. Occasionally, I try one. Every now and then, an idea sticks.

But in all my years of perusing cleaning, organizing, and decluttering guides, I’ve never once seen a category dedicated to ranchers. Either no guru has had a rancher in their life long enough to see the need, or they simply weren’t brave enough to take it on. So today, we begin.

The easiest place to start is the hat collection. Every fertilizer rep, banker, nutrition consultant, tractor dealer, feed clerk, and veterinarian has likely contributed at least one. Despite what they may tell you, they don’t need every hat — and they don’t even like all of them.

Some have given everything they have to give. Others were never chosen in the first place. Keep a handful of clean ones for town, rotate a few for work, and let the rest move on.

Once the ball is rolling, turn your attention to gloves. You will hear arguments:

“That one’s still good — its mate just wore out.”

“It only has a small seam popped.”

“That’s my backup pair to my backup pair.”

I understand the logic. Winter gloves, summer gloves — all makes sense. But when there are extra pairs stacked in the corner and seven left-handed gloves for only two right-handed ones, it’s time to intervene.

Boots follow the same rule. Town boots, work boots, riding boots, long-day boots — all fine. But the pair that was replaced three times ago? Let it go. Don’t waver. The chaos they create sitting in the way, tripping people left and right, just isn’t worth it.

Before leaving the mudroom, tackle coats, sweaters, vests, and scarves. Ranchers are loyal to old favorites, but even loyalty has limits.

Closets are next. They make do with the old while still chasing something new. Keep what fits, toss what’s torn, stained, or beyond repair. If there are still too many, have your rancher try them on. There may be whining. Stay strong.

Work pants follow one rule: never mend a patch you’ve already mended. If they’re worn enough to need fixing again, they’ve done their duty.

Once the wardrobe is tamed, gather wire bits, fencing clips, loose tags, and miscellaneous tools that migrated indoors. Send them back outside. They may not end up where they truly belong, but they are no longer in the house — and that’s a win.

Next come the less obvious collections. Bathrooms often house too many bull sale catalogs and ranching magazines. If they haven’t been read yet, they likely won’t be. While you’re at it, clear out outdated vaccines and medicines in the fridge and pantry. Lunch boxes, coolers, water bottles, and ice packs deserve the same reckoning. Even if you never acquire another, you already have plenty.

One final thought: ranchers are excellent at sorting. They do it every day. You just might need to change the setting. If they can call out “by” or “in” while culling cattle, they can manage the same system indoors.

If you’re successful inside, the garage might be next. Broken tools, old truck parts, abandoned projects — all can go. More sensitive items, like worn-out tack or retired hot shots, may take longer.

In full transparency, I have a rancher who could use a real dose of decluttering. There are too many good hats, gloves with a little life left, favorite shirts, magazines worth skimming again, and tools that just need “a little attention.”

This piece is largely theory and wishful thinking, not a record of triumph.

But if you try it — even just taming the hats and gloves — the house feels lighter, and the rancher…well, they keep riding on.

Christmas Wishes On the Ranch

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Top of the holiday traditions for excited girls and boys is making that all important Christmas wish list.  Whether it’s mailed off to the North Pole, whispered to Santa in person or just shared with mom and dad, every excited child makes such a list.  I’ve never seen a list with anything like “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth!” or “I want a hippopotamus for Christmas” but my ranch kids write practically the same list with just a few variations year to year, even though Santa and I do a darn good job checking things off their list each Christmas

 Their Christmas lists always include tractors, cows, corral setups, trucks and other fun ranch life replicas and since you can never have enough tractors or cows, they find their way on the list again and again.  All of those tractors and cows just make for more possibilities, ideas or storylines to play out.  Whatever it is that they come up with that day, there is one thing for sure,…

It’s usually pretty easy to know what sort of stuff dad is doing out on the ranch because from the sand pile to the living room, the kids are recreating the same set up with their miniature versions.  When it’s haying season, they have their own hay to bale and stack.  When it’s branding season they gather in their little herds to put brands on all the new calves.  I wish I could remember all of their different storylines over the years, but there are some that standout that I will never forget.

Throughout the summer months we have a herd of heifers we haul around to various roping and sorting events.  After seeing dad take his cattle on the road, my little ranchers often do the same.  They load up their toy bull wagon to their freshly erected rodeo arena for a day’s worth of roping, riding and rodeo fun.  Their setup includes the littlest details like the watering trough, the various sorting pens and even seats for their spectators.  To truly capture complete reproduction of such a day, they even borrowed a few Barbie kitchen snacks and toys because no day at the arena is complete without mom packing a cooler of snacks and a bag of toys.

During the fall months of weaning, preg checking and prepping to sell each year’s set of calves, we spend a lot of time at the squeeze chute.  In fact, we have coined our own term such work- squeeze chuting.  At the end of a long day squeeze-chuting with dad, the littles come in and squeeze chute their own cows.  They aren’t even afraid to get in there and do the preg checking, just like dad does. 

Now replicating some of those days at the squeeze can be a little dicey.  Like when we pretend to squeeze chute the day we semen test the bulls.  I vividly remember sitting at the counter as my son set up his alley and chute and then proceeded to line up the bulls.  He was very specific to not include any cows or steers, just the bulls.  After putting a few bulls through the chute he looked at me with his curious eyes and his wheels turning, trying to figure out just what we are doing when we bring the bulls through the chute.  Let’s just say that day’s play was a great conversation starter for the birds and the bees sort of talk.

Even the simple day to day chores make for fun memories as the kids work to haul hay to the corrals to feed, whether it’s in the mud or the rain or the snow.  There is always something new they add like the horses sneaking out as the tractor came in, putting mineral in the bunks or checking the water.  I’ve even heard a few of their dad’s favorite phrases about those darn cows and pray they don’t repeat EVERYTHING dad says.

Make believe ranching isn’t a new ranch kid past time.  Generations share some of the same stories with their own little spin on them.  My mom used to talk about what a gamble it was to walk through the living room minefield of invisible cow pies.  She was never sure where to step but very sure it would always land right in the poop and she would be told about it.  My husband remembers not letting anyone in grandma’s family room as he was midharvest.  No one was going to mess up that cutting!

It’s always exciting to see just what toys end up under the Christmas tree, but I’m pretty confident that there will be some sort of ranch life replica under there.  And not long after the wrapping paper is gone, the creativity will take over and a new ranch will come to life.  It will have some new fun and flare with the new toys but it will always point back to the life we live on the ranch, because truth be told, nothing is better than the real, deal every day life on the ranch.

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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