Blog - The Idaho Rancher's Wife

More Than a Kid Horse

June 23, 2026 by Allison

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

All Bluff or All Fight

June 12, 2026 by Allison

Some cows just throw dirt and make a lot of noise. Others mean every bit of it.

Having spent my whole life around cows, it takes a lot for one to make me nervous. I’ve seen my share of cows that have a big bluff, but little fight. They throw some dirt, put their head up in the air, and beller, but that’s all they do. This spring however, I’ve had more than enough opportunities to learn the line between all bluff and all fight.

Let’s back up for context. My husband and I had an opportunity fall in our collective lap that allowed us to buy a few cows of our own. With the busy spring work, I knew the feeding, checking, and tagging would likely fall on my chore list, something I was actually excited about. I figured the kids could pile on the 4-wheeler with me so we could trail through the cows, count and tag the newborns, then put a bale in the feeder each day.

It was all a pretty simple plan. Which should have been my first warning.

I learned very quickly that these cows had what I can only describe in a positive way as strong mothering instincts. Red Angus are known for their maternal traits. Some of them are apparently overachievers, a fact I learned firsthand as I sat holding a calf while its mother came sprinting at me, bellowing for the whole herd to hear.

I’ll admit the first few times those momma cows got loud and in my face, my heart thumped a few extra beats. Regardless of the adrenaline surge, I got my work done quickly and unscathed. I might have even patted myself on the back on a few of the rowdier, nose-to-nose cows. And the silver lining, those moments helped me form a very informed opinion of which cows were worth keeping and which were definitely on the cull list.

With a handful of calves on the ground, we began loading them up and taking them to summer pasture, a chance to see a whole new side of them. A side I didn’t like at all.

More than once we had to take a deep breath and regroup when the handful of pairs we were bringing into the corral scattered like chickens with a fox in the coop. As the weeks wore on, we had to change tactics just to get the cows in the corral and still live to tell about it.

The first of our ornery cows was #41. We knew from day one she was full of more than bluff. Her calf had slipped through the wire fence, a blessing in disguise. I opted to tag the calf first before pushing it through, and I was glad I did because the fence was the only thing standing between me and a very unpleasant introduction.

When it was her turn to be sorted, #41 ducked and dodged us more times than I could count. And then she got mad, a moment I distinctly remember because she turned straight for my son on his motorbike with every intention of causing damage. My momma bear instincts kicked in and all rational decision-making left the building. Let’s just say we both won that fight—she didn’t end up in the corral, but I got in enough good licks to feel vindicated. The 4-wheeler may tell the story differently.

#41 must have sensed we meant business when we showed up on horseback with ropes in hand, because she trotted right into the corral without a fuss. We thought maybe we had turned the corner. Turns out she was just lulling us into a false sense of security, because when it came time to load her in the trailer she reminded us of her deep-seated hatred for us. After just a few steps into the pen, that darn cow threw her head in the air and had us hopping the fence like a jackrabbit with a pack of cow dogs on it.

Obviously we lived to tell the tale—a tale highlighted by the fact that bluff was a five-letter word that five-letter cow didn’t know.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t even the worst of them. A week later we went to move another group of cows, and had an encounter with one that was lucky we still turned right to pasture instead of left to the butcher shop. I had my suspicions early on about #34, but had excused her high-headed chase after a long haul from Montana and a trip through the chute to be branded. She was loud and snorty tagging her calf, but not the worst of the bunch.

#34 was on my keep-an-eye-on-her list, but thirty seconds into the day she graduated to the don’t-turn-your-back-on-her list. She walked into the corral pleasant as could be, then promptly turned to run back out the gate, smashing the motorbike that attempted to block her way in the process. Since we don’t back down from a fight, we “convinced” her back into the corral where the fight continued. It might have taken an hour to get her loaded, perched on the fence the whole time, but we won in the end. I’m still not convinced the butcher shop wasn’t the better option.

The following day we had a few of the last heifers to run through the chute, and they too thought we’d enjoy scaling the fence. I don’t know if there was a sign on our backs that said “Try me!” or what, but apparently word had spread through the herd. In a small moment of fatigue, I might have shouted, “I’m so tired of being chased at!”

There are only a few left to turn out, and my hopes are high that the worst is over. If nothing else after a spring spent climbing fences, dodging charging cows, and wondering if there was a bounty on my head, I’ve come to a conclusion: some cows are all bluff, some cows are all fight, and fences exist for a reason.

Final Range Branding: Deep Creek Cleanup

May 4, 2026 by Allison Eliason

The last range branding day of the stretch was a slower cleanup kind of day, with fewer calves left to gather and brand. After the wind the day before, the weather turned just about perfect, making for a pretty enjoyable day to be horseback.

I spent more time roping than taking pictures, so this set looks a little different than some of the others. Fewer action shots and more of the small details that make up a branding day—the hands, the gear, the dust, and the moments in between.

Not every day is fast-paced or packed full, but there’s something good about the quieter ones too.

Callahan Branding: Small Crew, Big Work

May 1, 2026 by Allison

Callahan branding is a smaller one, with just three ranches bringing cattle, but the work still stacks up quick. It was a windy day, and with a smaller crew we had to cover more ground and keep things moving.

By this point in the season, it was a lot of the same faces and the same work—but also the same steady effort to get it done right. With fewer hands, everyone stepped in where they were needed, including the kids.

I ended up working opposite The Rancher most of the day, which gave me the chance to catch a few photos of him—and even better, of our son. Something clicked for him that day, and it was fun to watch it all come together.

Cedar Hill Branding Take Two: Cleanup Day

April 23, 2026 by Allison

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.

Peterson Place: Our Desert, Our Branding Day

April 22, 2026 by Allison

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.

BLM Branding Day: New Ground, Same Work

April 21, 2026 by Allison Eliason

Every Saturday of April is scheduled for our BLM association branding… for the rest of our lives. Haha! It takes that many goes to get all the calves on the ground, mothered up, and drug in to get the herd branded with the right outfit.

This year had a little different look to it, though. Because of the poorer range feed this year, we split the herd differently across the winter/spring ranges. It gives a little different look this year with new places to gather and circle up to get the job done.

The day brought a little rain, a little wind, and a lot of roping. The scenery may have been a little different, but the work is still the same.

Back at the Ranch: Lookout Livestock Branding Day

April 20, 2026 by Allison Eliason

Most branding days we’re up early and headed out for a long drive to wherever the cows are running on the desert range. But once a year, we get to stay a little closer to home—saddling up and heading straight out the gate for Lookout Livestock branding day.

This herd is relatively new to us. About seven years ago, a neighbor approached us about buying him out, and knowing opportunities like that don’t come around often, we jumped at the chance to expand right here close to home. We decided to keep things separate from our other herd, forming a new operation with its own name and brand.

Even though we’ve only been running these cows a few short years, it didn’t take long for things to fall into place, including the annual branding. We have great help, great food, which lends to a great time!

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

April 7, 2026 by Allison

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

April 1, 2026 by Allison

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.