So, I did a thing

A couple of weeks ago, I loaded up my cow pony and headed to Minnesota. I had signed up for the Top Hand Cowgirl Challenge at the Strait Rail Ranch near Nevis. Maybe not such a big deal. Lots of women toss their favorite horse in a trailer and go chase cows or cans or trail ride. They do it on a regular basis.

But it was a big deal. For me.

You see, I’m good at dreaming of doing things. Not so much carrying through.

And I was scared to death. I hadn’t ventured out on my own for a very long time. Hadn’t hauled a horse more than 50 miles in 20 years. And not by myself. I had never competed in pen sorting or cutting. I am not good at ranch trail or ranch pleasure. And, oh my lord, I had not run a barrel pattern since I was a teenager!

Was I too old? Too out of shape? Too overweight? Were my clothes wrong? Would the other women think I did not belong there?

Yes, I was overweight and out of shape. Some of the other women were, too. I was one of the older riders. I didn’t ride nearly as well as the majority of the others.

But it didn’t matter. Because I was there. And I was riding and learning and having the time of my life. I was encouraged not only by Breck, Allie, and Jan (the producers of the show) but by the other competitors. We cheered the cowgirls who were experienced and did well, and those whose horse had never seen a cow before and simply got close to the herd. And it didn’t matter if we rode a Quarter Horse, a Welsh Quarter Pony, or a Thoroughbred. It didn’t matter if we showed on a weekly basis or had never competed before. If we were 9 years old, or 78 years old.

And, if I am honest with myself, as much as I love riding the sweet mare Mark bought for me, love the thrill of chasing a cow, the best part of the weekend was the fellowship, spending time with women I knew and meeting 60 plus new friends.

And I did it. I didn’t just talk about it. I did it!

And I can’t wait to do it again!

I Still Do

Remember how you were so nervous you had your new bifocals changed back to single vision lenses so you wouldn’t trip walking down the aisle?

How afraid we were that it was going to be really hot on our wedding day? It was a perfect day for a wedding. For our wedding.

Remember how our friends cooked for us? And we didn’t get to eat any of it because we were having too much fun?

Do you remember that the wonderful crew who put the tent up did it inside out? And we didn’t say anything because they had worked so hard!

I remember our first anniversary. You met me in Bismarck because Dad was having chemo. I insisted on bringing my wedding dress to try on. It fit that year. I also remember the anniversary you helped me zip it up, then unzipped it quickly before I split the seams!

I remember the anniversary I surprised you with steaks at the park. I didn’t realize until years later you had forgotten it was our anniversary.

I also remember that we were going to grow old together. You promised.

I miss you. I miss your dimple. I miss your giggle. I miss you calling me to check out the sunrise. I miss your morning kiss. I miss “love you most”. On that you were always wrong. Cuz I loved you the most. And I miss you most.

I keep thinking this day will get easier. It doesn’t.

26 years ago I said I do. I still do.

May 14

It’s Mother’s Day in 2023. It’s a special day. Not just a day to celebrate mom. Not just a birthday.

May 14, 56 years ago, was a very special day. It was a Mother’s Day we all received a very special gift. ‘Nathan’ means ‘Gift from God’. And he certainly was!

So today, Mother’s Day, May 14, 2023, I celebrate.

I celebrate my mother, who is my inspiration and my rock.

And I celebrate Nathan, who formed so much of who I am. Happy heavenly birthday, little brother. And Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. Love you both!

Surely spring will come

“Surely as cometh the winter, I know there are spring violets under the snow.” Robert Henry Newell

The oak will leaf out. The pots will be filled.

The ground, the oak, and I benefit from the peace and rest winter gives us. When the pansies and tulips show their colors, we will be ready for a new season.

But for now, I’ll just hunker down and enjoy the slow season.

Greener Pastures

Fred, you were the answer to many of Mark’s dreams. You put a smile on his face. He swelled with pride when you entered an arena or produced babies. You created untold challenges for Kevin. Even though your blood was blue, you resembled a range stallion more than a top-notch show horse. Mark didn’t care. You were ours.

For nearly 20 years you had a place of honor in the pasture by the house. I’ve missed watching you play with the dogs.

A year ago you helped send Mark off in style.

I hope you both are enjoying deep green grass with no mosquitoes! Rest in peace, Fred. You were a part of the family.

Hickota (aka Fred): March 21, 1999 – September 4, 2022

Innocence

Twenty five years ago today I promised to love you for better or worse, ’til death do us part. Little did I know that you would leave me so soon. I still love you and miss you. Every day.

Set in Stone

Mark, the earthly destination of your Last Ride was set in stone this weekend. A year after we sent you off in the style you loved. I didn’t realize how hard this anniversary would be. I thought I was ‘over’ that. I was wrong.

Yours and Nathan’s headstones were delivered in time for the Memorial Day celebration. Nathan’s set next to Dad’s. Yours on the river side of Nathan’s. The three men who loved me most. The ones who knew how to make me laugh. The ones who knew how to push my buttons. Sometimes knew me better than I did myself. All three of you are so much a part of who I am.

I’m angry with all three of you for leaving me too early. And I am grateful that God gave me the time with each of you that he did. Now would you please quit making me cry!

Storm Days

Major weather events have put me on an emotional roller coaster in the past 14 months. They take me back to all of the prior storms I spent with Mark.

To February of 1998. We were newlyweds. Stormed in at home for 3 days with no power. But we were warm with our wood burning stove. It was peaceful. Too early for greenhouse and foals. Really nothing to worry about.

There were other storms. The one during which Mark decided to rip the bathroom apart to remodel. I remember the toilet getting thrown out the door landing in a snow bank. As well as a bunch of sheet rock. We laughed about how tacky it looked.

And the winter of 2016 when the snow just kept coming and coming. We had to drive the kitchen staff back and forth to work. The last time we did we got stuck halfway down our road. It was the first time I really understood how being wet and cold could be life-threatening. But we made it. Back to our woodstove. And each other.

I remember watching Mark push snow with the old M. What a miserable job. He never complained. Not only was the job cold and awful, but the amount of time it took to get the old beast started was disheartening at best. He was like a kid in a candy store when he got the snowblower for the Bobcat. I think he only used it once.

Winter Storm Silas, April 2022, was different. In so many ways. We had lots of warning. My tribe made sure we were as ready as possible. A rope was strung from the house to the greenhouse. Wood was brought into the house. All the sides on the greenhouses were fastened down, water stockpiled, fuel tanks filled, generators prepped, extension cords laid out. Snow shovels strategically positioned.

God was good to me in so many ways. The power stayed on. The plants stayed warm. And I was able to look back on the good memories of being stormed in at home with Mark. I am able to count my blessings: wonderful memories, the good lessons Mark and my dad taught me about how to prepare, my wonderful tribe, the phone calls and texts to be sure I was fine.

And I am. The roller coaster wasn’t so bad. I have my memories. My tribe. My critters. My wood-burning stove. I’m only missing one thing.

365 days

365 days. Fifty two weeks. Twelve months. One year. It’s been a year since you left me so suddenly. You were teasing me one minute. Then I turned around and you were gone. It feels like yesterday. And it feels like it has been a lifetime.

Twenty seven years ago I had come to terms with being an ‘old maid’. Thank God you pestered me into changing my mind.

I miss your dimple and your signature giggle. I miss “I love you most”. I miss you talking to the critters. I miss calling you when I am on a trip to tell you everything I am doing. I miss my anchor, my equalizer. Hell, I even miss Gunsmoke at full volume.

I am so grateful I can see a spectacular sunrise or moon and think of you calling on your way to work to be sure i see it. I am so grateful I can get on my little horse and think of you beaming with pride when she locked onto a cow, or when she took such good care of Ashton.

I’m so grateful for all the times you knew I needed to wind down and you bullied me into spending time on the river. I always came back a different person. And you were always waiting on the shore for me.

And I am grateful for 23 1/2 years of being your wife.

The last 365 days have taught me a lot. I’m not nearly as tough and independent and resilient as I thought I was. But I’m learning to ask for help when I need it. Or sometimes when I just want it. I’m learning to look at that sunrise and smile instead of cry. I’m learning to be grateful for those blessings of our life together in addition to feeling sorrow for all of the things we will miss doing together.

I love you most.

Happy New Year

A new year. Out with the old and in with the new. It sounds so simple, so cut and dried. We can just flip a switch in our minds and have a fresh, new mindset: I’ll live healthier, laugh more, stress less.

But, in reality, it’s just another block on the calendar. I am still human. I will laugh at dumb stuff. I’ll cry at dumb stuff. I’ll hurt more than I did in 2020, but hopefully not more than I did in 2021. I’ll have days I drink more water, less wine. And I’ll have days I won’t. There will be days I push snow and do chores and pull weeds and take the phone calls. And there will be days I hunker down and let someone else do it for me.

I am learning. And re-learning. I’m learning to let someone else do the things. I’m learning to let some stuff not get done. I’m learning how to move snow and thaw waterers. And which grade fuel to put in the Bobcat. I’m learning to take time to rest and rejuvenate. Oh, how Mark worked to teach my that lesson! He is probably rolling his eyes right now.

The learning curve is more steep on some things than others. I know the new year will not automatically give me the chance to start fresh. I will never have my soulmate back. But I can count the blessings I still have and learn to move forward slowly, praying for grace and acceptance on the journey.