Life On A Ranch

Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve thought of more things I like and how they probably should have been included in my last column. I’ve also thought of things I don’t like and thought it could be funny to spend some time talking about those. For instance, one of our dogs, Chilly (named after his place of origin: Chilly, Idaho—where it is, in fact, known for being very chilly), has an annoying habit. When you’re walking along, minding your own business, he bumps your hand with his wet nose. He does it when you try to pet the top of his head, too. I really don’t like it.

I think that’s as far as I’ll go with things I don’t like—that sounds a little depressing, and since I’m partway into my month off from work, I’d like to keep things on the up and up. So far, it’s been a great break. I’ve gotten some organizational projects done around the house and taken out a couple loads of hand-me-downs. I’ve gotten rid of stuff we don’t use and found some new storage solutions that bring me more joy than is probably necessary.

Besides organizing, I’ve also enjoyed tagging along with Buck—feeding and checking cows. We’re nearly done calving, with maybe 10–15 left to go. A few days ago, I offered to go with him to get a couple of cows in. Having taken a walk in shorts and a hoodie the day before, I was wearing long pants but grabbed a vest to throw over my long-sleeve shirt, figuring I’d be plenty warm.

We quickly got the cows in and then, since we had all the tools, Buck decided not only to fix fence but to go around an entire section. The moody March weather turned from sunshine and shorts the previous day to wind and spitting snow. By the time we were done, I was freezing. I’m notoriously underdressed for cold weather—so much so that Buck wasn’t even surprised and laughed, “Maybe next time you’ll wear a jacket!”

I probably won’t. You’d think growing up in the snow would make me extra prepared, but the weather here is so deceiving. When you look outside in McCall, you know it’s cold. When you look outside here, you don’t know it’s cold… until you’re shivering in the wind!

Speaking of McCall, this little break from work has also given me some time to be a bit contemplative. For starters, my grandma would really love that I’m taking this break right now. She always wanted me to slow down a bit, and so to honor her during this time, I started reading her favorite book—something I’ve been saving and waiting for just the right time to crack open. And to add to the grandparent love, I’m using a recent note from my grandpa as my bookmark.

I guess I’m feeling extra sentimental as I consider the ways I’ve been shaped by people who have loved me really well. My grandparents are obviously on that list—quietly, steadily loving me my whole life.

But there are a couple more people I’d love to honor with some space in this column because they held a really significant place in my life. Since my last column, they’ve both passed away. I’m not even sure how to start, knowing this won’t be adequate.

Keith Darling—father to my lifelong friend Kelsie and older sister Keita. Husband to my lifelong cheerleader, Donna. Some of my earliest memories include Kelsie and I, trying to sell our homemade crafts in front of the store, as well as sleepovers at the Darlings’. They owned the Tamarack Falls Store in Donnelly, and their house was right behind it.

Keith had a running bedtime story that I got to listen to, and as an accomplished and self-taught musician, I loved when he’d take down his harmonica case and pick one to play for us. Later, in high school, he was the coach of my freshman basketball team. At the time, I didn’t realize his own athletic success—he was a member of the Maine Athletic Hall of Fame for state and national records he broke in high school. I shouldn’t have been surprised—a year ahead of me in school, Kelsie was the best basketball player I’ve ever played with, and she obviously learned from the best.

Keith and Donna came to see us in Troy and here, too. He had a contagious smile and the kind of presence that made you want to sit down and visit. And to top it off, he could play a harmonica out of his ear—a trick our kids never quite managed to figure out.

Susan Bechdel—mom to Laura, one of the trio of my best friends growing up that also included our friend Amy. Long before the days of texting, the three of us had, and still use, an acronym: LYLAS (love you like a sister). Susan took our acronym and not only wrote it but lived it too: LYLAD (love you like a daughter).

Our families included each other enough that our childhoods—and especially our teenage years—blend together in ways that are hard to separate. Susan took us on overnight Boise trips. We all saw Titanic together when it came out in the theater. She sent me with Laura to visit family in Georgia and met us at her childhood home in Tennessee, and later sent me sailing with her husband Les and Laura in Mexico.

She took the three of us to New York City and planned the trip down to the smallest detail so we wouldn’t miss a single thing. We stood on top of the World Trade Center just over a year before 9/11. We saw Bernadette Peters star in Annie Get Your Gun on Broadway. We walked through the morning rush on Wall Street and stood together in Times Square.

In addition to traveling, I knew where all the best snacks were in their house—and when they were running low, I’d add them to the grocery list on the fridge.  A member of the school board, Susan hugged me and handed me my high school diploma.  She cheered me on through college, marriage, and babies. She gifted us serving utensils for our wedding. I still use them and think of her nearly every day- they feel really symbolic of the love she so generously served to me throughout my life.

Lately, with a little extra time to slow down, I’ve been thinking about how much of who we are is shaped by people who love us steadily over time. The bedtime stories, the road trips, the encouragement from the stands, the snacks in the pantry, and the way someone makes room for you at their table.  For me, those things may not have seemed extraordinary in the moment, but I know they quietly shaped my life. So, while I’ve been feeding cows, organizing cupboards, and getting caught in the wind without a jacket, I’m feeling extra thankful for those quiet gifts. Most of all, I’m thankful for the people who gave them.

—Chelsea