Not a Cowboy’s Wife

Hi there.  I'm Katie and I am today's guest poster for Lori while she’s out of town. I thought this would be fun, but then I thought, what the heck will I post about?!!  Then I thought about this:

I'm not a cowboy's wife, and I think that is pretty funny really.  I grew up in rural Montana, in Green Acres.  Really, that was the name of the little community we lived in. (I think legally its Green Meadows now.) We had mostly horses, a few chickens, lambs, etc. growing up.  My dad is and will always be a hobby farmer.

I loved the country, and thought it was a treat to be able to stay in town after school.  Although I can't remember wanting to live in town.  I liked the country.  I liked the peace and quiet.  I still do. 

Growing up, like I said, we always had a horse or ten, and I did enjoy riding for fun.  Each year, over Labor Day, we went on a Wagon Train.  My dad built his wagon and we loaded it and the team up and went on the trail.  It normally lasted 5 days ending back in town on Monday for the Labor Day Parade.  My dad would always drive the team out to the first camp, instead of hauling everything, and he would leave early.  I hated it.  It was usually the first week of school, and he'd be leaving for the fun trip, and we always had to attend school all week and go out on Friday.  I was jealous of the few friends who got to skip school, and as we got older mom caved and we usually went out on Wednesday night.

I enjoyed just riding along for hours each day, stopping for a sandwich and nap at noon camp and usually drinking from a can that was worn down from banging in the old fridge my dad had transformed into a cooler.  Nights were usually spent eating something over the fire and then sitting around it listening to the Hutterites sing songs by Johnny Cash or Waylon Jennings.  I also remember laying on the bedrolls and counting stars with my dad until we fell asleep.

I also remember being told that finding a man on the Wagon Train was not something that would be approved of.  I do recall hearing more than once that my dad wasn't someone you wanted to mess with in regards to his daughter.

As I grew up, I still love going out each year, and although things changed; we aren't able to have fires due to dry conditions, my old butt doesn't fit as well in a saddle; I do still enjoy the trip. 

When I did meet *my man* (I like how Lori says that!!), he had never ridden a horse and he was a true town boy.  After much prodding he did decide to go, and rode shot-gun in the wagon with my dad.  He really enjoyed it, and we still enjoy it to this day, taking our kids. 

But that first year, my man rode shot-gun, and he got off the wagon at a “pit stop.”  Getting back up, he stepped up using the wheel.    About that time the horses lunged forward and my man fell half in the wagon, half out.  He wasn't hurt, but we always remember my dad trying to off him on his first Wagon Train.

And just for the heck of it all, some pics.  First my kids riding around camp. 

Then my parents and my son riding in the parade.  THat is the wagon that my dad built the box part for himself.

Next is a friends wagon, with my man in the yellow shirt.  Yep, we got him a hat too.  Looks cute huh.  My youngest and I were sitting on the floor of that wagon right behind them.  I hate crossing rivers.  Yuck!  That is also my brother down in the bottom with his back to us.

And finally breakfast at camp.  Probably not omlete morning…that is my favorite morning.

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