The Redeeming Ranch Woman

I used to harbour a stereotyped image of the ranch woman. She's the one wearing an apron, for she's a genius in the kitchen, and a straw hat, because she's got a knack in the garden. Her pantry shelves are filled with jars of peaches and beet pickles, and she makes the best bread east of the Rockies. Her tomatoes grow big as softballs and her lilacs bloom sooner than any town folks'. She splits her own firewood, can drive a tractor, bottle-feed orphaned calves, and make a rug out of worn jeans.

She could be all that. Or not.

Redeeming Women of Rural Hardiness

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We went to the British Columbia Cattlemen's Association Conference and AGM last week, and I had opportunity to speak to dozens of ranch and farm wives. First observation: none of the women I spoke to fit my stereotyped image. They came in all shapes and sizes, ages and backgrounds, abilities and talents. Some looked like they'd just stepped off a western fashion magazine, with all kinds of bling and their hair done just so. Others wore jeans. And cowboy boots. Some professed to have a job in town; others told me about their gardens or canning adventures.

For the most part, our conversations were about earthy topics, and the pains and joys of ranch life. Getting bucked off a horse. Helping a rancher husband return the uterus of a prolapsed cow to its rightful place, and then having company arrive before she could change her shirt. Helping a doomed orphaned foal. How to get clothes clean that have been saturated in various bovine fluids.

One thing we all had in common. We love the land. We love our lives.

Brian Salmond, cowboy poet and rancher, wrote a poem in tribute to the tough and tender womenfolk of the land. His own sweetheart is every inch a lady, but has had her fair share of late nights and mucky boots.

Ode To The Ranch Lady

While the countryside is stirring, from a restful quiet night

And the smoke swirls from the chimney like the eagle in its flight

The rising sun cast out its rays and heralds a welcome glow

Her busy day got underway about an hour ago

She’s got the coffee brewin’ flippin’ hotcakes in the pan

And once the kids are off to school she’s out to help her man

Feed them chickens and gather the eggs gas up the pickup for sure

Bring out some twine and the grease gun no end to what she’ll endure

She’ll rake hay with the tractor till late afternoon then wobble to go cook a meal

Help the kids with their homework and houseclean just like it was part of the deal

A doctor a lawyer a parts girl and she keeps all the books for the herd

She knows every cow by her color and age and you’d best not be doubt’n her word

She loves flowers those from the garden or growin’ out there in the wild

So pick her some bluebells she’ll squeal in delight her spirit as free as a child

She cries at funerals some weddings sad movies and still born foals

And shoulders the burdens for others as they’re strivin’ at reachin’ their goals

The lady serves council for people in need in politics she does her part

A wizard at patchin’ an old pair of jeans or mendin’ a soul’s broken heart

She’s light hearted a practical jester at times and she tells the odd smutty tale

But well knows her Lord and her master the life lines are delicate and frail

You’ll see her smilin’ come winter down at the Cattleman’s Ball

Her hair all done up and stars in her eyes with a well wish for one and for all

She’s got that same gentle aura that angels possess when they fly

This evenin’ is hers for enjoyin’ and she asks that all others comply

And when they dim the house lights and the old time waltz is played

Take her on your arm old son retrace the miles you’ve made

And trip the lights fantastic you know she dances fine

And buckaroo be proud of yours and know I’m proud of mine

Happy Trails

© Brian Salmond 

That really about sums it up.