Author: Heather Countryman

Montana girl living in Reno, Nevada.

Roots and Wings

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Well, as most of you may now know, my family and I have packed up our home in the mountains of western Montana, and moved just a little further east to the farmlands and prairies of the hi-line in Havre.  You may scratch your heads and ask, “Why?” Trust me, I had the same thought, but one can’t spend too much time second guessing these sorts of decisions.

I have an adventurous side. I always have.  It may be my own curiosity, dreams I felt were unfulfilled, wanderlust, or what have you, but I like to think that it’s maybe just touch of my grandparents’ pioneering spirit that sparked my interest when this opportunity arose.  When my grandpa, a cattle rancher from the Billings area, decided to sell the family ranch in Dean, Montana and move his family to the snowbelt of the Swan Range, his family, too, thought he was crazy.  He didn’t care. He relied on his knowledge, strength, and courage to do what he felt was right for his family.  My grandmother, full of quiet grace and strength, humbly followed him in his vision for a different life.  They were pioneers in their own right, building an outfitting business and guest ranch in a land they knew little about.  They drew on each other’s faith, and that of the good Lord above.  They raised five children without the help of family, or the assistance from government.  They worked hard for every penny they had, the callouses on their hands, and the lines on their face.

They fell in love with the mountains, immersed themselves in hard work and building a community, fought through hard winters, and persevered through loss of money, family, and business.  But, they never lost sight of their love and strength of and for their family.  They instilled that in all of us. 

So although this move and change may be difficult, I feel this is truly the beginning of a new chapter of my life, my adventure.  It’s my chance to tap my pioneer spirit, draw on their strength and memories, and make memories of my own with my husband and children.  My grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles gave me strong roots that run deep, but they also gave me the wings to fly.  Life is truly what I choose to make it.  With all the wrong turns I’ve made, I’m finally right where I should be, and it’s a new peace of mind.

In closing, don’t forget what you’re made of.  Everyone has the equal opportunity in life to pull themselves up by their boot straps, no matter the situation, and make the most of this life given.  Be grateful for the hard times that carve out your strengths, relish the good times, and most of all, just live.

~Happy Trails~  

Beauty Fades

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​I am straying from my usual ramblings this week about horses, mountains, and such, and delving into the unfamiliar territory of women’s obsession with the world of beauty, and being a thirty-something that is easily reeled in due to the first signs of aging.  Trust me, this is still a cowgirl’s feeble approach to finding her own way through this madness.
Women work overtime to keep the aging process at bay these days, and being pretty just ain’t real pretty.  First off, it’s tough to decide which beauty regiment to adhere to.  I found that it takes me so long to follow directions of the night time regimescrubs and lotions, that by the time I finish, it’s time to start the morning one.  And the term “beauty sleep” is just false advertisement.  Usually I need a coma in order to avoid waking up looking like a troll.
        Then there is hair dye. There are two approaches to taming pesky grays:  1. I can pay a professional a steep price, take in a picture of my favorite Hollywood glamour girl, and pray for miraculous results.  (The only way I will look like Ashley Judd is if someone staples the picture to my forehead!) Or… 2.  I can attempt this process myself by guessing what shade of box color to buy from the store. This is usually where I see a young girl with 40 shades of purple, black, and green, and decide walking away from the aisle is money well saved.
​The cosmetics aisle lures me in with promises of fuller lips, longer lashes, whiter teeth, better skin, and less hair in the places I don’t want it.  (This is the place my husband avoids at all cost and says he will be in the sporting goods section if and when I am ever ready.)  I walk out with volumizing shampoo, new tweezers, some sort of smoky shade of eye shadow, and teeth whitening strips, and broke.
Of course there is also exercise to take into consideration.  Long gone are the perky twenties, and I’m facing the falling forties and fifties.  This is when I find myself on the treadmill with bad knees, a popped lung and a skinny blond girl running Mach 1 next to me and wishing I’d given up ice cream and my delicious, morning, foamy lattes.
​I could go on and on about endless beauty options and ideas available these days that promise a youthful, firmer, more glamorous me, but when it comes down to it, I’m working on realizing that youth simply fades, but modesty and grace never grow old. Ladies, take the time to remember who you were before the world told you who you should be.  You can take no credit for your beauty at 20, but when you are still beautiful at 60+, you can thank your beautiful heart and soul.  We are the most beautiful version of ourselves when camping with our kids, smiling at our special guy, sharing time with our parents and grandparents, and just simply being us.
~Happy Trails~

Emmitt

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Best of Friends

My brother, Ralph, age 17, was finally on his way home.  For a year and half, he had battled leukemia, and was returning from Seattle where he had received a bone marrow transplant.  We were in the dead heat of summer, guest ranch in full swing, and I was anxiously awaiting my brother and mom’s arrival.  Six months earlier, I didn’t know if I’d ever see my brother again. But as their car turned the drive, my heart filled.

Ralph stepped from the car and tears rolled down my cheeks.  He was home.  He stood before me pale and weakened from months of chemotherapy, radiation, and medication, but he was there alive, hat crooked sideways and a smile on his face. 

Summer rolled on, and Ralph became restless.  He had strict instructions to be careful in the sunlight; he had a weakened immune system susceptible to infection.  The barnyard was the last place he was supposed to be, but Ralph needed to breathe fresh air and touch a horse again.  During his treatment, his horse had gone lame, and had to be sold.  It was yet another blow, as Ralph loved his horses.

One afternoon lent itself to a car ride to town together.  I had some errands to run for the ranch, and Ralph decided to tag along.  We discussed girls, music, and inevitably…horses.  Our conversations frequently turned to the favorite subject; confirmation, bloodlines, dreams of owning a ranch. Stopping at a gas station, we picked up a paper to glance over horse ads, and one piqued our interest. The errands would have to wait.

 We drove along looking for the correct address.  As we pulled in the drive, two chestnut horses picked their heads up, watching us as we got out.  The older of the two approached us at the gate, the younger observed from a distance.  The owner greeted us, carrying a halter with her.  Catching both horses, I asked questions, and looked them over.  The younger one, “Cruz”, caught my eye.  As Ralph pet the younger of the two, he looked at me with that crooked grin.  The horse turned to sniff at him.  At that exact moment, I knew this horse was coming home with my brother.  Cruz had been a college girl’s project at Montana State, and she now needed the funds to finish school.  If we weren’t sold already on his looks, his disposition had us writing the check.  Cruz came home with us.

Cruz’s name was changed to Emmitt via a long discussion of names on that car-ride home. Emmitt stood for Emmit Smith, Ralph’s favorite childhood football star. And it fit.

 As we pulled in the barnyard, we were welcomed by Mom, Dad, and the whole ranch gang. Everyone knew what it meant to Ralph to have this horse.  I was able to be a part of something special.  I couldn’t be there for Ralph during his treatment, but I could be there to start a new chapter of his life. 

It’s been years since that day Ralph met Emmitt.  It’s still one of my favorite memories with Ralph, and their relationship still grows to this day working cows in Florida.  It’s a partnership built on bull-headedness, heart, understanding and true grit. And it’s my favorite story of a man and his horse.

Ode to Equipause

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For my fellow horsewomen…

My Uncle Jack Rich, first introduced me to the term, equipause.  Definition: Noun.  A duration of time from when a girl first discovers she has an intense love for all things horse. It effects women from the age of 1 to 90 and there is no cure. It’s something most men won’t get. Equipause is expensive; it requires several horses, trailers, saddles, riding lessons, and barns.  A woman’s love for her equine pal will leave a guy scratching his butt and winding his watch.  Women may go gaga over puppies, sunsets, babies, and old couples that still hold hands, but there is nothing that quite enthralls a girl like her love for a horse. 

 

 A true horsewoman spends more time thinking about her horse than a man actually spends thinking, I think.  But if a man understood what that horse does for her, he would never question it.  Her horse teaches her lessons that no parent or teacher ever could.  Her horse is her best listener of thoughts and worries, and is the keeper of her secrets.  Her horse gives her wings to fly and makes her smile.  Horses help her see that hard work really does pay off in the end.  Her horse strengthens her soul and helps her face fears she thought she could never overcome.  Her horse is her peace and solitude when nothing else seems right.  The feeling she has when she rides, she can’t explain; all she feels is free.  In her mind, she’s that ten year old girl again riding bareback across the meadow.  Her horse is her travel partner over miles of rough trail in life.

 

In the end, you can’t put a price on that.  It’s worth every nickel ever spent.  A little note to the man that marries a horsewoman with equipause; don’t expect her to change because you knew she was crazy about horses when you met her.  And if you ever can’t find your girl, check the barn.  There’s a pretty good chance you will find her there with her face buried in his mane.  She’s there for the peace it brings her at the end of the day, and for the love she gets in return.

 

So thank you to my horse, Twist for what you give me each day.  I never want to outgrow that “horse phase”, and I pray to God I never do. 

Dude Horse

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Dude horses are a special breed of horse.  It takes a special breed to do be a dude horse, and like most animals, they have very distinct personalities.  And they are also dumb like a fox.  Allow me to elaborate…

Dude horse is the one that avoids being caught first thing in the morning by pulling the lame horse trick.  He’s the one that ran in at full speed out of the pasture at the mere mention of a treat, but suddenly can’t walk in the corral when wrangler appears with a halter.  Wrangler, not buying his act, catches and ties him to the hitch rack.  Wrangler approaches with a brush, and dude horse flinches his skin in attempt to convince wrangler he is too sore to be ridden. When Wrangler saddles him, he turns around to bite wrangler in buttocks in order to further convince he’s serious, and upon walking behind him, cocks a hoof and passes gas in wrangler’s face.  Then, the said dude arrives for what will probably proceed to be a very LONG two hours.  This is when dude horse’s charade really kicks in.  The dude approaches to pet the “pretty girl” and dude horse smiles to himself, rolls his eyes back in his head, and proceeds to try to pull the hitch rack out of the ground. Dude screams and asks, “Is he safe to ride?”  Wrangler rolls her eyes, unties dude horse, nods her head yes, asks the dude to follow her to mount up, all the while silently cussing dude horse.  Dude horse then proceeds to hold his breath and bloat in order to keep his cinch loose. This comes in handy when dude tries to mount and the saddle slides clear to the side, further deterring said dude.  Wrangler glares at dude horse, re-centers the saddle, and sucks cinch up snug.  Dude horse adjust stance and smashes wrangler’s foot with his hoof.  Wrangler swears (again) and calls dude horse many, many names and helps dude mount.  Dude horse follows wrangler and lead horse out of the barnyard, barely.  Dude horse stops, and turns around to head back home, convincing dude he’s in charge, which he is.  Wrangler stops, turns dude horse around and proceeds down the trail.  Dude horse gets to water crossing and a little mud and leaps, dislodging dude and leaves dude hanging.  Wrangler re-centers dude, and proceeds down the trail (again).  Dude horse then lags way behind and smirks as the wrangler instructs the dude to give him a kick.  Dude horse kicks into a stiff-legged, short-strided trot and then stops suddenly to plant face in grass, almost jerking dude out of the saddle.  Wrangler swears (again) silently to herself. This cycle repeats until dude horse realizes he’s turned for home.  Dude horse trots more and eats less and almost bursts into dance when the barnyard is once again in sight.   Somehow, wrangler still loves dude horse at the end of all of this, because she can’t help but know he’s too smart for his own good.

Marital Advice

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Since both my brothers have decided to get hitched as of recent, I felt the need to bestow upon them my vast wealth of marital knowledge… Ha! Here goes nothing.

Marriage is a relationship in which one of you is always right and the other is the husband.  There are days that she will make about as much sense to you as going to McDonald’s for a salad, but deal with it.  She will have endless amounts of beauty supplies sprawled across your side of the bathroom counter.  (The amount of beauty supplies will increase with age.)  She will always find you attractive with a dishrag in your hand and asking her what she would like for dinner.  She will steal covers and put her cold feet on your backside.  Don’t ever act like you just cleaned the whole house when all you did was take out the trash.  Compliment her.  She knows she’s chunky when she’s chunky; love her anyway.  Go to the gym with her. There will be days you feel like poisoning her coffee, and there will be days you wish you would have just drank it instead.  She will not always shave her legs; in fact, this becomes rarer after children.  When she sends you on errands, do it right for goodness sake.  She doesn’t need the 3rd string quarterback picking out the wrong peanut butter.  Never count on your furniture being in one place for too long; when left to her own devices, she will change it. Frequently, the middle of your sentence will be interrupted with the beginning of hers.  That’s your cue to stop talking.  Don’t ever say you have to use the restroom when she asks you to do dishes.  Don’t give her “the look” when she pulls into a parking space like she owns the joint.  When shopping, don’t make her feel like you would if you were hunting with the game warden.  She will always worry about money, where you are, why you’re late, and the spot on the carpet she can’t get out.  Her mind is like an internet browser with forty-five tabs open at once.  There will be times you think she is completely crazy, but remember, you wanted to marry her!  Love her more than you do the dog, your truck, and bacon, because there isn’t much she wouldn’t do for you; after all, she said, “Yes”.  When you look back twenty years from now, remember how much fun you had annoying each other and promise to do it for thirty more.

~Happy Trails

New Year’s Resolutions

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I hope this finds all of you recovering from a wonderful Christmas.

 

 I can’t believe a whole year has passed since I didn’t become that trimmer, slimmer, more organized, less tired, happier, healthier, better person. And I still don’t weigh what my driver’s license says.  So as I start this year’s list off, I will try to focus on attainable goals in order to avoid the self loathing and disappointment that comes at the end of the year when I have once again completely failed. So here goes nothing:

1.       Stop making lists.

B.  Learn to count better.

7.  Stop hanging out with people that ask me what my new year’s resolutions are.

3.  Actually write 2014 on my checks and other documents and not 2013.

A.  Eat healthier… Wait… Is that chocolate?

4.  Make better bad decisions.

C.  Swear less. Oh forget it… 

9.  Go to church more.

6.  Stop making lists.

M.  Improve my memory.  It’s not as good as it used to be.  Also, my memory isn’t as good as it used to be.

2.  Keep one house plant alive.

T.  Fatten the bank account and slim the body.  Somehow, I got that backwards the past few years.

5.  Stay more focused and finish what I

I guess I better stop there.  Some of these goals may be a bit tougher than I bargained for.  With that being said, I hope all of you keep in mind that if you’re worrying about reaching your new year’s resolutions, maybe you oughta rethink them. Learn from mistakes and move on and remember to let go.  Try one new thing you’ve always wanted to try.  Visit your parents.  Buy your kids less electronics.  Put down your dumb smart phone and have a conversation with those around you.  Write a letter, not a text.  Live more. Love more. Laugh more.  Enjoy your life and every little moment it has to offer.  Live simply and simply…live.  Blessings on your new year!  Happy trails…

 

If I Had a Million Dollars…

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They say money can’t buy happiness. I’ve always wanted to test that particular theory.  What happiness couldn’t a million dollars buy? I certainly could go on that long awaited Australian vacation, hire a personal trainer to achieve athlete status, buy multitudes of horses and mules and that new diesel flatbed truck and horse trailer I’ve been wanting, help some family out, donate to charity, pay all my bills on time, get facials and spa treatments, manicures and the latest hairstyles, (Except Miley Cyrus’s short and shaved do. Even money can’t pull that look off!). I could purchase the clothes I want, own two hundred pairs of shoes, (wait…I might already), dine at fancy restaurants, and live in fat city. Now, let me ask you, what doesn’t sound amazing about that? It sounds like pure bliss to me.  Then, I stop to think about what I have without that cool million.  I have a family, a beautiful one.  I have four horses in the corral and mountains and trails out my back door. I have time to donate to charity and time to help out family. I have clothes on my back and shoes on my feet. If I want fine cuisine, I go to Mom’s house, (not mine). When I add up what I do have, it surpasses that million dollar mark by miles. I may not have stunning Hollywood hair, a nice manicure, and I’m still waiting on that Australian vacation and diesel flatbed truck, but I have what’s the most important in life…The love for the land, friends and family to laugh with, a good horse to ride, blue skies, and new trails to ride. I can’t put a price on that…

No Regrets

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“Live a good and honorable life.  Then when you get older, you can look back on it and enjoy it twice.” ~Unknown

When I ponder this quote, it causes me to pause and think about my life.  I ask myself simple questions like, “Have I shown those closest to me how much they mean to me? Have I given my all in every troubled time? Did I always put my best foot forward, even when all I had were two wrong feet and really ugly shoes? Did I follow through on goals and dreams?” The simple answer to that is, no. I have not even really come close.  So often I get caught up in my own daily routine and omit the importance of taking time for what seems medial; focusing on what is wrong instead of right, forgetting that the small tasks are the force of change behind the bigger goals.  This causes me to realize a change of heart and thought is necessary, and the change of season signals that time.  It’s time to stall the worries and doubts. It’s time to do more and expect less; it’s time to explore those wonders and what ifs. No more excuses means no more regrets.  I would hope that at the end of my life, I am able to look back and know I’ve exhausted all talent given, knowing that I did my best to be the difference.  I want to know I can reflect back and know that, yes, it was good and honorable, and heck yes, I sure enjoyed it twice… Here’s to hoping you will do the same.  Happy Trails.

In Love with Montana

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“I’m in love with Montana. For other states I have admiration, respect, recognition, even some affection. But with Montana it is love. And it’s difficult to analyze love when you’re in it.”
― John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America

This is one of my all time favorite quotes about this place I call home.  I couldn’t agree more.  You can’t analyze the beauty, the landscapes, the people, the wildness.  It just is what it is.  I feel this as I ride down the trail watching the summer fade into early fall.  The color of the Mountain Ash turning orange, and the last of the Fireweed blooms close signaling the change of seasons. The tranquility surrounds me and seeps into my soul.  As I look around and breathe the crisp air, I thank God my skyscrapers are made of rock and trees.  The noises I hear are that of the bull elk bugling in the pines, or the red tailed hawk signaling his presence with a shrill call, or my horse’s feet clicking over the rocks on the trail.  The love I have for this place and life cannot be explained through words, but I sure feel it with every inch of my heart.  Montana takes a hold of my soul.  I feel sorry for those that endlessly search for their peace.  I can’t imagine a life surrounded by schedule, the sound of sirens, traffic, and such.  So, I encourage you to get out and find that place in the nature of Montana to be soothed and healed, and have your senses put in order and share it with those you love. Cause there’s no place like the “last best place”….Montana.