THE MONTANA’S COWGIRL

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She is the dust and the sky, a Montana cowgirl with a heart as wild as the wind.




Sunlight filtered slantingly through the dust motes dancing in the barn, illuminating the worn leather of a saddle hanging from a stand. The air smelled of hay, horsepower, and the faint, sweet scent of mugwort carried on the breeze. No traffic lights, horns, a noisy crowd, the sounds of the city. Only sunrises and sunsets, the lowing of cattle, and the silence of strong hands.


Lily rose before the sun, a quick breakfast of coffee and scrambled eggs and bacon or sausage, fried potatoes or baked potatoes, beans, and whole wheat bread or homemade biscuits. Then she put on faded jeans and a worn flannel shirt, the cold air nipping at her cheeks as she headed to the barn. She was always with her horse, a trusty chestnut named Maverick, whose deep brown eyes reflected enormous challenges overcome.


Life on the ranch in Montana was an endless list of things to do. There were fences to repair, calves to brand, and miles of pasture to monitor. A smartphone to check the weather, and then she'd go out to feed the horses and cattle. The rest of the day depended on the season.


In the spring, she dedicated herself to calving and branding. Summer was dedicated to haymaking and fence repairs. Fall was dedicated to rounding up and shipping the cattle, and in winter it was mostly about making sure the herd had enough forage, then breaking the ice in the water troughs.


A beautiful and free life, but hard. Out in the cold during a blizzard trying to carry a newborn calf back to the barn, or staying up all night checking on a sick horse. A stake to drive into the hard, rocky ground, a sudden thunderstorm. She could fix a faulty tractor engine as skillfully as she could repair a bridle.


What she loved was the quiet of a Montana night, the stunning scenery. After a long day, she would sit on the porch, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands, and gaze at the sky. Without the city lights to obscure them, the stars were incredibly bright, an immense and silent testimony to the vastness of the world she lived in. In those moments, the burden of the workday would lift, replaced by a profound sense of peace.


The dust from her boots, the calluses on her hands, and her unwavering gaze are signs of her free spirit.


QUARTAVEL ©

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