It is always a bittersweet moment when we move from the farm to the ranch in May. I love the activity of the summer season: riding with our returning guests, who have become dear friends over the years, and meeting new guests, getting the chance to see the ranch for the first time all over again through their eyes. The ranch is alive with energy all summer– the excited, buzzing energy of our guests who choose to spend their vacations with us and the dedicated, passionate energy of our fantastic staff, all of whom really value the animals and natural wonder that surrounds us. It is a thrill to be a part of that energy…I certainly feed off of it, and I hope I contribute to it too. I love spending my summer days riding, either training young horses or showing our guests a new trail. I love watching the guests who choose to take lessons with me improve so significantly over the course of the week, the smiles I see when they finally get the hang of posting the trot, the evident exhilaration when they first canter successfully, the absolute relief on their faces when their bottoms no longer hurt on Day 4. I love watching our guests turn competitive during team-sorting. I love watching them figure out the best strategies for separating the cows, and I love that Mel and I almost always beat them. I love watching the horses run up to the bench every evening, especially when I don’t see any lame horses hobbling at the back of the pack. I love the late afternoon sun during cocktail hour, the intriguing conversations we so frequently have with guests during dinner. I love the morning meetings that Richard and I have with Mel, setting a plan for the day and then (usually) sticking to it. I even love the quiet early mornings when we wrangle the horses down from the bench, the dew in the grass, and the way my voice pierces the silence when I make my Wrangler Call: hor-SES!
But, I also love the winters. I love our little farmhouse…it’s what I consider home. The farmhouse is where I hang our photographs and paintings, where I’ve attempted to hone my interior decorating and cooking skills. I love knowing where everything is (okay, Richard will laugh out loud when he reads that sentence because it’s such an exaggeration that it’s almost an outright lie!). Better said, I love knowing where most things are:). I love the quiet, cold, early nights, the crackling fires in our wood-burning stove, our disturbingly comfortable couch. I love having the time and energy to read a book before bed. I love the lilac bushes, rose bushes, silver Buffaloberry bushes, Honey Locust trees and Honeysuckle vines we planted this year and last, our nascent attempts at landscape design. I love walking through the horse herd to check on them in the pasture. I love seeing them free and undisturbed for months on end. I love teaching the young horses new skills like neck reining. I love fixing fence in the fall and spreading irrigation pipe in the spring. I love watching the cows mother their newborn calves in the winter. I love how different every season is at the farm, both in terms of the way things look and the tasks that need to be done.
And now the time has come for the transition. Tomorrow, Thursday, we load up the rest of our stuff in the car, unplug the appliances and shut up our farmhouse for the summer. Today I am a little sad because I have many fond memories from this winter, and it feels strange to think I won’t sleep in my house for almost 5 months. I’ll probably even shed a few tears before the car is completely packed. But tears or no, we will be heading northwest tomorrow. We will drive up East Fork Road, and Whistle will have her head hanging out the window. As we crest over the last rise before the ranch and start down the switchbacks, I will smile as I always do. My feet will start tapping as I look out over the field of young horses. I am sure I will notice Highland cows in 3 or 4 different fields, since they never stay long in their assigned place. Richard and I will laugh at their incorrigible nature. We will drive up to the lodge, and I’ll get out of the car to a very welcoming Mango-dog. Whistle and Gupta will greet their doggy friends, while I will run over to the barn and give Chilly and Kathleen, two of our returning wranglers, huge hugs. I bet it will be muddy and chilly and maybe a little overcast. We won’t say much to each other because we won’t need to….we have all summer now, but we will all have really bright, happy eyes. It will feel good to be together again. I will head up to my house and take my cats out of their cat carriers. They will settle immediately. They always do. Then I will start the epic process of unpacking. I will not finish unpacking because I will need to get dressed to go to the lodge and host cocktail hour. There I will meet our first guests of the season and pour Bayard a glass of red wine, while he adds a log to the fire roaring in the fireplace. Bayard will start telling a story, and he will likely bring out the dashing photograph from his modeling days. Mel will come in after doing her chores and join our little party for a few minutes before dinner. Richard will come in just before dinner, leaving his extremely muddy boots in the staffroom, having just solved some crisis that only he could solve. We will wait for our guests to get their food, and then the four of us will make our way through the buffet line. It will feel like such a gift to be eating a delicious, hot meal that I had no hand in preparing, and I will make several comments about this as I serve myself. Mel will laugh and agree, and Richard, sweet man that he is, will make a comment about how he likes my cooking best. My heart will be very full, my eyes will be shining: I will be almost giddy about being together again, the four of us, about making the magic of the ranch happen for another summer. All will feel right, and I’ll be ready. But, that’s tomorrow…
