The ranching lifestyle is romanticized by many. It is a way of living that many people feel they can live and fulfill. But it is far from that. It is blood, sweat, and lots of tears. It is happy moments of calving and it is the difficult moments of low price returns for that year.
But to be a rancher's daughter is a whole different game. To fit in this role it takes a special kind of individual. One that will not get emotional when splitting off calves. Yet one that will show a newborn calf love and attention. An individual that is tough as nails to keep up with the boys. But also one that can care for the youngest member of the family. One that sees a broken down fence as a challenge and not a nightmare, as well as on that knows her way around the shop.
To be a rancher's daughter, you must be comfortable in every situation and know how to fix it quickly. The roller just broke on you, the field still needs to get done. A cow chasing after you, you better know the closest escape route. Horse acting like the typical mare that she is, you better keep a strong hand on her and still get your job done.
To be a rancher's daughter one must know what is best for the ranch itself. This includes leaving it one day, even with a broken heart, knowing that there are others in the family that will take care of the land and the cattle while she is away. But it is also leaving knowing that you would never regret the way you were raised. You will always miss the simple things of life. The waving to every car when driving down the road and knowing who everyone is. Running around the ranch to check water, cows, or put out salt and not seeing a single person your whole afternoon.
To be a rancher's daughter is much different than many would expect. But it is a way of life that only certain individuals can say proudly. It is these individuals that know how to put hard work into every day and know there is always something to get done. These individuals will never gloat about their accomplishments and never complain about their failures.
