Those who know me well understand that I am a city girl trapped in a country girl body. (My Steve Madden kitten heels sit comfortably next to a pair of Ariat cowboy boots.) There are so many things that lure me to country life, but I just have a hard time giving up city living. Luckily, I can passify the fetish with frequent weekend visits to The Husband's family ranch homestead. Yes, the in-laws are cattle ranchers. And this isn't just a passing hobby. They have a full-fledged operation.
We spent Saturday on the ranch helping my father in law check cattle, and The Husband even branded a few cows to show off his this-is-in-my-blood mentality. The branding iron makes a nice sizzling sound and then the smell of putrid, burning cow hair fills the air. I must have shriveled up my nose, because my sister in law promptly told me that the burning stench of cow hair was actually the "smell of money." Go figure.
It was a beautiful day on the ranch. We had a lunch of delicious, perfectly carmelized ham and several versions of the popular deviled egg. We sat on the shady porch of the ranch house and watched kids on an early hunt for Easter eggs, some of which were filled with pennies and nickels. We also ventured out into an adjoining pasture, where The Husband tried to catch a newborn calf for me to pet. He only accomplished a pull of its tail, however, but I enjoyed watching the spectacle.
The image above is a photo of Sonny, my father in law's horse. I tend to ride a rather stout mare named Latches, so named because she can open all the latches in the barn, letting herself out to graze in the open pasture. Smart girl.
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