I lived in Montana just long enough to grow a liking for country music. It’s almost a necessity out here. The rural back roads and high mountain passes leave limited FM choices. And by limited I mean country, politics, or static.
Honestly, I like country. The storytelling of it all. I find myself nodding yes to lyrics. Tapping the steering wheel to the beat. Belting out the chorus as I trudge up the winding roads. One, in particular, got me. Kalie Shorr’s “Fight Like a Girl” is your quintessential poppy young country tune. But I find this line really says it all.
“I’m perfume sweet and whiskey strong.”
Old trucks and pretty pups go together like tanqueray and tonic with lime.
Spring in the valley means fetchin’ it up with my bestie.
Kel is my racehorse training, quick lipped, longtime friend from Kentucky. We fine honed our sass together up in Montana. She is just the friend every girl should have. Not a picky eater. Drinks beer for breakfast. Always down for an adventure and never has a bad time. She knows how to plug a jukebox with the best Country hits. And I bet she could out spit your brother. Her Northern charm will keep anyone on their toes. This girl is my Chelsea Handler.
Dropping her off at the airport brought a level of sadness I wasn’t expecting. After 4 years apart we fell right back into a comfortable rhythm. Love you, Kel! Don’t be such a stranger, friend!
I said she could have venison sausage with dinner. She made me shake on it.
It’s not a trophy. More of an art piece. A totem, of sorts. The physical means of honoring an animal. A life that was taken so that me and mine can be nourished through the winter.
The heaviness of this is not lost on me. I have chosen to harvest my own food. To know where it came from. And so, I practice my shot and sharpen my knifes. Making the passing as humane as possible. I run my hands over his tines, across his well muscled back. Breath in ever moment. Sear it to memory. And utter a prayer of thanks.
Tonight, we devoured the most tender venison roast. Coupled with a crisp salad, roasted cauliflower, and potatoes (it’s Idaho, there are always potatoes!)
I smiled with pride.
I’ve consumed a whole pot of coffee, watered the hens, and cuddled the pups. All while wearing my new Mad Bomber hat. Thanks, Momma!
He wakes every morning with a song in his head. As if he tapped into a distant memory while he was sleeping. Clear as day. He types it in, hooks into the mains perched up high in the living room and blares it loud. The day has officially started.
This is the exact opposite of how I start. Lights low, sipping coffee, whispering to the dogs. I love this about us.
He is the strongest, most intelligent, outspoken, painfully handsome man I know. Each day he knocks the responsible corners off of me. Pushes me to just live life. To the fullest. At every moment. To stand tall in my beliefs and be the best version of myself.
Today is his birthday. I’ll make him fresh eggs tucked neatly in a burrito, with way too much Wisconsin cheese. And thank my lucky stars for all the paths that brought me to him.
It’s magnetic. What we have.
My favorite are the crimps in her bunny soft ears. And those dark brown eyes. I even love her obsessive ‘fun police’ bark. She’s a good old girl.