I don’t usually let things get under my skin, but today? I nearly lost it.
At the feed store, dressed in my usual muddy boots and baseball cap, the guy behind the counter asked if I was looking for the gift shop. Then he wondered if my “husband” would be loading the truck. I told him my husband left five years ago—and the cows didn’t seem to mind. I’ve been running 240 acres solo ever since.
I usually ignore this kind of thing, even when neighbors like Roy “check in” like I don’t know what I’m doing. But that day, I found a note nailed to my barn: “I know what you did with the west pasture.” It hit me hard. That pasture was a mess when my ex left, and I’d poured myself into restoring it.
At first, I thought it was a prank. But then Pepper, my dog, and I found strange footprints and scratch marks on the barn. Someone was snooping.
When I told Lucia, a friend and fellow farmer, she wondered if it was someone from my ex’s side. That night, I saw a figure outside the barn. Pepper chased them off, but I only caught a glimpse—a slender figure with dark hair.
I called the sheriff and set up trail cams. Days later, Roy spotted someone taking pictures near my property. Turned out, it was a consultant working for a development firm trying to scare landowners into selling. They were targeting multiple farms—mine included.
But I didn’t back down.
I rallied the local farmers, reported everything, and the county stepped in. The development plans were shelved.
Now, when I walk into the feed store, the guy behind the counter doesn’t make jokes. He just nods. Maybe he heard what happened. Or maybe he finally sees me for what I am.
I run this ranch. Every acre. Every fence post. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m not playing a part—I’m living it, boots to barn door, until the sun sets for good.
