Normally, strangers don’t agitate me, but today? I almost lost it.
The feed shop was where it all began. Wearing my typical outfit of faded jeans, boots covered in mud, and yes, my long blond braid tucked under a beat-up ball cap, I was scooping up fencing wire and mineral blocks. The man behind the counter gave me a confused look. asked if I wanted the gift shop’s directions.
“No, I’m just here to buy the same stuff I’ve been buying every week for ten years,” I said.
He chuckled. I laughed.
Then he enquired as to whether my “husband” would be doing the truck loading.
I informed him that the cows didn’t appear to care that my spouse had departed five years prior. I manage 240 acres by myself. Fix damaged water lines, give birth to calves at two in the morning, and carry hay as if it were nothing. However, people continue to make assumptions based on the woman’s appearance and blonde hair.
I’m even treated like a rancher by my neighbours. The person across the creek, Roy, is constantly “checking in” on me as if I didn’t finish first in my ag science class. “Don’t overwork yourself, sweetheart,” he will remark. In the meantime, during a snowstorm last winter, I repaired his broken water line.
I attempt to ignore it, but it accumulates. You grow weary of having to prove oneself twice in order to be seen as only partially competent.
After all of that, I came home today to see a letter attached to the door of my barn. Not a stamp. No name to return. A single, folded-up note that read:
“I am aware of your actions regarding the west pasture.”
I think I read those words five times. At the top of the ridge, they struck me like a hard wind. My pride and joy is the west pasture, thirty acres of grazing area that I have been meticulously repairing for almost a year. The fence lines were destroyed, the soil was undermined, and there were large holes where we had tried out a shoddy irrigation plan when my ex-husband left. In order for the grass to grow back strongly, I put my all into that patch by reseeding it, fertilising it, and repairing the water system. It is now as verdant and lush as any picture found in a rancher magazine.
The meaning of “I know what you did with the west pasture” was beyond my comprehension. Teenagers from the area might have pulled a practical joke. Or perhaps Roy left it in an attempt to shake me. Writing menacing messages isn’t precisely the man’s style, but he can be as amiable as a prickly pear at times. However, I was unable to conceive of anyone else who would be sufficiently interested in my operation to post a mysterious remark on my barn.
After stuffing the note into my back pocket, I made an effort to continue my day. I needed to make phone calls, feed the animals, and do chores. But like a tenacious weed, the note kept coming back to me. By late afternoon, I knew that until I had some answers, I would not be able to concentrate. So I got in my old truck and drove over the stream to Roy’s property, which was the only sensible thing I could think of to do.
When I pulled up, Roy was outside his workshop. He began to wave when he saw me getting out of the truck, but when he realised how serious my expression was, he let his arm drop.
He cried out, “Hey there.” “Is everything alright?”
Now wrinkled from being in my pocket, I held up the note. “Does anyone recognise this?”
The words caused him to squint. “No. You claim that someone left that at your house.
“I nailed it to the door of my barn.”
“Unusual.” He scratched his chin’s stubble. “You enquire as to whether Old Man Garrison is playing tricks on you.”
Another neighbour, old man Garrison, was well-known for his temper. Even when they are far from his property limits, he complains about others crossing them. It didn’t feel like him, though. If he had an issue, he would just come up and yell at you.
I gave a headshake. “Not just yet. I thought I would start with you.
Roy scowled. “Well, not me. It’s not my style. Then his scowl changed to something a bit more reflective. “However, I am aware that there have been rumours that you have a new buyer in mind for your heifers.”
I blew a soft whistle. Word gets around quickly here. Yes, because my present contract isn’t exactly paying top price, I’ve been considering moving to a different buyer. However, nobody cares about that.
He gave a shrug. “You are aware of how people gossip. Anyway, I’ll be honest with you: that wasn’t me. I wish I could be of more assistance. He cleared his throat after that. “Well, do you need assistance with anything now that you’re here?”
The irony almost made me laugh. For the first time in our history as neighbours, he was truly providing assistance without being patronising. I understood that I shouldn’t vent my annoyance on him. Despite his complexity, Roy seemed to care about things in his own way. I still said, “Thank you, but no thanks.” I intended to solve this issue by myself.
The following morning began rather routinely. I fed the chickens, checked on the main herd and took my dog, Pepper, for a stroll along the fence line as part of my daily sunrise routine. Pepper, a large Australian Shepherd mix, follows me everywhere. Particularly since we experienced a coyote problem last year, she is protective. With her tail bobbing in the early morning sun, she trotted beside me.
I noticed new footprints pressed into the soggy soil beside the pond halfway across the west field. Roy, who typically leaves deeper imprints due to his heavier stride, didn’t have any, and neither did I. They appeared smaller, as if someone my size had been present. But who in hell was looking around when I hadn’t been out that way in at least two days?
Pepper gave the ground a sniff before growling softly. My nerves were jangled. To check if there was another message left, I hurried back to the barn. Nothing. However, it appeared as though someone had attempted to pry the nails off the barn door. Although it wasn’t overt enough to do any harm, it was unquestionably novel.
My heart was racing. This wasn’t a teen joke. Someone was spying on me, attempting to frighten me, or worse. And I genuinely felt… uneasy for the first time in a long time. However, I had put too much effort into creating my life here to be intimidated by a few strange threats.
I went into town that evening for a short bite to eat at the neighbourhood cafe and to get some extra locks for the barn. I happened to run into my friend Lucia there. About ten miles up the road, she owns her own place, a dairy farm that she has successfully transformed into a profitable enterprise. Before I knew it, I blurted out the entire tale when she asked how I was doing—the letter, the strange markings on the barn, the footprints. When I explained the message of the note to her, she listened intently and her eyes narrowed.
After setting down her coffee cup, Lucia asked, “Are you certain it’s not a member of your ex’s family? Perhaps they are attempting to make a claim.
I stopped. Although he had some friends in other counties, my ex-husband wasn’t originally from this area. Nevertheless, since he left, he had never once expressed any interest in the property. His people hadn’t, as far as I knew. It had a stretchy feel.
I said, “I’m not sure of anything.” “But games aren’t in my schedule.”
Lucia gave me a shoulder pat. “Remain calm. Tell me if you need backup. In order to frighten away any trespassers, I will set a camp in that west field.
I was grateful for her offer. I felt more at ease just knowing that someone was looking out for me.
It was a clear, starry sky when I drove home. Like a postcard at night, the ranch fields were illuminated by the moon. However, I noticed activity around the main barn as soon as I turned down my lengthy gravel driveway. A figure squatting close to the side door, tinkering with something, was caught in my headlights. My gut churned.
I shouted, “Hey!” as I slammed on the brakes and leaped out. Behind me, Pepper ran out and began barking wildly. In one smooth motion, the figure jumped my fence, scurried to their feet, and fled across the paddock before vanishing into the darkness. I couldn’t be certain, but all I could see was a glimpse of a slim figure with possibly dark hair. Adrenaline was rushing through my heaving chest. Someone had been attempting to force the side door open. The metal was being scored by new scratches, and the lock was partially undone.
Leaning against the door to gather my breath, I marched inside and locked myself in. I had a lot of questions running through my head. Why attack me? Was money at stake? Land? A personal grudge? That note, “I know what you did with the west pasture,” was my sole hint. However, all I had done was repair it.
I had made up my mind that enough was enough by the next morning. They wanted to know that I wasn’t going to roll over if they were trying to scare me. I told others about it rather than waiting to be hounded again. I informed old man Garrison, Roy, and Lucia that someone was skulking around. Additionally, I called the local sheriff’s office. They said they would dispatch a constable to investigate.
I was fixing a saddle in the stable that afternoon when a pickup truck roared up. A tall, sombre constable stepped out. I showed them the footprints by the pond while we talked about the trespassing. With a nod, the constable promised to monitor the area. They recommended installing one or two trail cameras before departing. I reminded myself to get some the next time I was in town.
Roy contacted me the following day. His voice was almost exuberant. He said, “You won’t believe this.” “I noticed someone lurking on your side of the creek as I was examining my property lines. They were photographing the fence line while sporting a dark hoodie.
I experienced the same adrenaline rush. “Have you noticed their face?”
I followed them back to a pickup that was parked on the shoulder, but no. Not regional plates. I took note of the licence number; perhaps we can give it to the constable.
My heart pounded. “You save lives, Roy. Send those digits to me by text.
“Sent already,” he stated. Then, more subtly, “Are you going to be alright?”
I stopped. “Once this is resolved, I will be.” After thanking him and hanging up, I called the sheriff’s office right away to give them the licence number.
Deputy Longstreet, who had previously visited, called me a few days later as I was stacking bales of hay in the barn. After running the plates, they discovered that the truck belonged to Ms. Lillian Black, a private property consultant from a few counties over. Ms Black was employed by a company that has been searching for land for a new construction project, the constable clarified. Rumour had it that they were scouting various ranches to see if they could compel them to sell or buy them out. I realised that they might have meant to frighten me because they wanted me to lose my game so that I would sell out of fear.
I could feel my shoulders loosen up. Everything was beginning to make sense. I responded, “They have been trespassing to spy on me and then leaving eerie notes to put pressure on me.”
“That’s what we think,” the constable stated. “Don’t be concerned. We’ll make sure they understand to keep their distance.
Word spread that this same group had made similar threats in neighbouring counties a week later, after I had informed my neighbours and the local farming association. The threats were not violent, but they were enough to make people believe they had no alternative but to sell. We gathered enough evidence to file a complaint with the county commissioner because everyone supported one another. We eliminated the developer’s ability to work in the dark by bringing attention to the issue. They quickly stopped trying to harass me or anyone else.
I was relieved when everything subsided. More than that, though, I was proud. because I didn’t back down or allow them to eject me. I had confronted the issue head-on, sought assistance when necessary, and discovered that I had far more support than I had previously thought. For a long time, I believed that, as a woman in a world dominated by men, I had to do everything by myself to establish my value as a rancher. As it happens, accepting help from others does not diminish your own abilities.
The man behind the counter gave me a polite nod the next time I entered the feed store. I caught a glimpse of regret in his eyes. Perhaps he had heard about the trouble, or perhaps he had just realised that I was not someone to mess with. In any case, I didn’t need an apology from him. I was simply relieved to sense his presumptions lessen. Additionally, he made no attempt to step in when I filled my own truck with fencing wire, mineral blocks, and everything else.
I thought about how far I’d come as I drove away, the sun glaring on my dusty windscreen. At one point, I became irritated by people’s narrow-mindedness. Right now? I understand that what you do, not what other people think of you, is what counts.
That concludes the tale of my West pasture disaster. People discovered I’m more grit than glitter after seeing a “Cowgirl Barbie.” No matter who tries to undermine me or cast doubt on me, I manage this ranch, and I do it effectively.
If people learn anything from this, it’s that we don’t have to face our challenges alone. Being strong doesn’t mean isolating yourself and bearing all that burden alone. Admitting that you could need a little support is sometimes the bravest thing to do. When you let them in, you’ll be shocked at how many kind people offer to help.
I’m still here, delivering calves in the middle of the night, mending fences, and transporting hay. Until I’m old and grey, I’ll continue to administer this place, but on my own terms. Because I’m more than just my appearance and some title. It’s me who keeps the meadows green, the lights on, and the cows fed. I can’t let someone take away my life on this ranch.
We appreciate you reading, and if this story spoke to you—if you have ever felt undervalued or pushed around—please like and share it. Who knows who might be in need of a little motivation to advocate for themselves? Let’s remind everyone that we all have the ability to manage our own ranch, wherever and whatever that may be, regardless of what others may think.