As I was longing for warm weather, I remembered what fun my family had last summer.

It was late in the year when my siblings and I decided to float the river. We wanted to start at the closest bridge and float all the way to Bridger where Mom could pick us up. So we did.

Ivan and I claimed the air mattress and the others took inner-tubes. The river was low and gentle. The only disturbance was caused by us.

Melody tried to tip Jimmy into the river. Lori and Emily raced to the next rock, and water flew. Ivan threatened to roll me off the mattress. A dog from one of the houses on the bank swam over to say ’hello’.

Once one of us hollered, “Rapids!” We all clung to our various rides as we approached the ripples. Ivan and I reached them first. I could see the rocks just under the surface of the river. Then our mattress dipped gently and we were over. It was kind of a let down.

After being on the river for an hour, we began to wonder how far we were from our destination. “It’s got to be just around that bend,” we decided.

It seemed the river kept getting slower and slower. Finally we rounded the bend. We had not reached our destination. Instead we saw a dam and the last of our river vanish into an irrigation ditch.

Surely there must be some river left below the dam, we reasoned. We all picked up our inner-tubes, and scrambled over the dam. Below, there was a bit of stagnant water sitting among the rocks. I wrinkled my nose at the stench.

We still could not believe that the entire river had been taken for irrigation. How were we supposed to make it to Bridger with no river? Carefully we picked our way over the rocks. Around the next bend there should be water.

If there would have been fewer bends in the river, we would have given up much sooner. As it was, we continued to follow the river bed. Every pool of stinking water brought new hope.

The rocks were slippery and rough at the same time. We were all staggering, but some of us kept a sense of humor. Who else floats a river, just to have it stolen out from under them?

My sister, Melody, never saw the humor. “It’s not funny!” she said. “My feet are killing me. I think I just broke both little toes. We are never going to get to Bridger, and I’m starving.”

Ivan finally gave up on finding the river. When we came to the next house, he climbed up the bank and asked for a ride. The man there thought it was funny, but he was very nice. He loaded us all in the back of his truck and took us to Bridger.

  The truck was almost as fun as the river. We all sat on a giant pile of inner-tubes, with the air mattress on the bottom. Every time the truck bounced, we flew into the air, and then sank down among our inner-tubes. Even Melody laughed.

For more stories like this one, visit Country Cowgirl.

 Last fall, my sisters, Melody and Lori, and I hunted on our own. Usually our brothers guide us, but last year we were going to do it ourselves or not at all.

We went out in the afternoon to a spot our brothers recommended. Someone was already there, so we drove to a neighboring ranch. Once there, we weren’t sure what to do, so we just got out and started walking. I felt silly, walking in sight of the road with no deer around. Melody and Lori must have too. When a vehicle drove by, we all dove for cover behind the nearest sagebrush.

Once we got done laughing loud enough to scare away any deer, we kept walking. Melody does not like walking. After fifteen minutes, she started saying stuff like, “We’ve been walking for hours and hours.” And, “There are no deer here. Lets go hunt somewhere else.”

Lori and I were just starting to agree with her, when a group of deer came over the hill. We spotted the buck right away. He was easily nice enough for us. He was also out of range, and moving fast.

Before we could decide what to do, three hunters came over the hill too. We heard a shot, but the buck never flinched. He just vanished over the next ridge with his does. We watched the hunters vanish after them. One, two, three times they shot.

We laughed again and headed back to the truck. Obviously that area was taken too.

We drove a while, and started walking again. The sun set, and it started to get cold. We were tired and hungry. Especially Melody.

There were no deer in sight, so we sat down to eat the last of our jerky. I lay back to look at the quarter moon. “This is the life,” I said. “I love hunting.” We decided that guys are much too dedicated to the sport. Who needs to get a shot at a deer to have fun hunting?

Then I spotted tracks on the ground beside us. There was still some shooting light left, so we started walking again. We really did not think we would see anything.

The tracks led us down through a gully and out to a little road. Once we got to the road, and did not see the deer, we gave up and turned to go to the truck.

Suddenly I whispered, “There they are!” And we all dropped to the ground. Several does were grazing their way behind a hill. Owners of the tracks.

We did know if there was a buck with them, and we were in the open with nowhere to go. We crouched there, barely breathing, until the does went behind the hill. Then we sprinted closer, toward some brush that would offer cover. Lori was in the lead, and before Melody and I reached cover, she dropped and motioned us down.

I’ve never played ‘Red light. Green light.’ with muleys before. It was fun. I think the does saw us, but they were not worried. After another minute or two of suspense, they went back to grazing. Melody and I crept up beside Lori.

“I’m shaking,” she whispered, and held up her hand.

“Are there any bucks?” I asked. “Or are you going to shoot a doe?”

“No bucks, and I can’t decide if I want to shoot.”

Lori and I were both ready to shoot. We kept our cross-hairs on the does and watched them. Several times they gave us perfect, broadside shots.

We did not shoot though. We held out for bucks, since it was only our second hunt of the season. The does had no idea how close to death they were.

Soon it got too dark to shoot, even if we wanted too. We stood up, and watched the does trot away. It had been a good hunt.

For more posts like this, visit Country Cowgirl.

The other week, I was hauling water. Snow was deep on the drive, so my brother and I had to chain up the old Ford.

The chains on one side “chinked” when I drove. The other side “clunked”. Once I got down our lane, the snow wasn’t bad at all, but I had to leave the chains on to get back up.

So I drove to town, “Chink. Chink. Clunk. Chink. Chink. Clunk.” Horses ran in terrified circles when I drove by.

“Chink. Chink. Clunk. Chink. Chink. Clunk.” Mule deer that barely lift their heads to watch most passing vehicles, ran for the hills.

“Chink. Chink. Clunk. Chink. Chink. Clunk.” People turned and stared, while I slid farther down in my seat. I felt really silly clanking around on clear roads with my 4×4 truck chained up.

Since then, I’ve learned to appreciate the Ford truck, chains and all.

I used to like driving Daniel’s Jeep Cherokee more. It is cute, even if it does smoke and smell bad. But when we girls were going to use it the other day, Dad told us, “You can drive it, but be careful. The steering wheel might lock up.”

O.K. No big deal. Nothing wrong, except the steering might not work. When I’m going 70 down the highway. Around a corner. With oncoming vehicles.

We decided not to drive the Jeep.

We took the Ford water truck instead. The one with doors that don’t open from the inside, and weak brakes. It will go from 0 to 60 by the time I get to Bridger, five miles away. But it I can steer it. Always.

Last night Mom woke my sister Melody and me up at 2:30. A neighbor had called, and the horses were out. “Our horses are walking around on top of their sewer system,” she said.

“What kind of people get up at night to see if there are horses on their sewer system?” Melody asked. “Do they have an alarm?”

Melody and I pulled on a random assortment of clothes, and stumble outside. The wind was ice, but the moon was shining. Our choice of vehicles was either the jeep, or the water truck. The jeep was sitting by the cattle guard where it had quit earlier. We had to move it out of the way, even if it wouldn’t start.

We hopped in, shivering, and Melody turned the key. Nothing.

We decided to push the jeep over the cattle guard, and out of the way. So we pushed. And pushed. And pushed.

We decided to push the jeep backwards instead. So we pushed. And Melody hopped in to steer, while I pushed. Melody parked the jeep on top of a large bush. I rolled my eyes, and started walking back to the truck. Melody started the jeep. Sigh.

The horses had moved to our Italian neighbor’s hay-field. They are very well acquainted with that hay-field. One night, after a horse had got out again, the Italian woman had become upset. “Why don’t you put up a gate?” she sputtered.

Seriously. You don’t think we tried? The horse went through six gates.

“They are going to get mad if we drive in their field,” Melody said.

“Too bad,” I said. “If they don’t like it, they can chase the horses out themselves.”

“Good idea. We’ll drive in the field.”

Renegade horses are hard on relationships. Especially with neighbors.

The horses knew the routine. They ran back home like they were terrified. They weren’t. They were laughing. But they ran, because that is part of the fun.

We had forgotten to open the gate. I opened it, while Melody went after the horses again. Melody honked, I yelled, and the horses might have actually felt a small thrill of fright. Two of them jumped the cattle guard instead of taking time for the gate. They were probably just showing off.

Melody and I talked and laughed as we went to bed. You don’t need a reason to talk and laugh at 3:00 in the morning. You just do it.

“There’s nothing like exercise in the middle of the night…” Melody said. I thought she was being cheerful, until she finished, “To make you feel like a rag in the morning.” We laughed again, and crawled in bed.

I felt like a rag this morning.