Author Archives: Carleen Wild

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About Carleen Wild

Journalist. Communications consultant. Photographer. Helping you share your story in a way that is meaningful to you as a person or for your business. Wife. Mom. Wisconsin transplant to South Dakota trying not to get swept away in crazy massive winds of Great Plains. Missing delicious cheese and great local brews.

Sunset

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The view from my in-laws house to the west each night is truly amazing.

Sunset from Randy and DarlasThere is little to get in the way of soaking up an entire sky of sunset. A much needed grounding for us this evening ..

As we gathered up the kids after a long day, a long week, family coming to town for the Cowboy’s grandmother’s funeral and an unfortunate situation we all had the opportunity to discuss before heading for home, the above scene was a reminder of how small some things are .. and that the God given big picture is almost always, incredibly beautiful.

The Tuck

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Because I wrote about the Senior Photo shoot the other day .. I thought I would follow it up with this particular post. Because I noticed the Senior the other night doing the same thing the Cowboy does.

Tuckers boots

The tuck.

I’ve been meaning to write about this for awhile now because every time I see the Cowboy wearing his pants & boots like this, I think to myself, ‘that would be something fun to talk with him about.’ I’ve never asked him directly why he does it. The reasons, living on the ranch, have become apparent. I’ve just admired, quite frankly that he doesn’t care what anyone might think about how he looks. And it makes me chuckle because some of the men I know, city cowboys especially, would never be caught dead wearing their pants inside their pointy toed, silver tipped (the Cowboy wanted me to be sure and add that element) boots. Not that there’s anything wrong with that ..

Don’t get me wrong, he can dress up with the best of them and his pants are most often worn with the hem dragging on the ground.

Casey Shoeing

But the day to day can often mean ripped and dirty jeans haphazardly tucked inside the boots.

What can tucked jeans tell you about a cowboy? The Cowboy tells me:

– Chances are, he/she is walking around horse manure often during the day and they don’t want to get their jeans dirty.

– They may want to simply show off the tops of their boots – boots anymore can be incredibly beautiful and detailed, especially those that are custom made. Have you looked at boots lately? Dan Post. Luchesse. Old Gringo. Tony Lama. Justin. Laredo. Resistol. Ariat. Olathe. Seriously, the list goes on and and on.. I haven’t even touched the growing market of custom cowboy boot makers.

“Girls often do it as part of a fashion deal, to show their boots off, right?” the Cowboy says to me. “Same thing.”

Clints boots

Some do it, real cowboys, like ranch cowboys, because they’d rather have their boots take a beating than their jeans.

“You know why boots were made taller?” the cowboy asked me as I’m talking with him about this. “It was originally to protect cowboys from snake bites, the west is full of rattlesnakes. The taller the boot, the less likely a snake could get at your leg. Good boots also protect you from brush, if you’re riding through heavy brush .. you know, if you go to West Texas where the brush is high and thorny? That’s how they wear them, up to their knees. They also keep friction off the inside of your leg when you’re riding. I never had hair on the inside of my legs when I was younger because I rode so much. Nobody ever really questions anymore why boots have tops anymore. They actually have a practical reason for being tall. They’re meant to help protect.”

The Old Barn

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It was a week ago today. A Wednesday. We were browsing through someone’s Facebook page after learning they were involved in an ‘incident’ we had also been a part of earlier that evening …

Among perhaps a half dozen updates this woman had made that day:

“Happy hump day!” 

Sitting around the dining room table talking about what we had stumbled upon that night, we all absolutely bust out laughing.

………….

It was a perfect summer night, that Wednesday night here in eastern South Dakota. Not too hot. The sun was coming down in the sky. We couldn’t have had a better evening to take senior photos for a truly wonderful young man.

Tucker 25

His mother had picked some spots around the family farm she felt would work well and that would be meaningful to them. We had a few more spots to hit and we were trying to decide which we would tackle next when the boy’s mother said, “I really want to show you this old barn. It’s a friend of ours place and we were over there just a few hours ago to look at it. I think getting his picture taken in the doorway of this barn would just be so cool. Is it okay if I take you up there?”

barn doorWe all piled in the truck. Mom, her soon-to-be senior, the Cowboy and I. We talked about the place all the way over there, about how it was abandoned and no one ever goes here and how its a shame according to the mom, because this is the most beautiful barn. We came across the neighbor who’s place it was on the way, he was picking up another load of hay bales from alongside the road. He reassured us, we could go wherever we wanted for pictures and to have fun.

About two miles further up the road, we turned into the drive. I spotted them immediately. There, far enough back off the road you wouldn’t ever really see them in simply passing by, sat two very clean, pricey and pretty cars in an area of mostly dirt roads. As we pulled further down the drive, I said to the mom, “I thought no one was ever here.”

“There shouldn’t be,” she answered. We continue to approach both the cars and the coveted barn. “See, that’s the barn,” she says to me.

I wasn’t sure if she was going to shut the truck off and get out but I didn’t give her a chance. I had been glancing around between the house and the other buildings for either any sign of life or the barrel of a shotgun pointed in our direction. My mind was thinking perhaps we were walking into any number of situations we do not want to be a part of. At all.

“I’m not getting out of the truck,” I told her. “I’m sorry .. I’ve just covered too many stories over the years where situations like this didn’t turn out well. Whoever is here obviously doesn’t want to be seen and they clearly aren’t showing themselves right now.”

I believe I may have been the only one overly concerned about it being something of that magnitude, but everyone stayed in the truck, mom turned it around and we dialed the owners number as we pulled back out toward the road. “Wait a minute,” the mom said and she backed up. “Grab the plate numbers and we’ll find out who they belong to and if there is cause for concern or if we’re just coming upon two people who are here and probably shouldn’t be ..”

“I think they’re in there hooking up,” said the Cowboy, in-between laughs, from the back seat.

……………

The property owner met us about 15 minutes later. We had the names of the people the plates were registered to and we were relatively sure it wasn’t a meth lab we were busting up by going back to the farm. Wearing a fairly big grin, the owner stepped into the barn, listened for a moment and then said to the voices he heard above, they needed to come down. The voices stopped. There was no answer. He went in again a few minutes later, letting them know there was an employee of that particular County Sheriff’s office on the property and if necessary we’d get them a police escort.

A few minutes later, a man and a woman walked out, wide-eyed, apologizing and trying to act somewhat oblivious they might have been tresspassing.

“We just wanted to look around,” the two of them said sheepishly. “We’re sorry. We didn’t realize we shouldn’t be here.” They should have quit talking at that point and left as no one was trying to keep them there.

“I think we should call this place the No-Tell Motel,” the Cowboy said, as the two were driving off in their separate cars. We all bust out laughing ..

………………

While there are many other details of the story that would be entertaining to share, they’re not important. Besides, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble nor am I here to judge. Point is, our senior has quite a story to tell his friends when he heads back to school in a couple of weeks about that evening. And my 12-year-old now understands, I believe, what the word hump might mean besides the fact ‘hump’ combined with the word ‘day’ means it’s Wednesday and you’re halfway through the workweek.  We are still all laughing over that post.

Including our senior. And the smile on his face for the photos at that barn, will forever be priceless.

Spurs

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We were sitting on the back porch of a friends home last night catching up. Every time someone got out of their chair to go grab something to eat, drink or whatever the reason .. there it was.

The jingling of spurs.

Spurs

Never knew how comforting a sound that would be ..

…………….

I didn’t know much about spurs until I met the Cowboy. Never spent much time around any horse people that wore them. Perhaps a couple. I didn’t understand the value in them, especially when working with a stubborn horse. Not until recently, anyway. I often go to the arena to ride without them because I like to think that I can get a horse to mind because, well just because I want to be nice. And because I know they are good horses. The cowboy informed me the other night am to wear them whenever I ride, regardless. It came as I was increasingly frustrated one of the newest horses to the herd was definitely not going to do what I was asking her to do. And the Cowboy was frustrated with me.

“How many times have I told you to always have your spurs on,” he said .. in a stern tone of voice as the horse reared.

“You’ve got to wear them to help get their attention sometimes,” he says to me today, knowing this is today’s post. “You’ve got to have something to make them respect your legs or your leg cues. Horses often become desensitized to someone sitting on them for any length of time. They do what they want and often do as little as they have to when they can get away with it. It’s like a kid. if there’s no consequence to any of their behavior, ever .. pretty soon they’re always pushing boundaries and going their own way versus the way you want. And a 1200 pound horse pushing boundaries can be dangerous. Most horses don’t behave well just because they want to please you. That’s a rarity.”

My spurs now live on my riding boots. Right alongside the entire family’s ..

…………..

I’ve also learned that the piece that fell off my daughter’s spur earlier this summer that needs replacing .. is called a rowel. A much more technical term than the ‘back of the spur’ as I’ve been calling it until recently. Go ahead and laugh all you veteran cowboys out there. At least I’m trying. And admitting how much I know I have yet to understand about this life and lifestyle.

So far .. despite the setbacks, falls and challenges, it’s been a lovely ride.

220px-SpurDiagram.svg

The parts of a spur include (via Wikepedia):

  • The “yoke”, “branch”, or “heel band”, which wraps around the heel of the boot.
  • The “shank” or “neck”, which extends from the back of the yoke and is the area that touches the horse.
  • The rowel, seen on some spurs, a revolving wheel or disk with radiating “points” at the end attached to the shank.

Enjoying the rain.

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As I sit working from the kitchen table this Friday .. I hear the sound of hooves and laughter coming down the driveway.

The girls are back together for the first time in months and seem to sincerely be enjoying each other’s company.

It’s drizzing rain today, cool and cloudy. While most people are cursing this summer weather ..

Bareback

They really don’t seem to mind. Beautiful.

Habits That Steal Precious Moments ..

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The Cowboy and I were lying in bed, talking. It had been a very long past week and a half in Wisconsin and I was back in South Dakota. I grabbed one of the books I keep on the nightstand, a book I reference often but not every night.

Not anymore anyways, I had been through it page by page years ago.

Book

The entry for that night, July 30th, was “Habits that Steal Precious Moments”:

Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone forever. – Horace Mann

………….

I really dislike fighting, in any form. Ever. I feel like there is always a better way to work through anything. To talk it out. To compromise. To truly look at the goal for whatever the issue may be and find a better way to get there.

It has been years though of fighting in some capacity, too many years with the father of my daughter. My first husband. Everything it seemed even from the get-go for us was and still is a challenge to work through together. To be on the same page. We try, we have the best of intentions. But it always seems a challenge. Last week, the time in Wisconsin was about taking care of final details of how our lives will all look going forward. I’m glad its over. I pray everyday we find some peace and create change for a better, more workable future and that in whatever strange way possible, our families can come back together. At our core is one little girl we all love with our entire beings. And I believe it is possible to still be friends.

The Cowboy and I also had a rough week while I was gone. It’s tough being apart from someone you want to be with so very much. And while we did it for the better part of two years while dating and even at the beginning of our marriage, it is different now that we are technically under one roof. There are issues I believe come up with many couples when one travels and the other is left home alone to take care of the day to day. It gets old, frustrating, questions arise that never would otherwise and the Cowboy sincerely had a tough time getting any work done with three children to care for and a demanding schedule. We needed to have some tough conversations in person now that I was home again.

Some of the partners I have in business right now are struggling to find a good working relationship, if they continue to work together at all.

It has been an emotionally exhausting past couple weeks. I don’t like to fight. Not because I can’t handle the content. I’m okay to hit tough issues head on. Take criticism. Discuss obvious problems versus ignore. But exhausting because I think there is always a better way to talk and think things through and move on.

I ground myself every God given day in the fact that we don’t get time back.  And in ever perpetuating a fight versus healthy conflict resolution, versus defining a goal and a reason for having the conversation/fight to begin with and getting quickly to the bottom of it and a solution, I believe fully in the final words of that post from the July 30th entry:

“..we only steal from our potential.” – Sarah Ban Breathnach

Allen’s Hill

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I mentioned earlier this week how I am spending the week at a dear friends cottage along the Wisconsin River .. with no phone, television or internet. It’s been a blessing, in more ways than one. Leaving the cottage each day to go somewhere I can get an internet connection has meant some beautiful morning drives ..

Eddie's Hill

Eddie’s Hill

I showed this photo the other night to my dad, who I was grabbing a beer with along with some other friends. He said to me, and pointed out to the others, “That’s Allen’s hill, that hill there on the left.”

I’ve lived in this area my entire life and never known that hill had a name. Nor had I stopped to think about it. Most streets, hills, buildings .. etc. do, whether they exist in the city or the country. Places known for those that have come before us and for any number of reasons, left their mark.

How often do we stop to question why things are named what they are? And how much cooler or meaningful will those places be to us once we understand?

 

The Cottage ..

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Summer afternoon – summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. – Henry James

the lake

I’m staying all week at a cottage on Lake Wisconsin, one that is home to me. Actually it is the summer home of my very best, oldest and dearest friends. Her family’s cottage. It just feels like home because I’ve been coming here since I was a child.

My girlfriend and I and all of her relatives and other friends we’ve grown up with, we all now bring our own children here. I pray that someday this sweet, totally old-school and full-of-charm little cottage still stands and that our children someday are reminiscing about their childhood summer days spent on the Wisconsin River. Like we do now. And that they bring their own children to this shore..

………

I hadn’t intended to be in town, back in the Madison, WI area all week but I’m here to both work and wrap up some family matters. Matters I thought might be easily resolved long ago. Some things will just never be easy.

Reflecting, amidst the chaos in one area of my life, on everything else that is so good in every other way. I am so incredibly grateful for this time at the cottage, for the reminders of all that is good about summer, of simpler times, of no television or internet when I don’t want it, some emotional peace and quiet, for a lifelong friendship .. and time here with my own daughter.

Farm Fresh Eggs ..

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I had been sitting the other day at the kitchen table, where most of my work is done anymore, when I heard the Cowboy’s van pull up.  He shoes out of a van that is a story in and of itself. Anyway …

I went to the door to greet him, it had been a long day. And as he got out of the van, I saw him reach for and pull out a plastic bag that was absolutely full. I knew what was in it, he often brings bags like this home.

“We got eggs,” he said smiling.

EggsThere are customers of the Cowboy’s that often will send wonderful treats home with him. Farm fresh eggs, fresh bread, wonderful vegetables and the list goes on. I am incredibly grateful not only for their generosity to our family but also that they appreciate the work the Cowboy does trimming and shoeing their horses for them to the extent, I believe this is the country version of a tip.

Fry ’em up!

The Locals.

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“Always remember to slow down in life; live, breathe, and learn; take a look around you whenever you have time and never forget everything and every person that has the least place within your heart.”
–Anonymous

Amidst the hustle and buzz of people talking, kids crying, cars pulling in and out and footsteps sounding heavy on the old wood floors as families shop and browse through Wall Drug .. I have learned one of the most fascinating stops may simply be a table in the restaurant next to a few of the locals.

…………

I hadn’t sat down for more than a few minutes when I heard, “Where are you from?” I look over at the table full of gentleman next to me and answer. I had already been quietly entertained by the conversations happening at their table but was trying very hard to focus on the work ‘to-do’ list in front of me.

I once again, picked the wrong place to sit, if I thought I was getting any work done.

Wall Locals

We chatted for a few moments, then I turned my attention back to my laptop and a series of emails I had to get out that morning. I wanted to get them out quickly and get back to family. But, my answering emails would only be momentary. More questions came, some chuckling and good old fashioned ribbing of the tourist sitting there trying to ‘work’. I looked up knowing my efforts at that moment were going to be fruitless.

There were three tables as I looked down the line, full of older local gentleman, gathered for coffee. All giving each other an incredibly hard time. Laughing all the while. They ranged between middle-age and older, many with weathered hands and obvious signs of hard work and a lot of sun over the years on their faces. But they were all smiling. And as they left, one by one, they were talking about who would be back again tomorrow.

Butch, Dan and I were the last three left sitting in our little area. I kept thinking they might head out shortly too and I could get back to work, but we talked for nearly an hour. As stressed as I was about work and about being away from the family for too long, I took a deep breath and realized instead, what a wonderful moment this was.

I learned quite a bit about Wall that morning. Names, history, who’s who sitting around those tables and what each of them have done in and around Wall over the years. Where they came from, family histories, some very interesting things unique to one of their jobs I was asked not to share. More about each of them, Butch and Dan. And they continued to inquire about me. It was refreshing, fun and made me feel that much more at home in my new home state of South Dakota.

A phone call from one of the women waiting on one of my emails snapped me back into the reality of my morning, of the time and what I had yet to get done.

“I’m sorry, guys, I’ve got to get back to work,” I told them. They reassured me it was fine and it was time for them to get to their days as well.

“We might be back tomorrow,” said Butch as the two got up to leave. “Maybe we’ll see you again.”

I am relatively certain, we will.