People have been underestimating me for as long as I’ve worn boots and a braid. At the feed store, at the fence line, even across the creek, strangers and neighbors alike assumed I was playing dress-up instead of running two hundred and forty acres on my own. They asked about my husband, laughed at my confidence, and spoke to me like I needed supervision. I fixed water lines in snowstorms, pulled calves in the dead of night, and restored land everyone else had written off, yet somehow the blonde hair made me invisible. I swallowed it for years, until the day a note appeared on my barn door that said, “I know what you did with the west pasture.”Continue reading…
