Tuesday, March 23, 2010

True Country

Today I am homesick.

This happens every so often, ever since I left my hometown well over 10 years ago. (Except for the brief one year stint my husband and I lived there while saving money to get to these Hawaiian Isles.)

Although I love me some Hawaii, anyone who knows me knows that I am a Montanan- true and thru.

I love the seasons and the redneck people. I love the mountains and all the casinos. I love that there were four breweries in the one town I went to college. I love that the government road workers use gravel to help with the slipperiness of the snow on roads so you will be guaranteed to have a cracked windshield forever and always. I love that there are rodeos and concerts in the actual roping arenas. I love that there are big ass trucks for a reason, not because you and your homies want to see who has the biggest and loudest vehicles (probably to compensate for a little "something"). I love that you can order ranch - real homemade ranch - at any restaurant and smoother it all over whatever you happen to be eating (ie. pizza, tacos, fries, chinese food etc.) and no one will judge you for it. I love that the best shopping in Montana is the Gap or Abercrombie. (I had never heard of Gucci or Prada until I started to watch Sex & the City.) I loved that everyone growing up was kinda poor. Not like, we can't eat food poor, but there wasn't really a whole lotta big money in the state back then.

But it isn't like the good 'ole days now. There's money and it's trendy to live there. All these rich people from around the country ( I won't point you out Californians) are now buying huge ranches and paying people to work them and then they fly their friends up so they can play zoo keeper and pet all the animals.

Gimmie a break.

My family has had cattle forever and it's hard work! You can't just buy a Chevy, wear Carhartt overalls and kiss a god damn cow and say you own a ranch. You fix fence, you stay out in your barn for the night in -30 degree weather because it's calving season and one of your cows is having a hard time. You cut the nuts off little cows and brand them at the same time, all the while listening to the mama cows cry and cry. (This shit ain't pretty or easy people.) You then haul these cows for miles and miles to sell them to people who probably try to rip you off......and on and on and on.

You don't put your trendy gucci boots on over your $300 jeans and try to ride a horse, while the chef cooks your filet mignon and opens a bottle of Dom.

Mama Montana will kick your ass man. Trust me. You'll be running back to suburbia before she can say," Ya'll don't come back now, ya hear?"

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