One of the Boys.

I love cowboy life.  An inevitability perhaps, given I am a fifth-generation descendant of two ranching families.  There is romance in the cool of early morning, as you ride out under the full moon while the sky brightens in the East.  The kinship with nature and animals is unmatched in any modern profession.  Despite the beauty of our lifestyle, living and working in a profession dominated by men has it challenges.   I’ve been surrounded by boys most of my life and I’d like to think I have a decent understanding of my testosterone fueled counterparts.  However, there are times when I feel a distinct need to be a “girl” and embrace femininity.  My life is a daily exercise in striking a balance.  A balance, between the cowboy I want to be and the girl that I am.

Boys are raucous and challenging, cowboys more so. There is no surer sign that  you (as a woman) are considered one of the boys, than finding yourself the butt of a ribald joke.  Bittersweet, really.  The warmth of acceptance filling you up, while righteous  feminine indignation bubbles under the surface.  You’re one of the boys now, so the proper thing to do is take your ration of teasing in turn and then fire it right back at ’em.  I’m learning to accept the reality that I’ll ever ride a bronc as well as my husband or rope as well as my brother.  I do, however, take pride in my ability to give a guy hell.

Despite my comfort with the cowboy crew, it has been a surprising relief to make female friends in our new home.  I didn’t realize how much I craved the gentler give-and-take of female conversation.  Here’s to being a woman!