Cattle are plentiful in my neck of the woods, and for good reason. Our land provides food and shelter for them, and in turn, they provide so much for us – food, clothing, income. I am grateful that my family has been blessed to raise our own herd; it is humbling to be both the master and caretaker of such animals.
On a crisp December day, like this day every year for dozens of years before, we trailed our cattle home from our leased land. Although the morning started later than most years, the day was still a beautiful sight to behold. Bright blue sky, white snow and brisk, fresh air made for a perfect day to move cows. Once we got to the field, and our horses took us separate ways, there was a peace that filled the air. The only noise came from the squeak of the snow under my horse’s hooves and the snapping of the brush as I trotted through it. Our red cows stuck out like a sore thumb against the snow that covered the ground; the sky was an unrealistic shade of blue that you only get to see at 20 degrees. As my horse became damp with sweat, I could feel us both loosen up. This was my church, this wide-open expanse of God’s country, where the secrets in my heart were kept between the cows and the good Lord.
Quickly the cattle moved together, bounding through the snow as gracefully as ducks on water. If you’ve never seen a cow running full-bore downhill in the snow before, it is as entertaining as it is terrifying. Finally we reached the gate and headed towards home. Dad got up in the lead, and although some appeared to follow him, most of the cows seemed to know exactly where they were going. They kept up a good pace, making good time.
With nothing much better to do with the time on my hands for the foreseeable future, I started thinking about how my grandparents and great-grandparents trailed cattle through deeper snows years ago, and how they kept on ranching through times much tougher than today. I thanked God for the perfect weather we were having; I could remember years when we had to walk further than we could ride just to stay warm. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of hooves on the gravel road – the click-click-click of overgrown dew claws snapping together – and realized this was the best sound I had heard in a long time. I was glad we were able to enjoy the day; many days spent in the saddle trailing home were less than pleasant.
Just as the cows and horses started to run out of steam, we turned into the last gate. Even the cows knew the trail was coming to an end. While the temperature had dropped the closer we got to home, the thought of climbing down off my horse and stretching my legs warmed me right up, just like walking into my mom’s house to a warm meal and indoor plumbing never felt so good.
Falling into bed to dream about a snow-covered field and a long line of red cows was the best reward for a cold day’s work. It may have been a long trip home, but the journey was priceless. 
Richelle Barrett is a part-time cattle rancher and full-time wife and mother on a north-central Montana operation. You can learn more about her on her blog.
PHOTO: It is humbling to be both master and caretaker of cattle; we give them our best, and in return, they give us the best life we could ever ask for. Photo by Richelle Barrett.
