Country Lifestyle
Western Housewives – June 2024
Life consists of small events that define us. Sometimes, it’s something as simple as eating cake with your two-year-old at midnight at your sister’s wedding. Sometimes, it’s something as painful as taking your two-week-old to the emergency room with RSV and living there for a week. Both are moments that changed me, and both are moments that I’ll remember forever.
Often my defining moments have happened on the back of a horse. I guess that is because that is where I have spent most of my life. It has made me pay special attention to each horse I have ridden during different stages of my life.
My first horse was a big bay horse that was must have reminded me of Greek mythology because it took me about two seconds to name him “Hercules.” He was the perfect mount for a five-year-old that acted tough but was secretly scared of her own shadow. Once I got Hercules, I could start going to work with my dad. We gathered wheat pastures and road pens, and he let me sit in the round pen on Hercules while he worked his sale horses. At the ripe age of five I was a pretty seasoned pen rider and had the sour disposition to prove it.
One morning we had a lot of wheat pasture freshies to turn out. Naturally, they ran off as soon as they got off the truck. Babies cry, and wheat pasture cattle run off the truck; I don’t make the rules.
My Dad had to leave me and get in front of the herd to keep them from crashing into the fence. I’m sure he told me just to stay put, but Hercules got excited by all the commotion and started following the impending stampede. Now I realize that I was safe the entire time, but, at that moment, I was certain my life was over. I was dramatic even as a youngster. Would Hercules ever stop? Would he try and jump the sprinkler tracks? What if he runs through the hot wire? And most importantly, what will I tell my friends?
About the time I was ready to jump into the dirt my Dad ran up beside me and helped me stop Hercules. I was safe, my adrenaline was pumping and I was promised an Allsup’s Coke for all my troubles. That was a defining moment in my life. I realized the more danger you got yourself in to, the much bigger the condolence award. As long as I was able to keep it to an Allsup’s Coke level of danger I would be just fine.
The next horse I truly loved was named “Alotofbull” He was anything but full of bull. He was big, cowy, and athletic. He scared me just a little but that’s what made me love him the most. My Dad and I won countless events on Alotofbull. My Dad has true horsemanship pumping through his veins, but I can only credit my riding success to Alotofbull. He made things easy for me and I felt I was nothing without him.
Even after all the ribbons, the moment I remember the most about him wasn’t in the showpen. it was in the middle of nowhere on a place we called “The Cain.” The Cain was where I spent many fall afternoons and summer mornings. It was full of Sandhills, cactus that were found of my backside every time my seat left the saddle, and absolutely no sign of civilization. We would push cows to water, move pastures, and do other slow-paced things that were good for the horse and for the mind. I loved it there.
One afternoon in the middle of June, my Dad and I were moving some cattle to water. After we were done we came upon a set of old pens that my Dad had branded calves in with his Dad a long time ago. My Dad got quiet and solemn. Traits that were unusual for him. He started to reminisce of times long ago and told me how much he wished all his kids had gotten to know his Dad before he had passed away many years prior. I was only 14 at the time, and I was having trouble holding back tears myself. I leaned forward and played with Alotofbull’s black mane. I knew my grandfather had been a special man and I knew my Dad had cherished him. It made me see my Dad in a different light going forward. Yes, he was strong and resilient, but he was also human, just like the rest of us. He had a vulnerability in his life, too. It was a moment that taught me not to be afraid to talk about the hard stuff but to always press on. No matter what.
Many years later, I found myself in beautiful Oklahoma on a horse named “Reuben.” He was my then-boyfriend’s horse and was the only quick and little horse I had ever ridden. He was spunky and made me feel like better help than I was as we gathered pairs to wean that morning.
The sun was just coming up over the cottonwood trees, making the dewy grass shine. I looked over at the man beside me and just knew I would spend the rest of my life doing this very thing with him. I didn’t care if we ever had money or much of anything, really. As long as we were together, loving God, and riding good horses, I didn’t care about anything else.
About 12 hours later, after a long day and a few incidents that may or may not have involved me getting run over by a yearling, that same man proposed to me. We had never talked about it out loud, but I guess God had put it in both of our hearts. It was a moment that, of course, changed the rest of my life. It taught me not to overthink things when they are right and that an Oklahoma cowboy was just what my life needed.
I’ve had many horses and many defining moments in my life. Sometimes, I have loved the horse, and sometimes, I have not. The same goes for the moments. Nevertheless, each horse and moment has taught me something. After all this time, I am convinced that no matter how old I get, I will never be too old to ride a good horse because I will never be too old for a defining moment.
That being said, if one or two of my life lessons could involve another Allsup’s Coke, that’d be all right by me.
Country Lifestyle
A Better Fire Pit Season
By Ann Asher
The first cool evenings of September make sitting outside sound good again. After months of Oklahoma heat, a fire pit, a few chairs and an evening outdoors can finally feel inviting.
Before you strike the match, take a few minutes to make sure your fire pit area is ready for fall.
Start with location. Set a fire pit on a level, noncombustible surface such as concrete, brick or patio blocks, not directly on dry grass or other vegetation. The National Fire Protection Association recommends keeping fire pits at least 10 feet from anything that can burn, including decks, siding, fences, overhanging branches and outdoor structures.
That distance matters even more after a dry summer. Even when evenings cool down, dormant grass, fallen leaves and other dry vegetation can catch a spark fast. Clear leaves, sticks and other debris from around the pit before you use it, and skip the fire on windy evenings.
Check whether your county or town has burn restrictions in place. Drought can linger well into fall, and local rules may change with fire danger. A fire that was fine one weekend may be a bad idea the next if conditions have worsened.
For wood-burning pits, use clean, dry, seasoned firewood. Don’t burn trash, treated lumber or painted wood. Never use gasoline or other flammable liquids to start or relight a fire. Commercial fire starters or ordinary kindling are much safer.
Once the fire is going, keep it manageable. A backyard fire pit doesn’t need to become a bonfire to keep you warm. Smaller fires are easier to control, throw fewer embers and are much easier to put out at the end of the evening.
Keep children and pets well away from the pit, and set chairs far enough back that no one sits directly over the heat or in the path of sparks. The NFPA recommends a three-foot child-free zone around the fire.
Look at what else is nearby before everyone settles in. Blankets, loose clothing, outdoor cushions and even the stack of firewood beside the pit can become hazards if they sit too close.
Keep a way to put out the fire within reach. A garden hose, a bucket of water or a shovel and dirt can all work, depending on your fire pit. Never leave a fire unattended, even if it seems to be dying down.
When the evening is over, make sure the fire is completely out. For a wood fire, water the coals, stir them and water them again until no heat, glow or flame remains. Let ashes cool completely, then store them in a metal container with a secure lid, away from anything that can burn.
A fire pit doesn’t need much to become one of the best parts of fall. A safe spot, a little preparation and a manageable fire are usually all it takes. Then all that’s left is finding a comfortable chair and enjoying an Oklahoma evening that is finally cool enough to stay outside.
Country Lifestyle
Canning 101
By NTFR Staff
It seems to happen every summer. The garden suddenly produces more tomatoes, cucumbers and green beans than anyone could possibly eat, and before long someone asks, “Maybe I should learn to can?”
For many families, canning is a tradition passed down for generations. For others, it’s a new hobby that offers the satisfaction of stocking pantry shelves with homegrown food. Either way, getting started can feel overwhelming. Pressure canners, boiling water baths, jars, lids, processing times and safety recommendations are enough to make anyone wonder where to begin.
Home canning isn’t difficult once you understand the basics.
Canning preserves food in sealed jars by heating them to destroy microorganisms and create a vacuum seal. The USDA approves only two methods for home canning: boiling water bath canning and pressure canning. Which one you use depends entirely on what you’re preserving.
A boiling water bath is exactly what it sounds like. You submerge filled jars completely in boiling water and process them for a specific amount of time. Because boiling water only reaches 212 degrees Fahrenheit at sea level, this method is safe only for foods that are naturally high in acid or have enough added acid to prevent dangerous bacteria from growing.
That makes water bath canning a good fit for jams, jellies, fruit preserves, pickles, chutneys, fruit butters and many tomato products that have the proper amount of bottled lemon juice or citric acid added according to a tested recipe.
Pressure canning works differently. A sealed canner traps steam, and the temperature climbs well above the boiling point of water to about 240 degrees Fahrenheit. That higher temperature is necessary to destroy Clostridium botulinum spores, which can survive ordinary boiling and produce the toxin that causes botulism.
Because of that, you must pressure can low-acid foods such as green beans, corn, carrots, potatoes, meats, poultry, seafood and soups. A boiling water bath isn’t safe for these foods, no matter how long you boil the jars.
For most beginners, water bath canning is the easiest place to start. The equipment costs less, the process is simpler and recipes like strawberry jam or dill pickles are forgiving enough to build confidence. Many people who enjoy preserving fruit eventually buy a pressure canner once they want to put up vegetables or homemade stock.
Pressure canning doesn’t need to be intimidating, either. Modern pressure canners include multiple built-in safety features and are far different from the exploding canners in the old stories many people heard decades ago. Like any kitchen tool, they’re safe when used according to the manufacturer’s directions and with tested recipes.
Whichever method you choose, one rule never changes: always use recipes that have been scientifically tested. Family recipes may taste wonderful fresh, but they aren’t always safe for canning. Changing ingredient amounts, thickening soups with flour, adding extra vegetables or reducing vinegar can all affect the safety of the finished product. The USDA and the National Center for Home Food Preservation remain the gold standards for home canning recipes and processing recommendations.
Today’s recommendations may also differ from the ones your grandparents followed. Research has improved over the years, and food safety guidance has changed with it. Methods like open-kettle canning, oven canning and sealing jars by turning them upside down are no longer considered safe for shelf-stable foods.
If you’ve never canned before, you don’t have to preserve an entire garden your first weekend. Start with one recipe. Learn how to prepare the jars, measure headspace, remove air bubbles and process them correctly. Once you hear that satisfying “ping” as the lids seal, you’ll understand why so many people find canning rewarding.
Opening a jar of peaches in January or serving homemade salsa long after the tomatoes are gone is a special kind of reward. With a little knowledge, the right equipment and a commitment to tested recipes, anyone can preserve the harvest safely for months to come.
Country Lifestyle
The Price You Pay
By Bryce Angell
My eyes are glued up to the shelf, a brand-new pair of Mucks. They’d be in my possession, but I lack the certain bucks.
I could go without my Pepsi for a month or maybe two. But the headache would be pounding like a freight train passin’ through.
I’ve got my Visa plastic for emergencies and such. The boots are kinda spendy. Do I really care that much?
I grab my precious cargo and I’m tingling to my roots. The clerk says, “Hundred eighty.” Must be gold in them there boots!
To purchase I can justify. It’s more than just a treat. No more sittin’ in the saddle with my cold and frozen feet.
I’ve waited days to wear them. Time to saddle up Ol’ Blue.
But my boots won’t fit the stirrups. What’s a broke cowboy to do?
The boots ain’t never goin’ back. I burned the dang receipt. My wife will never know the cost. Is that what’s called deceit?
The Co-Op might be open. I’ve seen stirrups there to buy. They close at 6:00 p.m. It’s 6:05 p.m. No use to even try.
I’ll drive out to the shoppin’ mall. They’ve got a western store. But their prices are extravagant, not for the country poor.
I’m riflin’ through the stirrups. Find a pair that fits my Mucks. I take ’em to the clerk. She says, “Two hundred twenty bucks.”
This time I cough and choke on down my Wrigley’s Spearmint chew. The clerk said, “Sure they’re spendy, but they’re made for guys like you.”
I wonder what she meant ’cuz I ain’t got the cash to spare. I swear she meant hi-rollers with their nose up in the air.
Still, I bought the brand-new stirrups with my plastic, once again.
Does it hurt to use my Visa card, every now and then?
The smuggish patrons, back in line, are giving me the stare.
They’re prob’ly thinkin’, “Poor cowboy.” I hurry out of there!
I’m addin’ up my purchases. Looks like four hundred bucks. And with the Gov’ner’s share I’m in the class of stupid clucks.
I burned the Visa card receipt, so that should take care of it from where I stand. I’m wonderin’ now if my warm feet are worth the half a grand?
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