Common Ground and Common Sense

Saturday afternoon activities at Antlerstock included a discussion of heritage chicken breeds, a home wool processing workshop, and a horse skidding demonstration (using horses to move large logs). Around 5pm we adjourned for a couple hours and would reconvene later for a bonfire. I ventured into town--a blink-and-you'll-miss-it but quaint New England town, complete with the charming country church-and-steeple. Despite having only one coffee shop (which was closed for the day) and no other apparent restaurants, save for the one in the town's hotel, Main Street was home to a fabulous local bookstore. As I browsed the shelves designated for local authors, I was stunned to see that I owned many of the books. I guess authors living in Vermont really speak to me!

Finding not much else to do in town, I returned to the farm to help get ready for the bonfire. A pumpkin carving assembly line was in full swing--the Jack O'Lanterns lined the path to the bonfire. It was BYOHB--bring your own hay bale. We carried hay bales from the barn to the campsite, sat two to a bale around the crackling fire, and enjoyed ice cold local craft beer. Instruments were played, stories were shared. We eventually got rained out and fled to the cozy farmhouse for freshly-pressed cider, hot this time.

I called it a night around 10pm and drove back to my hotel in Manchester (another town with a fabulous local bookstore). I'm a nervous driver and the roads were narrow, winding, and dark. Heavy rain pelted the windshield. The speed limit was 55 but I was afraid to do more than 45. I wondered what I'd do if a car got behind me but, incredibly, not a single car followed me during the 40-minute drive!

Sunday was clear and crisp--a perfect autumn day. Back at Antlerstock I conquered my fear of botulism at the canning workshop! If nothing else the skills I acquired over the weekend will keep me from accidentally (1) burning down the house while soapmaking with lye, (2) poisoning the family with improperly canned vegetables, and (3) felling a tree onto the roof.

The weekend concluded with a field trip to the Common Sense Farm, an organic farm and commercial soap-making enterprise run by a somewhat controversial religious community. The folks have that Amish-look--stoic-looking men with beards and glasses, women and little girls in long dresses with kerchiefs around their heads, long-haired little boys with pony tails. I had some pre-conceived notion that they would be serious and quiet, but it turns out that--shocker--they are just regular people with a normal sense of humor. They didn't proselytize; they talked animatedly about farming, not religion. They were gracious hosts and served us delicious tea made from herbs from their 6-acre herb garden, sweetened with honey from their hives, on their rolling 100-acre farm. The family herbalist introduced us to the various herbs that she grows to address health issues in their community. (It was unclear whether they completely eschew western medicine--my impression was that they prefer natural cures but don't prohibit modern medical treatment.) We toured their immaculate barn to see their chickens, goats, and sheep.

We also toured their soap shop, which is in a beautifully converted barn. The lovely--and very modern--offices were formerly horse stalls. As the story goes, when their community decided to set up shop (literally) in this barn, Estee Lauder/Origins provided the financial backing. The relationship ended in 2001 after the Labor Department found a 15-year-old changing a lightbulb in the soap shop. Origins, although sympathetic, didn't want any controversy. While community living with a factional religious group isn't really my thing, I enjoyed this glimpse into their farming and soap business. I don't know enough about the group to judge whether their tenets are untenable. All is I know is that, despite vastly different backgrounds and beliefs, we found some common ground. Perhaps family farming is the great equalizer, several of us mused.

I had to depart for the airport after the field trip. Jenna, the amazing host of Antlerstock, refused to let me go without a small Mason jar of homemade chili "for the road." I said my goodbyes and might have shed a tear or two in the car as I thought of leaving this lush and pastoral paradise with wonderfully unpredictable weather to return to dry, dusty, monotonously sunny southern California.

What Do You Do at Antlerstock?

What goes on at Antlerstock? Well, the easier question to answer might be, "What doesn't go on at Antlerstock?" The first workshop on Saturday was woodlot management/lumberjacking. I had planned to attend the concurrent cheesemaking class, but I decided to step out my comfort zone and try something completely new. I'm so glad that I did! We started with some good old-fashioned competitive axe throwing. The axe was quite a bit heavier than I expected. After multiple throws, I still couldn't hit the target. The guys seemed to get the hang of it after just one throw. Our instructor hit the bullseye every time. We learned how to use an axe, bow saw, and chain saw. We learned about general safety, notching (replacing the 45-degree notch with a 90-degree notch, based on Swedish forestry methods, has reduced injuries by 30%), back cuts, and escape routes. We felled two large trees. Guess what? Lumberjacks wear chaps.

Next up was Chickens 101. We learned how to construct a brooder and care for chicks, pullets, hens, and roosters. I was fascinated by how easy it is to immobilize a squawking, flapping, frantic chicken: just hold her upside down and she'll fall into a zen-like trance immediately.

Lunch was social affair. I was still full from the quiche (farmstead eggs, broccoli, Vermont cheddar, and of course homemade crust) that was served before the first workshop, but I managed to scarf down the BBQ pork from Flying Pig Farm (the BBQ sauce was made from farmstead honey and maple syrup harvested by Antlerstock attendees), potato soup from Firecracker Farm, and a piece of homemade apple pie...okay, if I'm being honest, two pieces of apple pie! We shook apples from the trees into a sheet and dumped them into the cider press. I held my mug under the spout while someone else cranked away. About 15 of us sat in front of the cozy woodstove and chatted like old friends while others stayed outside and carved pumpkins. The weather was delightfully fall-like: a comfortable 60 degrees with occasional sprinkles.

After lunch I headed to the soapmaking workshop where I finally overcame my fear of lye. I've avoided lye by making glycerine soaps, but let's face it. Glycerine soaps are lame. The big kids make real soap from lye. We donned safety goggles and masks, and by the time the workshop was over, I felt confident that working with lye requires only basic safety precautions--you just avoid inhaling it or splashing it in your eyes.

Sheep 101 was a treat and reaffirmed my hopes and dreams of having sheep of my own very soon. They're gentle and a manageable size and have a calming effect. Unsurprisingly, bottle-raised lambs are extraordinarily affectionate as adults. Although most busy farmers feel some dismay when forced to bottle-feed a lamb who was rejected by its mother, I secretly wouldn't mind the time drain one bit. (And I just know that the Wrangler would let me bottle-feed the lamb in the house, although probably in the mud room.)

There's still loads more to tell, but I suppose that this has been enough for now. I'll write about the Saturday evening and Sunday activities tomorrow. Teaser: we took a field trip to a commune for the herbalism workshop.

Who Goes to Anterstock?

The road to Antlerstock. Literally.

Forgive me if this is just the first in a series of Anterstock posts, but there is so much to tell. What a fantastic weekend in Vermont/New York! Before I describe the activities, sights, and food, I'll clue you in on the kind of people who end up at a small farm workshop in New England hosted by a young farm writer with a devoted blog following. We came from far and wide--a school teacher in Arizona who dreams of having some land in northern Minnesota some day, a Canadian who makes the most of her quarter-acre in the city, a farmstead goat's milk soapmaker from Texas, a forestry professor from upstate New York, a candymaker from Boston, an engineer and speech pathologist couple starting a sheep's milk cheese business, snowboard shop owners from Maine, New York City slickers with container gardens on their balconies, organic farmers living on a commune. All told, there were about 40 of us: maybe a few more women than men but a good mix, and about evenly split between couples and singletons.

You know the person who can easily befriend strangers in the checkout line at the grocery store and who shines in a group setting? That person is not me. The Wrangler usually has to drag me kicking and screaming to a party. I was prepared to be a little uncomfortable and perhaps even quietly duck out early and head back to my hotel. But I had so much in common with everyone that conversation flowed naturally. There was not so much small talk as there was exchanging of ideas. The time flew by. I arrived for the first workshop on Saturday at 10AM and didn't leave until 10PM.

We all have day jobs and farm dreams. Some people have just taken the plunge and had lots to share. Usually when I get one of my more radical ideas, well-meaning friends are quick to tell me why it won't work. At Antlerstock there was no naysaying. "We used our entire life savings to start our business," one attendee told me. "Money that we'd saved for years and years for retirement. Of course it's a little scary. But you know what? What's the worst thing that can happen? We lose all our money and our house. Yeah? So what? No one dies. But what's more likely is that we will succeed because we didn't cut corners. We think it's well worth the risk." (I described this atmosphere of encouragement to one of the Six-Button Cowgirls, which garnered the dry response, "Sounds like a support group for crazies; everyone egging each other on.") No one talked politics but I suspect we covered the full spectrum. Yet we all got along just fine.

When the Wrangler picked me up at the airport, I talked non-stop during the one-hour drive home. He pointed out that many of us at Antlerstock probably are left-brainers--lawyers, engineers, accountants, IT techs--but everyone has some creative juices. Some of us knit, most of us have blogs, and many of us are musical. As we sat on hay bales around the bonfire on Saturday night, various people brought out their guitars, bongo drum, flute, mandolin, and fiddle. We truly were a bunch of urban cowgirls (and urban cowboys) enjoying a bucolic October weekend among new friends.

Next up: the workshops.

Antlerstock

I'm off to Vermont for a long weekend of fun, foliage, farming, and new friends. I'm taking a redeye flight, which I firmly believe is the most efficient way to fly east. I hope I'm not being too ambitious; my itinerary doesn't leave me much time to sleep.

The weekend begins with a lecture and book-signing by acclaimed New York Times bestselling author Jon Katz of Bedlam Farm, an author whose books I've read and enjoyed for years. Then it's off to Antlerstock at Cold Antler Farm. There are too many classes for one person to attend, so I've "narrowed" down my selection to cheese-making, soap-making, basic sheep care, basic chicken care, home wool processing, knitting, canning, intro to mountain music, herbalism, and sheep herding. The meals sound amazing--BBQ pork from nearby Flying Pig Farm (I avoid factory-farmed meat, but the pigs at Flying Pig Farm are humanely-raised in the woods and fields), hand-pressed apple cider, free-range egg quiches, and pizzas made with local cheeses. Although I usually shy away from crowds, this time I'm excited to meet the other 30 attendees who obviously must share my interest in hobby farming.

When asked what he'd do if I didn't make it back to California, the Wrangler promptly said that he'd send me a picture of my sad, lonely puppies every day. So, I guess I will do my best to catch the return flight on Sunday after all.

Looking Forward

It's good to have something nice to anticipate, and I'm looking forward to two events this fall: round-up in Montana at the Mountain Sky ranch, this time with the Wrangler instead of the Six-Button Cowgirls, and Jenna Woginrich's Backyard Farming Workshop in Vermont. I just put down a bunch of deposits, so we're all set. It may seem odd to plan for fall before summer has even begun, but that's how I feel about summer--I just wish we could skip it altogether.

The Backyard Farming Workshop is a two-day event that will cover: chicken basics, sheep basics, beekeeping basics, cheese making, lumber-jacking (wood lot management, tree selection, and felling), hand wool processing, canning, bread-making, turkey butchering, winter greens/extended growing, pumpkins, and a field trip to the Merck Forest and Farm Center to observe the sustainability projects and heritage livestock operation. Jenna also promises an autumn campfire with mountain music and home brew.

It also may seem weird that I'm spending my time planning vacations while a certain housing matter looms large. We're moving out of the cottage in the next month, have two sheep on the way, and haven't the faintest clue where we're headed. I'm assuming that, come vacation time this fall, we'll be flying in and out of John Wayne airport. But I decided that it might be a good idea to wait and book our flights in a month--just to be sure.

Big Sky

I'm off to Montana next week for my annual trip to the Mountain Sky Ranch located 30 minutes south of Livingston. The itinerary includes horseback riding on mountain trails, fly fishing lessons, team penning, a trip to Yellowstone, yoga, massages, and of course some two-stepping. This year's trip catches all of us Six-Button Cowgirls consumed with our day jobs. We'll be frantically drafting briefs, reviewing contracts, attending conference calls, and sending last-minute emails right up until we land at Bozeman airport. None of us has had the time for the usual preparations--the flurry of fun calls, packing lists, shopping trips.

Three years ago the ranch did not have cell phone reception or internet service. Last year, rumor had it that guests with one cell phone provider (not mine) got service in certain locations around the ranch. I'm crossing my fingers that nothing has changed this year. Being forced to unplug from phones and blackberries and TV and internet once a year is good for the soul, and it will be a sad day when a full respite is no longer possible even at the ranch.

Alisal Ranch

View from horseback

Last week the Wrangler and I and some good friends headed out of the OC and up to the Santa Barbara area for horseback riding, spa services (for the girls), and golf (for the boys). It was my first trip to Santa Barbara, which was more beautiful than I'd expected. I loved every minute of our drive up the 101--the wildflowers were blooming, goats grazed on grassy rolling hills overlooking the ocean, waves crashed against rocky shores, and clouds covered the tops of the gentle, distant mountains.

The Alisal Ranch is just outside of the town of Solvang, a strange little town that consists of (1) kitschy Scandinavian-themed tourist fare and (2) wine tasting rooms. (It's the town featured in the movie Sideways, which now is just that much funnier to me.)

We had sunny skies and temps in the mid-70s while we were there, but it snowed just one day after we left! The views from horseback were spectacular. At the sight of all those trees and green grass, I was this close to driving back to Laguna Beach, throwing all our stuff in a U-Haul, and moving up to Solvang--kitschy Scandinavian-themed tourist fare-be-damned. But, like anyone suddenly finding herself in a magical paradise, where the sun glistens off a silvery lake, nothing can be heard but the sounds of a bubbling brook, and baby deer dance just yards from the horse trail, I was skeptical. "Does it always look like this?" I asked our wrangler. "Like, what happens in July?"

"We've had an unusual amount of rain this winter," he admitted. "It's usually pretty dry and brown 'round these parts."

I knew it! I looked back at the Wrangler, who was riding a Clydesdale-mix with furry feet. "No need to get that U-Haul just yet," I informed him. But I just can't seem to reach that itch to move to greener pastures...

A Rocky Mountain Christmas

We're home after our fourth consecutive Christmas in Denver. It wasn't a white Christmas this year, but the pets, nieces, and nephews provided plenty of holiday cheer. We timed our road trip perfectly. We had impeccable driving conditions, but a massive snow storm closed the major interstate roads on our route just one day after we arrived home.

While in the Denver area, we toured the Celestial Seasonings tea factory in beautiful Boulder. The tour, which includes a stop in the infamous peppermint room that makes your eyes water, is an olfactory (pun intended) treat for all, but it was especially interesting to me since I've replaced soda with tea as my beverage of choice. I stocked up on holiday teas--peppermint, gingerbread, chai, and even sugar cookie-flavored tea.

We also headed downtown to the aquarium, which has an impressive collection of species--sea horses, sharks, jellies, and even a tiger. I lobbied to conclude the visit with lunch in the aquarium restaurant but was shot down. Seems that the others felt weird about feasting on a platter of calamari just steps away from the giant octopus tank.

We took a little driving tour of some equestrian communities mixed in with cookie-cutter suburban subdivisions. I loved the tidy ranch homes with horses, goats, and chickens grazing peacefully in the yards, Pike's Peak looming in the distance, and a comforting Target, Borders Books, and stadium seating multiplex just five minutes away. (Because who am I kidding? I love suburbia just as much as I hate it.)

Upon our return home, I was thrilled to find that our gorgeous Noble Fir still is very much alive and kicking. There are no signs of dry needles, and the tree is drinking 1/2 a pitcher of water a day. At this rate, the tree may be around for Valentine's Day. I can't send a thriving tree off to the wood chipper.

Syrupy Sweet

In recounting my recent trip to Vermont, I'd be remiss if I described only the cheese farms and left out the maple syrup farms. For 30-some years I've enjoyed--and, truthfully, kind of preferred--pancake syrup like Mrs. Butterworth's or Log Cabin. I knew that "pancake syrup" contains corn syrup and maple-like flavoring but no real maple component at all. But I didn't appreciate the difference between pancake syrup and the real deal until I toured a maple syrup farm.

True maple syrup is essentially organic. It's simply the result of boiling the sap of sugar maple trees. Nothing is added. An astounding 40 (forty!) gallons of sap are needed to make one gallon of maple syrup. During the sugaring season in Vermont (depending on temperatures, this runs from March to mid-April), a sugar maple tree will provide about 10 gallons of sap. Most trees are not tapped unless they are at least 40 years old. A 40-year old maple likely will have only one tap; larger trees could have two or even three taps. But overtapping depletes too much of the tree's sap.

So, it takes about four trees, 40-years or older, to produce one gallon of maple syrup. Sugarbush Farm has 6,000 maples on its 550 acres and has an intricate system of tubes (the Wrangler is holding onto one in the photo) for transporting the sap. "What do you think?" I asked the Wrangler last night. "Will 10 gallons of maple syrup a year be enough for us on the ranch? We'll need just 40 adult maple trees."

"Are you kidding?" the Wrangler asked, incredulously. He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a small bottle of Log Cabin pancake syrup. "We've had this since we moved in here over two years ago."

"That's true, but when we're making our own delicious maple syrup, we'll probably use it for so much more than just French toast, waffles, and pancakes. Remember what the lady at the maple syrup farm said." Our friendly tour guide, sounding not unlike Bubba in Forest Gump listing the various ways to prepare shrimp, touted maple syrup's many uses: you can put maple syrup on ice cream, you can put maple syrup in oatmeal, you can put maple syrup in yogurt, you can put maple syrup on your cereal, you can use maple syrup in cakes, pies, and cookies, you can put maple syrup in whipped cream, you can put maple syrup in your coffee and tea...

The Wrangler looked skeptical. "I don't really see us putting it on our cereal or eating a lot of yogurt and maple syrup concoctions. And I'm not putting it in my coffee."

"Well, maybe we can give some as gifts," I said hopefully. "Who wouldn't want our fresh, homemade maple syrup?" But the vision of the two of us happily stamping through snowdrifts and carrying buckets filled with sap from our 40 maples had already begun to dim.

Maybe we will just buy ours from the good folks in Vermont.

Like Bees to Honey

As the Great Cheese Farm Tour 2010 drew to a close, the Wrangler and I agreed that it had been one heck of a trip. Who knew we'd fall in love with Vermont? We didn't even make it to Maine. I might have shed a tear or two of happiness while driving through the billboard-free Vermont countryside and commiting to memory the views of red, orange, and yellow hills. Yes, the trees had begun to change color.

I accomplished one major feat on this trip: I got the Wrangler excited about bees. Our visit with Jenna at Cold Antler Farm gave us the opportunity to process wool from her sheep and help harvest fresh honey. Okay, I'm using the word "help" a bit loosely here. I "helped" by carrying the matches for the smoker device that is used to chase the bees out of the hive, and the Wrangler "helped" by looking for the crowbar-like tool that extracts the plastic honey-filled frames from the hive. (The tool was under a bale of hay upon which a proud chicken had just laid an egg.) Jenna's hive has 30,000 bees, and she's been stung only once. She removed two frames (there are 10 total) from the hive, put them in a bucket, and brought them into the kitchen. She placed a colander in the bottom of a large bowl and scraped the honey from the frames with a brush. It oozed into the colander, which removed the wax and, well, bee particles.

Vermont currently is awash in goldenrod, and the honey is the exact color of the goldenrod blooms--which makes perfect sense. There is nothing as sweet as fresh honey. Except for maybe fresh maple syrup. I'll get into that later.

Cheesy

And we're off. Sunset over the Pacific at take-off. Sunrise over the Atlantic at touch-down.

Saturday: Grafton Village Cheese, Vermont Country Store, Sugarbush Farm, Billings Farm.

Sunday: Three-Corner Field Farm, Cold Antler Farm, Consider Bardwell Farm.

We'll be seeing goat cheese farms, cow's milk cheese farms, sheep's milk cheese farms, and a water buffalo cheese farm, as well as a cheese factory that does not produce milk but buys its milk from Vermont farmers.

The Maine Event

I've finished the research, I've attended the seminars and conferences, I've gone on the haycations and done the dude ranch thing, I've completed the online classes, and I've read the books and blogs of other working stiffs who haven't quit their day jobs but are trying to piece together small farm or ranch operations. Now it's time for the next step. I've put together a whirlwind trip to see the not-so-simple life in action. We'll be hitting hotspots in Massachusetts, Maine, Vermont, and the New England-esque parts of upstate New York. We'll be stopping at Consider Bardwell Farm (which I first read about in Hay Fever) and the Beekman 1802 merchantile (of both the Fabulous Beekman Boys and Bucolic Plague fame). Most exciting for me is a planned visit with Jenna, the author of Made from Scratch, at her Cold Antler Farm. She has promised to give me the low-down on keeping sheep.

I've also planned tours of two farms in Woodstock, Vermont: Billings Farm and Museum (a working dairy farm with all kinds of activities, events, and programs for visitors) and Sugarbush Farm (a working cheese and maple syrup farm). I'm not exactly dragging the Wrangler kicking and screaming on this trip, but I'm throwing in a tee time for him, just for good measure.

Montana on My Mind

Photo taken while on horseback Thursday afternoon

I just returned from my cowgirl adventure at the Mountain Sky ranch in Montana. We had beautiful weather the entire vacation. On a typical day, my sister headed out for a 7AM hike while I slept in. She spotted a mama and baby moose and some fresh mountain lion tracks (and acquired a wood tick or too). We headed out on horseback around 9AM--walking, trotting, and loping through and alongside streams, bushwhacking through forests and meadows, and stopping for a picnic lunch at the top of the mountain. We returned to the ranch around 4PM, spent an hour or so learning to fly fish at the fully stocked trout pond, and did our best to stretch our tired muscles in a restorative yoga class. We joined the other cowgirls for beer and appetizers on a hay ride behind two beautiful Clydesdales, and then feasted on a five-course dinner. We two-stepped to live guitar music in the cozy lounge, and then headed for a quick soak in the outdoor hot tub under the zillions of stars in the big Montana sky. We headed back to our cabin, read for a bit in front of a crackling fire, and then called it a day.

But we all have to come back to reality at some point, right? Or do we?

Stay tuned.

Haycations

December is shaping up to be the busiest month of the year--by far--at the office, which has left this urban cowgirl longing for her ranch. Luckily, I have my Six-Button Cowgirls to keep me looking ahead to brighter days and greener pastures. Literally. We have a number of ideas for 2010:

March in Houston is synonymous with the Livestock Show and Rodeo, which is a month-long extravaganza of all things Texan. I'm thinking BBQ contests, livestock auctions, calf scrambles, concerts, chuck wagon races, bull riding, and steer wrestling (as a spectator, not a participant!). Or we could pay a visit to the 660-acre Coach Farm in upstate New York next summer. Thanks to the farm's 900 Alpine French dairy goats, the farm produces fresh and aged artisan cheese that is sold in upscale restaurants and specialty shops in New York City. Miles and Lillian Cahn, the founders of the famous Coach line of leather handbags, initially purchased the farm as a weekend getaway. It eventually became clear that they needed to choose whether to spend their time running the handbag business or running the farm. They chose to run the farm.

I've also been thinking that I'm overdue for a visit to my dad's family farm in southern Minnesota. But as it currently is a balmy 5 degrees below zero in those parts, I can wait until spring.

Lone Star Starr

Just back from my first trip to Houston. I've been to Dallas, Austin, and San Antonio, but I'd never been to Houston, the self-proclaimed Energy Capitol of the World. I was both impressed and a little disappointed. Clearly, I'd seen Urban Cowboy one too many times. I must confess that I expected to see lots of real cowboys, fancy cowgirls, and rich oil moguls with cigars and white suits making deals in the shadow of an oil rig. Instead, I found myself in a livable but ordinary city with friendly but ordinary people. I may have overheard a few rich oil moguls making deals in the lobby at the Four Seasons, but they most definitely were not wearing white suits. 

Feeling a bit dejected, I met an old friend for brunch in the trendy area along Washington Avenue. My spirits lifted as I tucked into my carne asada y huevos. After brunch, we walked across the street to the Wabash Antiques and Feed Store. Now this was more like it! Perhaps the New York Times describes it best: "The eclectic 100-year-old business is straight out of 'Petticoat Junction.' Antique Texas stars, boot-shaped planters and imported pottery share a roof with caged chickens and rabbits, beekeeping supplies, plants and beer (to loosen up the customers)." Don't you just love a city in which you can, in one swoop, have brunch at a hotspot and pick up a few pullets for your urban coop?

Dusty Trails

Riding through vineyards on a hot Tuesday morning in Temecula, I was 70-some miles--but worlds away--from the office. Ahhh.

"I'm telling you for the last time, there aren't any cows here"

I'm packing for a mini-vacation that will include a short and leisurely ride on horseback through vineyards. I just dug my Frye boots out of the back of the closet and was thinking about the last time I wore them this past January. I was with the Six-Button Cowgirls on a mule ride to Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

The temperatures at the top of the canyon hovered around 30 degrees. The trails, which are narrow and run right along the ledge, were icy and snowy. About a quarter of the way down, the weather started getting better and the trails were dry. By the time we reached the bottom of the canyon, we had beautiful autumn-like weather. Although we weren't fans of the icy trails and cold weather at the top, I think January was a great time to go. We were the only riders assigned to our wrangler, so the trip was like our own private tour of the canyon.

As we plodded along on our trusty mules, we were surrounded by scenery straight out of an old western movie. We felt like the ultimate cowgirls (and may have said so a few too many times, prompting our wrangler to protest that we were nowhere near any cows).

Teardrops Are Rolling

I've written a lot about camping lately, which actually is really weird because the last time I went on an overnight camping trip, Clinton was in office. But I have just one more camping-centric entry for a while. I've decided that the Airstream requires too much of a commitment. The smallest version is about $30,000, I don't know where we'd store it, and I don't think the Wrangler's little Saab wagon could pull it. Enter the teardrop trailer. How cute are these?

They weigh in at just 500 pounds, are small enough to store easily in the garage, and start at about $5000. Some come in kits that you can assemble on your own. A top-of-the-line model is about $13,000. Most are custom built. The one pictured here is from Big Woody Campers.

Happy Trail(er)s

The Wrangler and I have been hesitant to do the vacation property thing because we can't decide where to buy, how much to spend, and whether to commit to spending most of our vacation time at the same place. I've always assumed that I'm not the RV-type, but after seeing a neighbor's adorable retro Airstream trailer, I started thinking. Maybe an Airstream would scratch the itch for now. We could get away on the weekends, try out a lot of new places, and easily bring the pets along. Check out the Airstream Sport model. Is it an economical "vacation home" or merely an expensive tent?

Cowgirl Camp

Each May the Mountain Sky Guest Ranch in Emigrant, Montana, hosts a Wild West Women Adventure week. In addition to the usual activities, there's horse grooming and tacking, cow handling, and roping lessons. The ranch also offers other adults-only getaways, which we Six-Button Cowgirls enjoyed last spring--crisp, cool weather, plenty of horseback riding, delicious meals, cozy fires, luxurious cabins, relaxing massages at the spa, two-stepping with the cowboys...and the lack of cell phone or blackberry reception.

The ranch is owned by Arthur Blank (founder of Home Depot and owner of the Atlanta Falcons). On our way from Bozeman to the ranch, we stopped at the The Pop Stand for amazing hot turkey sandwiches and chocolate ice cream malts. We later learned that Mr. Blank had so enjoyed The Pop Stand on his way from the airport to the ranch that he bought it. Because that's what we all do when we enjoy a good meal--buy the restaurant, of course.

No cowgirl camp for the Six-Button Cowgirls this spring due to schedule conflicts, but I'm hoping we can coordinate a trip Mountain Sky for the WWWA in May 2010.