Pondering bringing the family together in Montana

Two years ago when I heard the words tumbling from my mouth, they seemed like a great idea.

All of my cool, out-of-state cousins could come to the ranch for a long weekend and enjoy some Montana-style fun.

Of course, back then I had plenty of time to repaint the peeling trim on the house, repair the crumbling rock wall, clear the clogged septic system, and plant an abundant garden next to a verdant lawn.

This idea sparked from an uncle’s birthday party. My cousin, Brent, managed to bring all of us together for an afternoon, despite long distances and threadbare family fabric. At the impromptu after-party, cousins who had not seen each other for years discovered we all liked one another. Even better, we wanted to see each other again.

My ranch seemed like a perfect place for a reunion.

They would have to make more of an effort than I – it isn’t easy to get to Conrad, Montana, even if it is the true epicenter of the universe.

Still, I wanted my cousins to be impressed, not live my reality.

By last week, I could flush the toilet.

The rest of my vision was fading fast.

The hot sun and wind sucked the grass dry, my tomatoes were still recovering from a late frost and I could pick peeling paint from the house trim as I walked past the windows.

So much for putting my best foot forward.

So I shifted my goals from appearing to embrace conventional societal standards to refraining from poisoning people I love with my potato salad.

Fortunately, my brother brought the potato salad.

The thermometer in the shade pointed to the 90s.

My guard dogs growled sometimes.

People said it was too far to walk to the tepee I set up inside an old tepee ring far from the house so they could enjoy the isolated beauty of the prairie — although the kids managed to skip and jog the entire three-quarters of a mile.

I realized that other people choose convenience over isolation and shade over sweat.

Oh.

Right.

That meant I needed to modify my plan to set up a shooting range a half mile from the house.

Instead, my shop became the shady visitors center from which to fire at targets.

Their rifles came out one day, pistols the next.

Despite these blips in my interpretation of cultural norms and expectations, we all had a good time.

The kids swam in the creek while adults sat under a few shady chokecherry bushes.

The wagon ride to the sheepherder’s monument compressed a few passengers’ vertebrae, but they comprehended the scope of the landscape.

Some of us reviewed progress on my building remodeling project.

Others fed the orphan lambs.

We took turns playing cornhole, trash-talking when necessary.

We learned that a competitive spirit just might be a shared dominant gene.

We relived childhood stories and recounted successes and failures of adulthood.

Nobody mentioned the peeling paint.

We all ate too much.

People made supper and even cleaned up my kitchen.

Everyone contributed.

Best of all, we talked about our plans for the future.

Those plans included seeing one another again.

We wove the threads of our various lives into our family fabric again – fabric not quite yellow twine strong, but definitely as tough as wool yarn.

Our next family reunion is now scheduled for next August, at a family tree farm in Oregon. All I need to do is show up, wash a few dishes and weave threads into an even stronger family fabric.

I can do that.

Meanwhile, I give it 50-50 odds on whether my house trim will be painted and the rock wall repaired by then.

Lisa Schmidt raises grass-fed beef and lamb at the Graham Ranch near Conrad. Lisa can be reached at L.Schmidt@a-land-of-grass-ranch.com.