Summer celebrations in Montana queue up like cows on winter hay.

This past weekend, the line was long.

I couldn’t help but notice that food was at the center of all of these celebrations.

Friday night, my daughter, Abby, my mom and I enjoyed Whoop-Up burgers at the Conrad Whoop-Up rodeo.

Thin, gray, chewy patties topped with mushy grilled onions are required fare at every outdoor party in Conrad and the rodeo is no exception.

A food critic would take one bite then throw the rest to a dog, but something about these burgers is as integral to enjoying the rodeo as watching Z-Man the clown save tiny, innocent children from the ravages of mutton-busting.

Yes, years ago, I, too, sadistically signed up my sweet, 35-pound daughter to cling to a panicked ewe dashing and dodging in front of a cheering crowd.

Fortunately, Z-Man grabbed her belt before she hit the hard-packed dirt or I would still be hearing about the repercussions of this tradition.

On Friday night, we chewed — and chewed — on Whoop-Up burgers as we gleefully watched the next generation of torture victims.

Somehow, magically, both the burgers and action were delightful.

By Saturday morning, we were parked at the first Great Falls Farmers Market of the summer, touting our beef and lamb.

The street was packed with people who had waited all spring to stroll among booths, visit with neighbors and nibble on pork on a stick, fruit bowls and cupcakes so pretty a person hesitated to desecrate them.

But only momentarily.

Then temptation won and teeth sank into mounds of colorful frosting.

By Saturday evening, I resolved to only eat more nutritious food.

My resolution would have to wait.

Sunday afternoon was reserved for a celebration of the life of a friend who left too soon.

Six months ago, Bob didn’t know cancer was consuming his pancreas and liver.

He was hunting elk and hugging his wife, Le Ann, worried only about the next step in remodeling their winter home in Arizona.

Bob and Le Ann played an integral role in raising my kids.

Le Ann introduced my son, Will, to retired fighter pilots.

Those two colonels paid it forward, outlining the steps Will needed to take so he, too, could fly 1000 miles an hour in a jet loaded with an arsenal.

Bob and Le Ann came to every one of Abby’s birthday parties, endured every one of my attempts to provide an edible dinner and birthday cake.

They soon learned to have food waiting in their fridge at home, just in case my efforts failed.

In my defense, one time I followed the actual recipe for lamb ribs.

Against my better judgment.

I couldn’t understand how those ribs would be cooked in 15 minutes, but I’m not a food scientist. What did I know?

With one bite, Bob, Le Ann, the other guests and I all came to the same conclusion: I should have trusted my instincts.

All of us trusted our instincts after that single bite and gave those raw ribs to the chickens.

Now, an invitation to dinner at my house implies that guests have other food waiting at home, just in case.

That story was just one of many that I could have shared at Bob’s memorial service while we all enjoyed the cookies Bob loved.

As Abby and I drove home, I thought about the integral link between food and celebrations.

Feelings are heightened when bites are taken.

Gray burgers, frosted cupcakes and chocolate chip cookies strengthen bonds of shared experiences. 

Food wraps each of us in the culture of the West, traditions and memories.

But food is better when it is cooked.

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.