I hate irrigating. Hate it. Whether it’s connecting gated pipe, digging corrugation ends, moving hand lines, or reattaching wheel line pipes, it’s hot, heavy, and and yucky work that carries way too much guilt.

Shoulders and back aching from carrying pipe, wanna quit? Okay the crops will die but at least you’ll feel better.

Hands burning from the hot metal? Sure you can wait until tomorrow, crops will die but you’ll feel better.

Have blisters the size of Texas? You don’t really have to dig those corrugation ends, crops will die but you’ll feel better.

I have a whole new appreciation for the work my husband does. Having had to work with him more than ever this year makes me realize that I really like being a ranch wife, not so much a ranch hand. I like cooking for the brandings, riding to gather loose strays, riding along in the swather and chatting with Mr. Rancher, even driving the GPS-equipped-brand-new tractor on occasion. But I am far too sissy for all the other work. I do it anyway but I don’t like it.

Mr. Rancher may not like it either but you’d never know it. He does it without complaining and takes great pride in the results of his labor.

I’m so glad my girls get to learn from a man like him. And that I get to love such a tough, hard-working man, who, for some unknown reason, likes to have my grouchy butt on the ranch helping him in whatever way I can.