I was awake and out of the house before sunrise, and I was over an hour late. Andrew and his boss, Jed, had saddled five horses, taken them by trailer to the arena, rounded up about fifteen leased yearly Corriente steers from the pasture, and already run a few through the shoot by the time I arrived. The cowboys had forgotten to tell the insects the day had started; the grasshoppers and cicadas were still singing the night songs as the blue of dawn was just fading.

By four o'clock, my lips were stinging chapped and every time I put my teeth together, I crunched dirt. The water we got from the red pump in the back pasture was almost gone. It was warm. I was hot. And there was more work to do.

Having now experienced daily life on a Wyoming ranch leads me to suspect there is always more work to do.

Our son, Andrew, works as a cowboy at the Bartlett Ranch in southeastern Wyoming. The ranch breeds and sells quarter horses. Andrew "rides the rough ones and ropes the wild ones." I flew to Denver last night and drove up to the ranch to spend time with him for the holiday weekend. It has been a year and a half since I've seen Andrew. It is good to be with him.