So, Wee Bubbs and I had some time to kill since he slept late this morning (yeee haw!!) and Bubbs was off at Preschool. Ross wasn’t open yet so we (well, I with Wee Bubbs in the Ergo) sauntered into the nearby Tractor Supply Company. Never been in this particular store, but I figured it would be a combination between OSH and the Home Depot. And for the most part, I was right.

But there was another side to the TSC that I wasn’t expecting. The COWBOY side.

Once again I was reminded of the fact that we live in a very agricultural area. Not too long ago this little town just outside of Sacramento was a small farming community. As much as I tend to complain that there aren’t enough stores here and there most definitely aren’t too many good places to get a decent bite to eat, it’s hands down a zillion times more than it was even just 10 years ago.

As the boy and I wandered up and down the aisles, I was transformed to a slower way of life. No one was in a hurry. Everyone was friendly. Well, all 3 other people who were in there at SUCH an early hour (another pet peeve of mine – the only decent store that opens before 10AM is the Target – half my day is GONE by 10AM!! But I digress…).

There were chicks for sale, handcrafted outdoor wood furniture, belt buckles, leather wallets and purses, animal feed, onion bulbs, and giant plastic tubs of cheese puffs all under the same roof. It was an interesting place!

photo by Luis Fabres

OK – my vision of ranch life will always be a lovely dream of a beautifully handcrafted home on acreage with a beautiful view and neighbors who come by just to shoot the breeze and deliver a freshly made pie – just because.

But I’ve spent some time on various farms and ranches. And while I will always have an affinity for that kind of lifestyle, I am well aware of the reality. I know farm life is a much harsher reality than mine; and fact is, I don’t like it when my boys are up by 6am, let alone having to don a bunch of gear to go feed some farm animals.

When I have the chance, I will always take time to stop and smell the haybales. And then I’ll be thankful that I don’t have to check the bottom of my feet everytime I come through the back door.

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