big sky democrats

Stand and be Counted.

I am the daughter of a third-generation Montana wheat farmer.

I was raised to leave the gate open when our neighbor had a bad year, because our bad year may be next year, and they'll help us then.  I was taught to not to trade with local businesses who cheated customers and treated their employees poorly.  I learned by my parents' example not to judge - or even care about - what church my neighbor attended, who they chose to marry or live with, or what happened when they pulled their curtains at night.

I was taught that when there was a job to be done in the field, there was no difference between a man's sweat and a woman's sweat. 

The women in my family are strong individuals.  They rise at 5 to feed chickens and cattle, cook breakfast for their families and the hired help, work their gardens, keep the house, fix fuel lines on hay balers, wrestle barbed wire fences, catch loose livestock, and sing in church on Sunday.  They do this nine months pregnant.  The pie is always homemade, the kitchen gardens are two acres, and the four feet of snow simply means that the truck needs to be chained before we head out to town.

The men in my family are strong in different ways.  They rise at 5 and come into the warmth and comfort of the house only to eat - sometimes only at 6 p.m. for the evening meal.  Their hands are scarred and calloused and dark stained with oil and huge, and they can be alternately the most frightening or the most comforting part of the individual.  They keep their opinions to themselves, and would appreciate it if you did the same.  They don't complain.  They don't go to the doctor, even when their finger is crushed to the width of two quarters from the drop of an engine.  A travelling vet administers their allergy shots.

When I left the farm, I led my life as I was taught - helping my neighbor, letting them lead the life they chose to lead, worship the God they chose to worship, spending my money with responsible businesses, respecting strong women, respecting strong men, living up to my word.

I went to the polling place this morning and was counted.  I voted for a person who believes in the same things that I do, who was raised the same way.  It was the second time I was able to do that, and I found myself wanting to just hang around the polling place and feel the energy that exists at the sight of the very freedom that so many have fought and died for.

I admit it - I am a corny individual.  That aside, please go vote.  Go vote for that Montana Farmer.

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