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I don’t usually get worked up over what strangers think of me.
Out here, on 240 acres of open land, you learn pretty quickly that nature doesn’t care about appearances. Cows don’t judge you. Fences don’t fix themselves. And the work doesn’t get easier just because you’re tired.
But today? Today tested every ounce of patience I had left.
It started the way most of my mornings do—with dirt under my boots, coffee that’s gone cold too fast, and a list of chores that never seems to shrink. I drove into the feed store to pick up mineral blocks and fencing wire. Nothing unusual. Same routine I’ve done for years.
I was dressed like I always am: worn jeans, a faded flannel, my boots caked in mud from yesterday’s work, and my long blonde braid tucked under an old cap that’s seen better days.
Nothing fancy. Nothing staged. Just work clothes.
The guy behind the counter looked me up and down like I’d wandered in by mistake.
Then he asked—completely serious—if I needed directions to the “gift section.”
I stared at him for a second, wondering if he was joking.
He wasn’t.
So I told him calmly, “I’m just here for feed and fencing supplies. Same as every week for the last ten years.”
That’s when he laughed.
Not a polite laugh. Not a confused laugh.
A dismissive one.
Like I was playing dress-up in someone else’s life.
Then came the question that really did it.
“Will your husband be loading the truck for you?”