You Can Take the Girl Out of the Country . . . .

But you can't take the country out of the girl.

Isn't that how the saying goes?

Clearly it's true in my case.  Not that I was ever that country, I grew up on a farm and I still failed pretty miserably at the rustic ways.  Peeing outdoors?  All over my jeans.  Cleaning out the grain bins for harvest?  Had an asthma attack sending me to emergency thus never having to do that painful chore again.  Cow whisperer?  Flew a kite that got away and tangled in a bulls horns.  

But there is a deep down part of me that is all farm and country.  My pride perhaps.  I take great pride in being from Alberta and at least knowing where my bread comes from.  I only buy Canadian grown meat to support men like my father and those around us.  I am also pretty good at driving  a tractor.  If you think driving in circles is good.

Last weekend, I hightailed it to my friend's amazing cabin on Green Lake, which is near 100 Mile House, BC.  It was AMAZING. I love love love being at the cabin.  I half grew up at a cabin with my best friend near Lake of the Woods, ON, and have since been obsessed with someday owning my own piece of cottage heaven.  I love lake swimming.  So much so, that once passing Ruby Lake, I yelled for the Engineer to stop the car so that I could race down the hill and jump into the summer-warm waters of the clear lake.  I must admit that I was a bit of a wimp this weekend.  It was windy.  And the sun was hiding.  So I enjoyed the water from the boat.  Ha!

Anyways, across the lake is a ranch called The Flying U.  I have heard about this place for years, and have even written a teleplay about it.  So of course, I practically freaked out when we got in the truck and headed for saloon heaven.

This is where my country comes in.  Halfway between the karaoke choruses of Shania Twain and Madonna, I decided to go on a bit of an adventure.  It started with me looking for the bathroom and ended with me climbing the fence of the corral in the pitch dark (wearing a dress and flip flops) and sneaking to the barn.  The farm dog came bounding after me, but I used my super dog whisperer skills and he rolled on his back.  I then went to the barn to find in padlocked so went to each of the windows.  I talked to the horses.  TALKED TO THE HORSES.  Okay, by this point I hope you realize I was three sheets to the wind.

Next, I maneuvered my way onto the  . . .  okay, this is how non-farm girl I am, I can't remember the name.  And it's too late to call my dad.  The thingy that the cows go up to get into the truck that eventually leads them to their death.  Which again, in the dark and in flip flops is tricky.  And then I got all emotional.  The smell of the dried cow patties, the wood, the barn and dirt took me back to my childhood and my grandmother.  So there I am looking at the stars, standing on a cow pattie and lamenting to my grandmother how much I miss her when I hear a round of 'Sarah!' 'Sarah!'. 

Oh right, my friends.

So I jumped down, hurtled my way over the fence and ran to them.  Telling them my great adventure of 'breaking into the barn'.  I think that's when they knew it was time for me to go home . . . .