(A first-person account by Lauren Muney)

the weddin | the honeymoon | performin' ever after

Driving cattle on your honeymoon may not be the first idea that newlyweds hit upon, but it seemed very natural for us. It guess it takes a very strong person to firmly plant one's decision to have 7 full days of saddle sores . . . on a honeymoon. I'll forgo the long, dry details about finding cattle ranches through various adventure marketplaces, how other ranches have saunas, and whirlpools, and kids eating free, and all the details we were not at all interested in but somehow make other peoples' vacations all feel, well, vacation-y. We didn't want that. We wanted cattle. Horses. Dirt. No humidity. Trees, sunshine, and the best part: a honeymoon we would never forget.

The N Bar Ranch Outlaw Land and Cattle Company, New Mexico. The name conjures up small leathery towns and browned hills. Although they have no electricity and the restrooms were extremely comfy large outhouses, the ranch fortifies itself with a connection to a satellite dish, fiber-optics, and a Macintosh-powered, Internet-ed office overlooking a horse pasture. Preston, the manager, and his cluster of sunburnt employees/wranglers made a fantastic welcome amongst the backdrop of the sub-Alpine mountains.With the promise of good hard work, wood stoves, hearty meals, and adventures to unfold, we had begun our journey as a four-hour van ride from Albequerque over the dried up Rio Grande River, past the SETI labs searching for UFO's in the New Mexico desert, and up into the mountains.

We slept in hand-hewed cabins, with the bark peeled off of the logs (the bark rots and ruins the structure), tables and beds forming the furniture that Ralph Lauren admires. Our warmth was a woodstove, a candle in an old branding iron, and a surprise: a little note telling us how to use the gas light over the bed. What else could one ever want from a honeymoon hideaway? We were lucky. Our "honeymoon" cabin was set a little farther from the other cabins. Great. Me and my saddlesores, and my new husband and his saddlesores all had a weary good time.

We were not the only guests. Surprised that there were other people taking a mid-spring (May) vacation, we met our ranchmates: an adventurous woman airline pilot from Houston, two enthusiatic sisters from Switzerland, and a counselor from back East with one small peculiarity: she was mostly blind. Maile, our "hostess", stayed most of the time at the ranch-house because she was soon to give birth to a new little cowhand, although she joined us for a few rousing games of poker or the occasional Jim and Lauren Impromptu Stage Show . . . however, the guest list was always small. Only 12-15 people at most would visit at a time, which was perfect for us non-toursity types.

The food spilled from all parts of the canvas-covered cookhouse . . . we had a husband and wife team doing the cooking, preparing meals for us, the hungry guests. Morning coffee was made in a metal coffeepot, just like the movies, and after brewing it was set in the wood stove to keep warm. Meals almost always included fresh beef, and lots of vegetables. Due to a recent drought at that time, water was trucked in instead of pumped from the subterranean well. Believe me, we never starved. The cookhouse was tall and wide, becoming our meal and entertainment centers as it housed many a card game after dinner. When we went on trails, food was packed in saddlebags and no one ever needed extra.

The trails. I guess you can't call them that all the time. Often they were a line of broken twigs where the horse went by them in front of you. Sometimes the trail was dirt, in a 45-degree angle straight down a hill. Sometimes they were gently rolling slopes. Sometimes they were well-trodden fire-break roads, stomped by many cattle or even elk. We went by landscape which resembled a Martian landscape one minute, and a lush alpine forest the next. One needs sunglasses, cowboy hat, and sunscreen (that old cowboy staple) just to survive for even a week. Even the layers of dirt which were inevitable were not cover enough for the strong New Mexico sun, even in early May.

But we were there to herd cattle. After a brief lecture on Cow Psychology by Preston on our first full day, we mounted our horses to assist bringing the cows from the far acreage closer to the ranch, and to the watering holes ("tanks"). Cow Psychology consists of two ideas: in the morning, herd them from farther away at a 60-degree angle; in the afternoon, aw, heck, you can practically push the cow along with your knee. Cows are just grumpy in the morning, I guess. Herding cattle consists of nothing like the movies. The cowpeople have to focus very hard on those wily, stupid cows. They try to sly away, and you can't run them. Running cows = skinny cows = no money. There is no gabbing, as the cowpeople are quite spread out and you have to make "move cow" noises. This picture to the left is the only view you get pretty often: cowbutts.

There was nothing ordinary about the entire week. We even played paintball one morning and Capture-The-Flag on horseback another, as a break from the cows, because the laser-tag sets were not completed from the manufacturer yet. Okay, granted, there wasn't much authentic Old West action with paintball or even lasers, but a girl's gotta shoot her new husband with something evil & slimy within the first month, right? At least not get arrested for it. And laser tag will be great for the Posse Games. Visit the N Bar for info. Just make sure you breathe alot before you get up to altitude, okay?

the weddin | the honeymoon | performin' ever after