I turned 20 at the end of July. I grew up in a small town Badlands of Southern Alberta, Canada. Wildrose Country. Not far from the Montana border. Old slab & barbwire. Texas gates. Big gold road signs before the rivers that read “Watch for Rattlesnakes.” 40 below, 40 above. I have 2 younger brothers, when we were kids we could run barefoot on the gravel. Race some farm dog or another, all against the gale force wind of the great plains and then nearly neck and neck with it on the way back. The same best friend I had then is still my best friend now. The closest gal I ever had to a sister, gentle in all the same places I’m jagged.

I’ve got a chip on my shoulder. I’ve been in love before, always too early or too late. I’ve been put over the fence a few times. Does that sort of thing where your heart about jumps out of your chest take or give years of life? Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes a hard knock feels like a robbery of youth instead of a gift of seconds that don’t show up in your smile lines and otherwise. I change my mind about it often. But I wouldn’t change any of it, at that.

After graduating grade 12 I went to the school of pouring hi-balls and lipping off trouble that would roll in off the #3 rather than university. Not long later I hit the school of cow punch, moving out to a ranch a couple provinces over even closer yet to the border than the hometown. There’s not a chance I’d be writing this to you right now if it weren’t for that calving season. I’m not sure I would’ve had the meanness to make it here. Or half the words for that matter.

I have 1 tattoo, lyrics from “Rex’s Blues.” I love meadowlarks, the contrast of a thunderhead against the prairie, when my friends laugh, the south Sask river, guitar pulls, country dancing, honky tonks, Elvis, a shot of Jameson’s, angel #’s, my guitar Sally Rose, a good thrift find, and chasing cows. I could never list it all, but there’s a start.