A Ranch Anniversary
Friday, January 6, hit me over the head.
It marked the day, 17 years ago, that I reached a goal I set when I was 10 years old, the day I bought a ranch.
Just like a wedding really is only the beginning of a relationship, signing the closing papers on the Graham Ranch was only the beginning of truly living.
The September before, my husband, Steve, and I had met the sellers at the ranch, stood in the driveway, heard the offer and shook hands on the deal.
The ranch was ours except for the paperwork.
We had been married less than a month.
We wouldn’t live together for another nine months.
After our handshake, we all went inside so Steve and I could see the house for the first time.
Neither of us really cared what the house looked like.
Neither of us planned to spend much time inside.
Bankers, appraisers and accountants took their sweet time to finish the paperwork.
They didn’t seem to understand the urgency that Steve and I felt.
Finally, we set a closing date: Friday, January 6, 2006.
I would drive 180 miles and Steve would drive 75 miles to the title company in Great Falls.
The sellers would meet us there.
On January 4, two days before our closing date, my banker called to say the attorneys were not comfortable with the terms of the reverse 1031 exchange we were employing to reduce our capital gains tax.
The attorneys were familiar with a regular 1031 exchange but had not used a reverse 1031.
They wanted to postpone.
I told my banker that the attorneys better get comfortable.
Right now.
They had been looking at this deal since Thanksgiving and I had a babysitter lined up for January 6.
My banker meekly suggested we could sign papers and mail them.
I scoffed.
“This is the biggest thing I’ve ever done in my life,” I said. “I’m going to shake hands with the Graham family in person.”
I hung up, scrambling to develop a back-up plan.
I could call a different bank, -- and I was mad enough to do that -- but I couldn’t close a new deal in two days.
Twenty minutes later, my banker called to say the attorneys were now comfortable with a reverse exchange.
I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding.
Two days later, I met Steve at the title company, shook hands with the Graham family and drove to the Goodwill Store.
I figured I should familiarize myself with my new shopping mall.
I bought a maroon sweatshirt and a gray mock turtleneck, both already soft with wear.
Just a couple of years ago, I finally threw both of them into the rag bag, completely worn out yet still good for grease rags.
That night, Steve and I slept in our house for the first time.
On a single cot.
True to his character, he had thought through the sleeping arrangements.
I woke up chilled, nose dripping, watching my frosty breath rise above Steve’s head.
The furnace had quit.
On Saturday.
I tweaked and repaired that furnace for the next 16 years, always starting on a weekend, until I replaced it last June.
I should have kept it as a shrine to the range of emotions that come with life on the ranch.
I’ve felt them all – some I can’t even name – as Steve and I learned how to face floods, drought, marauding grizzly bears, grass up to our stirrups, stunning sunrises, snowdrifts so high we snowshoed across them, wind so strong it blew fencing staples from the posts, raising kids among cows, sheep and horses and his death.
Friday, January 6, 2006, was only the beginning.
A truly fantastic beginning to truly living.