THEY THINK I’M JUST A “COWGIRL BARBIE”—BUT I RUN THIS WHOLE DAMN RANCH
They Thought I Was Just a “Cowgirl Barbie.” They Were Wrong.
I’ve been running my 240-acre ranch solo for years—hauling hay, fixing fences, birthing calves in the middle of the night. But because I’m a blonde woman in muddy boots, people still assume I don’t know what I’m doing.
The other day, at the feed store, a guy asked if I needed the gift shop—and if my “husband” would be loading my supplies. My husband left five years ago. The cows didn’t care, and neither did I. But the assumptions wear on you.
Then things got weird. I found a note nailed to my barn: “I know what you did with the west pasture.” That pasture is my pride and joy—land I restored myself after my ex trashed it. I brushed it off at first… until I found strange footprints by the pond, scratches on the barn, and someone trying to break in.
Suspecting trouble, I reached out to neighbors and called the sheriff. Turns out, a land developer had sent someone to snoop around and try to intimidate me—hoping I’d panic and sell. But instead of backing down, I stood up. I spread the word, got support, and we stopped them in their tracks.
The experience reminded me that asking for help doesn’t make you weak—it makes you stronger. I’ve always felt I had to prove myself alone, but I’ve learned real strength is letting people have your back when things get tough.
So yeah, people used to see a “Cowgirl Barbie.” Now they know better. I run this ranch—every inch of it—and I’m not going anywhere.
