A Real-life Fairytale
Last week, Lucas took me out for a coffee date. It was the morning of the first snow dusting of the year, flurries were flying and the air was brisk, swirling around us like tiny, wandering sparks. After we bundled up in our warmest coats, we took the drive slow through the backroads and began catching up on the way. He had planned the whole morning to perfection—he even included a short walk to look for wildlife beside a quiet stream, where the water moved like a silver ribbon through the rocks. He offered me a moment to take a few photos of the snowflakes for the kids and even guided some of my steps along the way.
As we sipped our warm cups of joe we talked about the future—the winter we have ahead, and a few we’ve already survived. We dreamed, we remembered, and we laughed. It was a morning that was long overdue, so subtly full of magic that it almost went unnoticed.
Now I must admit, that while every detail of the story above is exactly true, it is only one literary version of the story itself. Here’s another:
Last week, Lucas had a list of minor problems to address along his morning feed route, and while all of them could be handled on his own, I offered my assistance in hopes of increasing the morning’s efficiency. I grabbed an insulated go-cup from the shelf and poured myself my own cup of thick black coffee for the drive.
Luckily, I had already dug out the best of my winter cowboy gear the week before, so my thick feed coat, wool hat, and silk scarf were waiting for me on the back porch to add to my many layers of clothes.
We took the backroads, because we live in the country and there are no other roads to take, and also because our feed truck prefers a top speed of approximately 50 mph—especially if it’s under half a tank. (And it is ALWAYS under half a tank.)
The morning was planned based on the pertinence of each potential problem. First on the list: cows out on the creek. As soon as we pulled up to the gate, the sparkling flurries turned to heavier snow, and Lucas handed me a pair of ice-cold pliers for the hand that wasn’t already holding a coffee cup. I asked him where the hole was that I always seem to fall into in this pasture, and he surprisingly guided me accurately.
I did pause and take pictures of the snow for the kids because Lucas was kindly walking up the rocky bluff alone in search of the mysterious hole in the fence. (The most romantic gesture of the morning by far.) After locating the rogue cows—who weren’t rogue—and not fixing a hole—because it wasn’t there—we headed on to doctor a calf and feed a couple more pastures.
We did talk about the winter we have ahead, and many of the ones we’ve already survived, primarily because those memories are essential for getting through the grind of winter on a ranch every year. It’s essential to remember that spring always comes. Eventually, it comes. In the midst of all the work that needed done, we laughed. And we always try to dream.
It most definitely transpired into a morning that I didn’t realize was so long overdue, and after thinking about it a little more, it was so subtly full of magic that it almost went unnoticed.
Here’s what I’ve learned: every fairytale has hundreds of real-life stories that actually make it possible. In those ordinary moments—mixed in with the work, the weather, the feed routes, and the unexpected detours—I’m reminded that I’m living my happily ever after. Sometimes the magic is small, almost always subtle, but it’s there if I take the time to look for it…and I just wondered, if you might need a reminder to look for it too.