Sydney, Kerry and Bridget pose on a bluff above Medora during their parents’ 50th wedding anniversary in 2021.

I eyeball the errant cow in the foggy darkness. She and five of her wandering comrades have escaped the boundary of our winter pasture and made a break for the harvested field of durum stubble across the dirt road. Unusually warm temps have melted all the snow and signaled to my cows that it is time to go roaming for new delectable grass sprouts versus their daily diet of hay bales.

The cows, of course, waited until nightfall when I’m home alone to start their adventure. My four-wheel drive SUV is no match for the muddy field into which they’ve snuck. I park the vehicle, spotlight the cows with the headlights and head out on foot with my mobile phone’s meager flashlight.

An older cow sees me, turns back to the road and obediently plods back into the pasture. But the two pregnant heifers I approach next kick up their heels in defiance, splatter me with mud and dash north. They have tasted some leftover durum kernels and freedom.

Slipping, sliding and sputtering, I am severely annoyed at myself for failing to check the single-wire electric fence last week. The cows won’t test the fence when the ground is covered with snow, but bare ground means spring and fresh sprouts for which to search. Attempting to hustle a cow across the road, I have to admit that the warm weather and cows have caught me with my pants down. My middle-aged bladder – compliments of three pregnancies -no longer handles the juking, jagging and jumping required to corral stubborn cows from the potential of green grass.

I understand my cows’ desire to travel. North Dakota winters might make the heartiest of us seek out our version of green – a vacation south.

When I should have been checking fences, I was actually on a vacation with my sisters. While my cows hide and I seek them in the dark, I am reminded that vacations have consequences.

This is my nagging premonition every time I contemplate going on vacation. This fate seems especially so for ranchers. (Or maybe just me in particular).

There was a Montana ski vacation that ended early due to a bitter cold Alberta Clipper, as well as a canceled Caribbean cruise with Kevin’s parents. There was the Thanksgiving visit with Kevin’s family in Florida short-changed due to a projected blizzard. I made it about 24 hours on a sisters’ trip to Arizona several years ago before I re-booked a flight home to beat a winter storm. The thought of leaving my cattle during bad weather has prevented or prematurely ended most vacation attempts.

Other seasons offer better weather, but spring, summer and fall are our busiest times of the year as farmers and ranchers so it is difficult to get away. Extended family typically have to travel to us.

My sisters try to make it back to our farm and ranch at least once a year. Kerry lives in North Carolina, and Bridget lives in Missouri. My sisters believe I tend to be a bit distracted by cows and crops when they visit. I promised my sisters that I would go on another vacation with them this year.

We cherish our time together and are cognizant that we are getting older, although they both appear much more healthy and fit than me (bladders included). Kerry and Bridget are identical twins in their mid-forties and two years younger than me. I’d like to think my ranching job in the elements has weathered me more, but it might be the difference in sibling genetics. Case in point: when I was twenty-one and in Europe traveling with my sisters before I began a college semester abroad – a handsome, young train conductor approached me and asked permission to show my daughters the engine room. My sisters, who he mistook for my daughters, thought the moment was hilarious. I was quite offended. But my mother, who was also with us, told me to get over it and said with disgust, “Who did he think I was? Their grandmother?”

My sisters and I decide on sun and sand and fly to Miami and then drive to Islamorada, one of the Florida Keys. As we head for the beach in swimsuits, physical reminders showcase why we chose to take time away from our families to be together. My sister, Bridget, sports a scar that looks like a shark bite on her upper thigh.

The scar is from surgery to remove a desmoid tumor and then another several years later, as well as surrounding tissue and muscle. Her tumors grew fast and were nearly the size of softballs before they were removed. Desmoid tumors do not metastasize but are locally aggressive and cause destruction to surrounding tissue, bone and function.

Kerry’s scars are hidden by her swimsuit, but underneath remains the trauma of a double mastectomy and reconstruction after she was diagnosed with breast cancer three years ago. Her double mastectomy revealed two types of breast cancer and additional tumors unidentified by the mammogram. Bridget has also been told by her team of physicians – given her breast cancer risk of nearly 45 percent – that a preventative double mastectomy is recommended.

Thankfully both of my sisters are healthy and happy right now. We spend our first day on a resort in Islamorada and lounge by the pool. We hike along the Overseas Heritage Trail with aquamarine ocean views on both sides. We visit Ernest Hemingway’s house on Key West, where I buy a book titled “Cockeyed Happy” and read about Hemingway’s summer sojourns at the Nordquist and Folly Ranches in northern Wyoming. I also bring along bull sale catalogs for some good beach reading. We spend the three days together drinking Cuban coffee, resting on the beach, searching out good restaurants and sharing memories. Our cheeks are reddened by sun and wind and laughter.

I am rested and reinvigorated when I land in Minneapolis and discover my final flight to Minot has been canceled. I dash to the airline’s help desk to re-book a flight to Bismarck that evening and call my son, Lane, who says he can pick me up at the airport and drive me the nearly four hours home. While on the plane, I happen to sit next to a couple from Harvey. I have never met them before, but before the plane ride ends, the Knudtsons have offered to give me a ride home if Lane can’t pick me up. Their kindness reminds me why I love being a North Dakotan and the many perks of living on this rural northern prairie.

Vacations have consequences. And they are often wonderful. In my world, they may also necessitate chasing cows in the dark a time or two. Next time, I’ll check fences first.