HOME ΟΝ THE RANCH

IN A FAR-FLUNG CORNER OF NORTHWEST NEBRASKA, A 136-YEAR-OLD RANCH WELCOMES GUESTS TO CREATE, WORK AND LEARN FROM THE LAND.

-  JULIA SAYERS GOKHALE

I'm somewhere way out in Nebraskatwisting my way through sandy hills and pine forests and quickly approaching Wyoming-when Jean Norman calls.

"What car are you driving?"

"A Chevy Malibu."

A moment of silence.

"An SUV would have been better."

When I pitched my editor a story on Our Heritage Guest Ranch, I sold it as a dude ranch. I imagined I'd ride horses, sit around a fire under the stars, and dabble in chores. The property's owner, Jean, had been courteous and demure in email, but now, a few miles out, I already feel like I've failed a test. Jean says rain has left the roads a muddy mess, and my car won't make it. She instructs me to stop at the Dairy Sweet in Crawford and wait for her. "Get yourself a barbecue sandwich."

I do as I'm told. The only noise in the Dairy Sweet lot is the metallic creak of a rusted Pepsi sign blowing in the breeze. "Best in the West," the sign declares, with worn letters that now say "e ts 'N Trea." I'm trying to determine if it once read "Meats 'N Treats" or "Sweets 'N Treats" when a pickup rumbles in.

"Hi Jean, I'm Julia!" I babble excitedly. "So nice to meet-"

"I think you can make it," Jean cuts in. "Follow me." And she turns back onto the road.

I rush back to my car and race to keep up with her cloud of dust. Jean is flying, windows down. I'm struck by her presence-a tall, strong woman with long, platinum-blond hair, Jean is a no-BS type.

And she has to be. The great-granddaughter of a Swedish homesteader, Jean is one of the country's rare independent female ranchers. Over the next days, I come to learn that she shoulders a lot. Disregard from male counterparts. Assumptions made about her. Lack of respect. Even threats and vandalism. Her toughness isn't a facade; it's a necessity.