Jolyn Young

Because a tale about just one boot would seem somehow incomplete, right? Here’s how it went down.

Last month, I drove to a doctor’s appointment in the big city with my five-year-old son, Levi. After my appointment, we hit the McDonald’s drive-through to grab a Happy Meal. There was a grocery store in a nearby strip mall I wanted to check out, since the doctor recommended I try the anti-inflammatory diet. We parked and went in the grocery store, where I immediately changed my mind and walked out because I hate to be predictable.

There was a shoe store in the mall, so we walked over to look for shoes for Levi and his older brother. Levi announced he had to pee as soon as we walked inside. The store didn’t have a public restroom, but a salesman said Marshall’s across the parking lot did.

So, Levi and I walked toward Marshall’s but turned into Ross Dress for Less because it was closer. He used the bathroom, and we walked through the shoe section on the way out because I’m a woman. It was my lucky day – the metal racks held several pairs of name-brand, gen-u-ine leather cowboy boots in my size.

I’ve never seen real cowboy boots at Ross before, so I guess we have to thank Beyonce for this turn of events. She helped make country mainstream, if only for a minute, and I scored a beautiful pair of tall-top, embroidered boots that go with everything in my closet. I’m so grateful, I might even have to listen to the whole song. Not today, but maybe like one day in the distant future. Don’t hold me to it.

Oh, and this happened a couple weeks ago.

I’m back where I started, on a ranch in a canyon in the Golden State. We’re at the opposite end of the state from where I was raised, though, way down south in the mountains near Tehachapi. It’s scenic, ranchy, there’s no cell phone service and the kids go to a small K-8 school. I love it.

We’re unpacking and settling in, but I made time to shoot a quick video. Because I’m not the kind of person to let work interfere with making fun of my husband.

Here’s my latest blog for Western Horseman. In it, I write that we’ve moved 11 times, in contradiction to the statement in the video above that we have moved 12 times. I leave you with that nonfactual information and instead of counting on my fingers to figure out which one is right, I’m going to do my makeup and go to my new neighbor’s daughter’s first birthday party. I’m probably going to wear my fancy new boots, too.