Wrangler Dani

Sometimes, as a conservative cowgirl, I find myself feeling unbelievably alone in a world of changing definitions and constant snark. I love old things, I’m stridently patriotic, I want my man to get the door for me and sitting on the tailgate with a sandwich is a perfect picnic. The things I hold dear are getting less respect every day, it seems, and sometimes I wonder if my culture still has value to anyone but me.

But once a year, at the CMAs, America gets to celebrate my people – the cracked hands and thick fingers of a hay farmer make it into music videos, the Mommas and Daddies who’s night on the town is a burger at the diner are thanked from stage, the rough and ready cowpoke kids growing up on sunshine and sweet tea are celebrated. Country music is about the farmers and ranchers who work harder and longer than anyone I’ve ever known and still have time to help a neighbor or tell a long-winded story out of open Dodge windows; those big, cracked hands that can fix a tractor with baling twine and are still gentle enough to care for a sick calf or pet a faithful cowdog. These are the people I grew up with, who shaped who I am and the things I value – I’m so grateful that for one night a year, we all get to remember and be thankful for those down-home roots. (Let’s be honest, country music is playing in my house and my truck every other day of the year, too, and I’m so thankful for it.)