Since spring is happening on the prairie, it is also in young men and women’s hearts and thoughts.

It is hard to find a partner when there are more cows than people. Most of the time is spent riding fence lines or planting for the future of the land, be it corn or pasture hay.
My neighbor is looking. Already well into marrying age, now over 30, he is raising two young daughters, ages 2 and 5. Their mother not wanting the ranch life. So she moved to town, sharing the parenting without marriage contracts.
He is lonely, needing a partner to share.

How do you find one another when you can’t leave your home, land, or cows?
The internet.
900 miles away, Cassandra is looking for her match. She, too, is raising two little ones, young sons, not yet in school. Her farming partner decided parenthood was not a match for him. She was a stay-at-home mom, now working in town to feed her boys.

A Match appeared on their phones. They decided to try a date. In Sioux Falls, the halfway mark on the map.
The rancher got up early, at 2 am. Drove tractor and hay hauler for the next 8 hours, feeding his cattle early, so he could make the 450-mile drive to meet Cassandra.
After she dropped her boys off at the sitters for the weekend, Cassandra worked the overnight shift, then fired up her F150 blue and white truck and drove 400 miles west to meet her match.

It sounds unreal. Why would anyone drive 8 hours to go on a date? A first date?
But out here, in the vast open space of the midwest states, finding the right person is as wearisome as searching in a crowded city.

There is much to contemplate when driving an entire day for a date. There is time to prepare questions because there will be little time for false niceties. He hopes to know if she can cook and keep her family safe when he is in the field or delivering calves in the lot all night.
She hopes he can provide good character and food on the table and communicate respectfully.
Character flaws, family history, medical issues, political and religious persuasions, finances, job skills, and what about their children.

One might get some of these questions answered in the city after several dates, but time is of the essence out in the country, with miles between visits. Most of these questions will be considered with weight and little sway. Both are in their 30s, with preschool children, one needing potty training and another still bottle-fed. Life will be complicated from the onset.

They were both tired by the time they reached their meeting point. Both had been awake for more than 20 hours. Both had taken care of their land, animals, and children before departing on their drive. Both drove through an unexpected late spring blizzard, having to pull off the highway to wait for plows to clear the more than 3 inches of ice and snow.

She wore her heavy car coat, a last-minute toss into the back of the crew cab, atop her kid’s wet, muddy shoes; he still had on his ruddy brown Carhartt jacket. It was warmer than the clean one still hanging on the garment hook in his Chevy 350 pickup.

They laughed when they met, the irony of wearing something nice and clean on their first date overruled by the constant foe of any land steward — the weather. Her hair was swept back in a pony, so she could pull the jacket hood close around her face, his hair tucked under a woolen beanie. She was surprised to see at only 31, he already had a receding hairline. The young man was pleased to see her blue eyes, bloodshot; they smiled back at him.

They stood out of the wind on the leeward side of his flatbed truck. His going-to-town truck had a broken defroster and heater; He tried to fix it but had to take his diesel ranch truck instead. His metal cargo and toolbox were locked and bolted to the truck’s bed. All the supplies he might need were stacked atop the wheel well, whether fixing his tractors or re-stretching barbed wire.

Cassandra handed him a basket, surprising him with its weight. He gave her a soft blue cooler.
“What do you have in here?” She laughed, “Bricks?”

They both opened their exchanges. Inside the basket, the rancher pulled out a wax paper-wrapped loaf of bread.
“I hope you like sourdough,” she said. “I made it yesterday. It was my first try. I made a regular white loaf too. That’s honey from my bees and some choke jerry jelly I put up last summer.”

The rancher was pleased, he was hungry after the drive, and she could cook.

Cassandra unzipped the blue cooler. All the packages were wrapped in white butcher paper, one more than 4 pounds, the others of assorted shapes and sizes, and weights.
“Beef roast, steaks, and hamburger.” Said the rancher. He shuffled his weight from one long leg to the other. Nearly 6’5″, he stood tall and slender, with squared solid shoulders under his heavy jacket. “They’re from my cattle,” He said proudly.

They looked at each other, considering their required checklist for a suitable mate.
He could provide.
And she could cook.