I’m a rancher, so almost
every day some realtor explains how much money I could make if I
sold the ranch. Developers are subdividing pastures nearby, and
soon, it’s true, I may not be able to afford ranching.
So, I’m studying up on the new real estate lingo
and — in typical friendly Western fashion — offer this
handy dictionary for prospective New West landowners. Words, it
turns out, don’t always mean what they seem:
Access: The county built the road past the ranch
to the only scenic attraction (check one: ___ scenic grove; ___
pictograph rocks; __ lake) so idiots can drive SUVs past, dump
their beverage cans and relieve themselves, using lots of toilet
paper.
Access limited in winter: If
you get through the snow here with your SUV, a realtor might find
your shriveled corpse next summer.
Adventure: A mountain lion will eat your poodle
the first time you put her outside. Then the lion will sit on your
barbecue grill and stare through the window at your children.
Authentic: See:
pioneer.
Breathtaking
view: The feedlot next door. See:
freedom.
Cathedral
ceilings: Gaze up at your expensive heat while you
freeze.
Culture: The local summer
celebration features something for every taste: a rodeo, monster
truck rally, motorcycle races, mud wrestling and cheap beer.
Discovery: We have no idea what that
plant is, but it gives everybody a rash.
Escape: No phone, no TV, no Internet.
Exciting: Watch the sheriff chase drug dealers
on gravel roads.
Exclusive: Do your
own house-cleaning, because the nearest people poor enough to take
service jobs are 300 miles away.
Freedom: We Old Westerners don’t believe
in zoning, so your neighbors live in yurts and converted school
buses next to McMansions, mud huts and shacks made of discarded
tires. Everybody, including 6-year-olds, is armed. No vaccinations
for humans or dogs.
Gateway to a national
park: Winnebagos of humongous size lumber past you every
15 minutes.
Golf course: On the only
flat piece of land, elk and deer have been replaced by white guys
with skinny legs.
Heart of the West:
Anywhere west of the Adirondacks.
Historic
ranch: See pioneer.
Horse property: Flat, no trees, no water and
little grass.
Innovative: Built by
previous owner in a county with no building code; realtor hopes to
unload it before the roof falls in.
Landscaping: We bulldozed native plants that
thrived for several million years and planted alien species that
will die the first summer.
Mineral
rights: When gas drilling starts under your garage, you
can’t stop it; you own only what’s on top. Now, you
begin every sentence by saying, “I wasn’t an
environmentalist, but…”
Mountain
views: See them from the roof of your three-story house
until the neighbor builds a four-story house.
Pioneer ranch: The house (no plumbing or
electricity) has been vacant since the last bachelor died in 1985.
Mice gallop through the trash and old magazines, dodging black
widow spiders. The barn burned; the corrals are knee deep in
manure. The hired man’s 1962 house trailer blew over. The
well dried up when the first subdivision went in.
Playground: Every weekend near your house, the
RV people get their air conditioners and TVs humming before they
race their ATVs in the dust.
Next to public
land: Piles of appliances for target practice. During
hunting season, wear a helmet and a bulletproof vest outdoors.
Pristine: No well; nearest electric
line is 12 miles uphill; nearest doctor, grocery store, and
Starbucks are 100 miles on gravel and 30 miles on a two-lane.
Rugged: You’ll use a tank of gas
with every trip to town and wear out the tires every couple of
months.
Scenic: The locals have
outhouses and abandoned cars in the back yard, guarded by big dogs.
Snowmobile trail: Like black flies
with loudspeakers. All winter.
Tree-covered: One lightning strike or dropped
cigarette will set thousands of trees on fire around your log
house.
Uncork: Living lonely may drive
you to drink.
Unique: Made of cheap
imported materials like every other house.
Vivid
sunsets: Colored by dust, pollution, and forest fire
smoke.
Wide open: No trees, so the
folks who target shoot on the gravel road in front of your house
bring their own beer cans. No zoning, remember?
Wildlife: One of the subdivision construction
workers hit a deer.
Linda M. Hasselstrom is a
contributor to Writers on the Range, a service of High
Country News (hcn.org). She ranches in South Dakota and
writes in Cheyenne, Wyoming.
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