What rural life teaches us about timing, care, and showing up when it matters most
This time of year in Montana, everything is being born. Calves. Lambs. Wheat fields… And babies!!
As an OB/GYN in Sidney, I’ve delivered new life in the middle of seeding season, between branding weekends, and just after someone dropped off a bucket of eggs from their grandmother’s coop.
Out here, birth isn’t just a medical event—it’s part of the rhythm of the land.
The Seasons Know the Schedule
In towns like ours, people don’t need a calendar to know it’s spring—they see the tractors running, the cows heavy, and the clinics full. The land sets the tempo.
I’ve had patients plan their prenatal visits around calving. I’ve had moms birthing without their partners, because he had to stay home to care for the heifers in labor. This isn’t unusual. It’s Montana.
Farmers and Mothers Have More in Common Than You Think
Both rise early. Both endure pain. Both worry constantly about what they’ve grown.
They prepare the soil. They track the growth. They notice every small change. And when the time comes, they labor—hoping all their care pays off.
“You nurture something you can’t fully control—and then you let it go.”
Deliveries and Droughts: You Prepare, But Can’t Predict
There’s a shared humility in both fields—medicine and agriculture. Despite the best tools and training, you’re never fully in charge.
A pregnancy, like a harvest, doesn’t always go as planned. But you keep showing up. You troubleshoot. You adjust. You protect what you can.
I’ve seen that same resilience in both a first-time mom and a 4th-generation rancher. It’s the quiet kind of strength—the kind that gets back up when things fall apart.
Montana Teaches You to Be Present
You can’t rush a calf. You can’t rush a birth. And you sure can’t rush healing.
Sometimes all you can do is provide the best care, breathe through the contractions, and wait. Because life—real life—doesn’t follow our timetables. It grows in its own time.
“We don’t induce the wheat to grow. We give it what it needs and wait.”
“Maybe medicine in Montana isn’t separate from agriculture. Maybe it’s all just care—applied at the right time, with the right heart.”
Final Thought:
Living and practicing medicine in Montana means learning to listen—to patients, to nature, to the seasons. Out here, the land teaches us about labor, delivery, and grace.
And every spring, when the calves arrive, the wheat is sown, and the babies are born—I remember why I chose this work. And why Montana is home.