Nine years ago, I was in an email discussion with an online friend with whom I shared an fascination with the tough gals of the old west, who did the same job we did, without the benefit of indoor plumbing and electricity, to say nothing of telephone and television. Which is how I found myself searching for photos of the Pioneer Woman Statue in Ponca City, OK.
The second or third result yielded a “blog” (whatever that was) of a gal who had moved from the big city to the “isolated” country somewhere. I rolled my eyes, thought,”kwitcherbitchin'”, and moved on to locate the object of my search. The “real” Pioneer Woman.
I didn’t tell anyone about it. Didn’t read all that much of it and didn’t think of it again until last Saturday, when I got my birthday present.
I have always been the girl who bucked the trend. If someone said, “You have to…” I would say in my snotty little heart, “Do I?” I still haven’t seen the movie, Titanic.
So I get way down in the middle of memorizing every word reading my shiny new cookbook, and she tells about the day a few years ago when she started her blog. Oh. That Pioneer Woman.
Ree Drummond got the life I wanted. Ranch, cowboy, basset hound ( I don’t want hers; I want my own.). I am from Oklahoma and I knew I wanted the dream life when Ree was in L.A. spending too much on shoes. She also happens to have collected on my current dream. Her little simple blog grew to the point that when she published her cookbook, her fans went out and made it a #1 bestseller. And demanded more.
Worst of all, I couldn’t find a single thing to criticize about the book. It’s great. I am a cookbook snob. I spent the entire weekend trying to find something to dislike. There was nothing*. It’s like she wrote it for me. Thanks, Pioneer Woman.