What Living the "Yellowstone" Life Taught Me

Stuart Thurlkill/The Resort at Paws Up

“Don’t ever call this work, ok? Ever.” I can't help but think of this line, which Beth Dutton shouts to her husband, Rip Wheeler, in Season 5, Episode 6 of “Yellowstone," America’s most watched television series. They’re on horseback overlooking a golden Montana meadow, as he leads the team of ranch hands on a cattle drive, moving hundreds of animals across the mountain.

Cut to me, suddenly in their shoes. It’s raining and I’m on horseback, wearing a black, floor-length slicker while gently driving annoyed cattle (and their precious calves) to their pens, in a Montana valley surrounded by mountains. I tilt my head to the clouded sky, smile, and take a deep breath. I'm doing it.

How did I, a Black woman from Washington, DC, end up in what could be a scene from “Yellowstone”? The modern-day western drama starring Kevin Costner as John Dutton, a man determined to protect his family’s multi-generational Montana ranch from developers, has been incredibly popular among audiences since its 2018 release. Talk of its popularity seemed centered among viewers in gun-toting red states, though. I was fairly certain I wasn’t the intended audience—despite having been raised by an Alabama-born father, who religiously watched 1960s Western dramas like “Gunsmoke” and “Bonanza” while I was growing up, and a Louisiana-born mother who frequented the rodeos in her hometown.

Yet I was eventually drawn to “Yellowstone” out of curiosity, and from the first episode, with its aerial scenes of honey-hued prairies and pristine rivers; intimate look at the hardships on Native American reservations; and John’s daughter Beth's sassy, shit-talking attitude, I was hooked. What began as an unexpected obsession with the show (I binged the first four seasons during pandemic isolation) quickly took on the form of a sociological experiment, designed right from my couch. After watching 30 episodes in 10 days, I wanted to experience this world that was so foreign to me. Was I tough enough to barrel race? Or to bump my way through dusty trail rides? Could I, too, drive cattle and enjoy it so much, that I would refuse to call it work? I needed to find out.

And I wasn’t alone. According to a study produced by the Bureau of Business and Economic Research and the Institute for Tourism and Recreation Research at the University of Montana (commissioned and paid for by Paramount Studios), an estimated 2.1 million people visited Montana in 2021 because of the television show, spending $730 million. Not only has the show inspired trips, it’s sparked westerncore fashion trends and helped bring more than 4 million visitors to Yellowstone National Park so far this year.

Fun fact: Yellowstone National Park doesn’t play a huge role on the show. If you're doing your own “Yellowstone”-inspired trip and can't resist a visit—we couldn't—book an all-day Yellowstone Wildlife Safari Tour with Yellowstone Safari Company for a taste of the geysers and bubbling mudpots it's famous for. Find our full Yellowstone National Park guide here.

To get my own taste of the “Yellowstone” life, I planned a week-long trip to Montana, with two days for cattle driving at The Resort at Paws Up, a sprawling resort with luxury ranch homes that is totally reminiscent of the Dutton homestead. I decide to start, though, at Lone Mountain Ranch in Big Sky for Cowgirl Up: five days of programming including trail rides, rodeos, and learning the ranch hand skills I had seen in the show, exclusively geared toward women. I already felt intimidated entering a world I didn’t know, and possibly didn't belong in—I’ve traveled extensively around the world, yet in my home country it often feels like there are states that you simply don’t visit as a Black person; Montana, with a Black population percentage of 0.6%, seemed like one of them. The idea of being surrounded by women, be they experts and or fellow novices, felt safer. And for an extra dose of comfort, I brought my Mom along (even though she's never seen an episode of “Yellowstone”).

The moment we exit the airport shuttle at Lone Mountain Ranch, a Black chaps-and-cowgirl-hat-wearing woman named Maleeah strides up to my mother and I to say hello. The first person I meet is a Black girl? I nearly weep with relief. She's a new staff member, originally from Asheville, North Carolina. Best of all, she doesn't even ride horses, she just works at the ranch—and looks good doing it. If she can fake it 'til she makes it, I think, maybe I can too.

We dive in at Cowgirl Up with the activity I have looked forward to the most: a cowgirl clinic, where we will learn how to barrel race (a rodeo event where horse and rider race in a cloverleaf pattern around barrels) and cattle rope. I have a little horseback riding under my belt thanks to 4-H summer camp in Virginia as a preteen, so I'm convinced I'll be able to scoot around those barrels à la racer extraordinaire Mia (Season 3, Episode 5).

My horse has other plans. We make it through one slow round on the course, but it's clear that barrel racing is not in my future. Dejected, I abandon my horse to practice roping the horns of a stationary plastic calf. The setting is perfect, thanks to a yawning, cloudless blue sky, and a gentle breeze blowing my hair out of my eyes—but me? I feel like an idiot. The other guests swing their looped ropes with ease, yet I can't figure out how to flick my wrist to keep my rope from tangling. I am forced to fight the feeling I so often hate: of being a beginner. Why did I think watching a show about cowboys would make me a cowgirl? Finally, on my ninth attempt, while two fellow guests who could sense my frustration try their best to cheer me on, I swing my lasso and finally rope the calf head, sending everyone into jumps of celebrations.

Perhaps I should have remembered this from the show. Ranch life has its ups and its downs, and you never quite know which the day—or hour—will bring.

In that same way, we move ceaselessly from feeling unsure, to being swept right back into the fantasy. After days of trail rides and nightly campfires, we reach the Lone Mountain Ranch Rodeo, held weekly at the ranch in summer. It's the last event of the season, and it allows me to become a viewer again—which, frankly, is a welcome break from “being” a character on the show.

Mom and I grip the fence, screaming for the fearless young women who taught us to barrel race and are now showing off their skills. Their horses fly past the three barrels in under 30 seconds, a whirlwind of sweat and dirt, yet undeniably at ease; then, they ride bucking horses with better fates than Yellowstone ranch hand Jimmy Hurdstrom (Season 3, Episode 3, IYKYK). Here I was in my Levi’s, cowboy hat, and boots, screaming alongside people I’ve just met, deeply invested in the outcome of each game and challenge.

When the night ends, the ranch team present Mom and I with framed photos of ourselves and our horses for the week. I feel my eyes welling up with tears.

It's a thoughtful gesture, but I also realize that, in the photo, I look the part. Yes, “Yellowstone” lured me to The Last Best Place to experience this western world, but I showed up and carved a space out for myself, even if it wasn't always seamless. When my mom and I finally arrive at Paws Up for our days of cattle driving, nearly a week of cowgirling under our belts, I hold my head high, and move with confidence. This trip isn't just about cosplaying a character. It's a chance to remind myself: I belong in every place I enter. It's my mantra each time I kick my heels into the side of my horse, and we move onward right toward the flesh-and-blood herd of mooing cattle.

Originally Appeared on Condé Nast Traveler