Not that the animals are the onlynones to suffer. A few days later, on anwarmer (high of 15 above) day withnhard snow, she and her husband arenmoving cattle:nOnly fools would even go outnin cars on a day like this, andnhere I am on a horse . . .nWhen I got to the creek thenbanks were coated with ice andnthe creek partly frozen over.nThe horse wouldn’t go into thenwater. I decided it would bensafer for me if I led himnanyway, so I got off and wentnahead. As soon as I waded intonthe creek, the water went overnmy boot tops and inside.nJust as I got to the oppositenbank the horse slipped innmidstream, scared himself, andnjerked back. I let go of the reinsnand tried to jump out of thenway because I knew he’d bentrying to get out of the creek.nBut my boots were full of waternand I fell awkwardly right in thenpath, which is worn three feetndeep. There was nowhere fornthe horse to go but right overnme. I felt his hoofs poundingnmy left leg several times as I gotnmy arms over my head. Itnseemed to take a very long timenfor him to climb over me, and Inthink he did some unnecessaryntap dancing, but finally he wasngone and everything was quiet.nShe will find out, days later, that she hasntorn ligaments; she won’t know for surenif the leg is broken or not until then.nShe stays inside for five days. She doesnnot stop writing (nor does she duringnnormal working days). On that cold daynbefore her accident she worries aboutnnot writing enough. “Then suddenlynsomething will force me to the. typewriternor computer and I’ll stay there workingnfor hours oblivious to meals, cramp,nthirst, or even George. When this happens,nhe obligingly fixes me somethingnto eat. Sometimes, he simply comes upnbehind me, hugs me, and goes awaynagain.”nAnd so it goes through the year’sncycle of outdoor work, writing, talkingnwith friends, laughing, suffering. (She’snstill limping in June.) She is always alertnand open to those glimpses of thenbeauty and mystery in nature that comen40/CHRONICLESnlike gifts even — maybe especially —namidst the hardest days outdoors. Shennotices everything. Driving past an antelope:n”I love to see them take fencesn—antelope drop to the ground, hit thenbottom wire with their back-curvednhorns, and snap it up while their bodiesnpass under, all in fragments of seconds.”nOne thinks of the yuppie retort “Get anlife,” and wonders if such people wouldnrecognize a life if it bit them on the leg.nPhotographing Montana 1894-n1928: The Life and Work of EvelynnCameron by Donna Lucey, seems atnfirst to be a book far removed fromnLinda Hasselstrom’s modest journal. Itnis a large-format, high-quality photographicnalbum from a major publishern(Knopf); its subject, an aristocraticnEnglishwoman who moved to easternnMontana in 1889 with the quixoticnaim of raising polo ponies, seems morentypical of those glamorous Europeannexpatriates like Karen Blixen whonroamed the world at will in the lastnglory days of Empire than she is of anpioneering ranchwoman. But DonnanLucey’s almost accidental discovery ofnEvelyn Cameron’s glass plate negativenand, even more amazingly, of herndiaries from 1893 to 1928, show thatnMrs. Cameron was another who, innT.H. White’s words, would “live laboriousndays for their delight.”nShe didn’t start out that way. EvelynnFlower was born in’ 1868 to a wealthynmerchant family in southern England.nShe married the wellborn but pennilessnand rather eccentric naturalist EwennCameron and joined the trickle ofnEnglish and Scots emigrants who believednthat there were fortunes to benmade on the Great Plains, newlynopened for settlement. There mightnhave been. But dreamy, delicate Ewennand his adventurous but never financiallynminded bride were not the onesnto make them. Through three ranchesnand all their hardships (the polo-ponynnotion died early) she learned to do hernown hard work (“Manual labor … isnall I care about, and, after all, is whatnwill really make a strong woman. I likento break colts, brand calves, cut downntrees, ride and work in a garden . . .”);nand, eventually, to use the camera.nShe seemed somehow pre-adaptednto the kind of life she would lead.nThough a small, almost delicate-lookingnwoman, she possessed strength,nenthusiasm, a sense of humor, and annndemocratic attitude toward her peersnthat was unusual in the strange societynof English remittance men that flourishednfor a short time on the HighnPlains. In an interview for the NewnYork Sun in 1908 she cheerily asserted,n”I’ve spent January and February in antiny Indian tent . .’. with the mercuryn40 degrees below zero, and our nosesnand chins were all blistered with thencold. And I’ve had my hair frizzled bynlightning so that it made a cracklingnsound and the people at home askednme how I came to burn it. And I’venhad the tent blow down on me in anhurricane and have slept night afternnight with only a blanket between menand the frozen ground.”nThe record of her labors and delightsnare also there in the wonderfulnphotographs. These are of incrediblenquality, printed from glass-plate negatives,nand show a wider range of subjectsnthan those made by any othernpioneer photographer of the West.nMore than a few such have documentednthe towns and families and even thencow work; very few, if any, cared aboutnwildlife, hunting, hawks and eagles,nsheepherding, and petrified trees. Shenand Ewen, in addition to all the conventionalnranch work, hunted, tamednbirds and beasts, explored, and (innEwen’s case) wrote scientific papers.nEvelyn, like so many ranch wives,nworked hard at both men’s andnwomen’s work; she introduced tonMontana the divided skirt for ridingn(she was threatened with arrest innMiles City for wearing it) and nursednand coddled the difficult Ewen until hendied in 1915. Everything is documented.nThe subjects of some of the photosnare predictable; others are unique; anfew (Ewen in his last year, gaunt andnhaggard behind an immense Trumpeternswan that he had stuffed) surreal.nSome of the photographs are absolutelyndelightful: a family of female horsebreakers,nthe Buckley sisters, roping inntheir corral; Evelyn herself sitting on anpetrified log over a canyon, holding ancopy of the English magazine ThenBystander, and again with an injurednsparrow hawk perched on her finger;nEwen with tame wolves; a neighbornwith a bottle-fed antelope; a goshawknon a newly caught grouse (this beforentelephoto lenses); an early informalnrodeo roping; a cowboy with his packnof sighthounds; Evelyn again, withn