I recall a song some years back on an album by Bottle Hill. The title of the song escapes me but I'm sure its in the attic of no return. The chorus follows.

Cattle was their game,

Archer was the name,

They gave to the acreage that they owned,

If the Brazos don't run dry,

and the new born calves don't die,

Another year for Mary will have flown.

And when I think of women who cope, I think of the farmwife in Stan Roger's, "Lies" there can't be many better descriptions of a women's more private moments than that.

Don