I'm struck by this phenomenon because I returned to the land after years of city life, working in the corporate world. When I remember how much time and money I spent then on personal maintenance and clothes, I am amazed. I'm more than a little disgusted with myself that I let all that money slip through my fingers without a thing to show for it now.

I cringe when I think about the money I wasted on clothes. Over time I built up a wardrobe of business suits — each costing more than my "new" second-hand saddle. Last year I gave all but two of the suits to my daughter to armor her for the big-city business world. I can't say that I've missed a one of them, but I'm real proud of my saddle. Now my annual wardrobe expense for jeans and ropers equals what I used to spend on pantyhose every year.

Money slipped through my fingers on cosmetics and fake fingernails, too. Now my "manicure" consists of immersion in hot soapy dishwater several times a day. My nails may not be pretty, but they're clean.

And that hundred-dollar-an-ounce perfume! What a waste. Now I just smell like the last job I've done. That's okay if I'm been baking — vanilla and cinnamon smell nice. Paint thinner, wood smoke and dog dip are acceptable odors, too. As for some of the other smells — well, they can be replaced with the scent of soap and water.

Country clothes are comfortable. Once a woman gets into the habit of dressing for country life, it’s a real hardship to put on all the underpinnings and constrictions of women's fashions. Dan Abernathy wrote in American Cowboy about a West Texas woman who was forced to take a part-time town job selling dresses "to support her cow habit." When the owner told her she would have to wear high heels to work, she replied, "Steve, the day you come to work in pantyhose and a push-up bra, I will too."

Pardner encourages me in my simplified grooming. He dislikes seeing makeup on women and perfume makes him sneeze. He brags that I can stop work, shower, put on clean clothes and be in the truck ready to go someplace in 15 minutes flat.

I know I'll never look "right" in the standards of our appearance-conscious consumer society, but I take heart from a line by William Kittredge about Westem women: "These women wind up looking 50 when they are 37, and 53 when they are 70. It's like they wear down to what counts and just last there, fine and staring the devil in the eye every morning."

Easy keepers, indeed.