The Test

Building Homage

A world traveling single mother — with an excess of passions and a spontaneous, poetic spirit — returns to her mountain home town to create, design and build a boutique hospitality brand in Belgrade, Montana (and argue with contractors).

Last confessional, I introduced Homage on the Gallatin, my boutique hotel experience in Belgrade, Montana. Today, I’ll tell you stories of the 320 Guest Ranch, where I grew up and eventually became Managing Partner.

This isn’t a business story — it’s a family story, a reckoning with absence and inheritance, a story of how a ranch shaped me as much as I shaped it.

The 320 was my classroom, my proving ground, and my canvas. Every decision I made there — from touching clouds as a child to canceling contracts as a leader — taught me that creativity and risk are inextricable, that love and legacy needn’t be at odds, and that business can be art.

In March, 2020 — white was the color of the universe. Still winter in my slice of the Gallatin canyon, near the source of the Gallatin River. South of Big Sky, Montana. Snow lingers, towering mountains surround 320 Ranch, our slender valley snakes between their shadows.

Their shade and the short seasons they create, impede gardening and beekeeping. A petrified forest stands to the east, and wilderness as far as the eye can see, except for the 320.

I savor the sunrise. Crisp dawn. Steaming river – when the water proves warmer than the air. Ethereal. Depth of field shortened by the haze, the landscape draped in mystery. Peaceful. Quiet — everywhere but in my mind. I’m the general manager of 320 Guest Ranch, an established destination in the Greater Yellowstone tourist economy.

Living in ‘Monument’ cabin, pandiculation accompanies a roll to gaze out the picture windows in my loft, north up the Gallatin River. My dad built this cabin in the late 80’s. Featuring a substantial river rock fireplace, blue jacuzzi tub in the master bath — large enough to comfortably fit four adults, quarter fed slot machines, a jukebox — it’s functional, and a smoker – it’s from Texas. The mesquite too.

On my favorite mornings, the valley holds the clouds low, as steam fog rises from the river to meet the sky. I feel at peace. The world feels hushed, holding its breath. The river murmurs, a bird calls, and the mist drifts like something alive—quiet magic, far from the city.

I grew up on this ranch. In this house.

My fascination with poetic mornings began as a child, yearning to touch the clouds. How incredible it would be to touch the clouds. I yearned to fly, to experience the clouds. My dad made my dreams come true, one special foggy morning.

The snow sparkled like a million tiny facets on a diamond. Springtime was attempting to appear in Montana. Brisk mornings prelude a hot day, warming the river. Heat in the morning, AC in the afternoon. The steam fog was rolling. I zipped into my pale pink one piece snow suit, the hood trimmed with fur, and climbed on dad’s snowmobile.

Indulging in curiosity. We pierced through the fog. Into that quiet white blanket, clouds spilling over the cliffs like waves. I always reached out, trying to touch them, convinced they would feel solid—something I could hold in my hands. My father laughed at my awe; he let me keep reaching.

I cherish this memory of my dad. He wasn’t around much growing up. Where he lacked in presence he made up for in presents of his abundant knowledge…

No sense is common. My dad taught me that, although he doesn’t say it as cleverly. “DON’T YOU HAVE ANY COMMON SENSE!?”, he’d spew — to anyone acting alternatively to his preference — “EIGHTY PERCENT OF PEOPLE CAN’T THINK, DON’T THINK, AND WON’T THINK!!”

“Surround yourself with twenty-percenters.” The 80-20 rule. Follow winners, the trailblazers.

Gambling with uncharted territory — there’s risk involved when you carve your own path. The larger the gamble the bigger the reward. There’s no such thing as playing it safe.

Stepping out of your comfort zone generates fear. Reshaping that neurological pathway to associating that feeling with growth, a positive correlation, is the goal. I welcome fear, embrace it, and ask it where it comes from. Here lies the mirror to my own limiting beliefs. Squash those. And transcend.

I spent my early twenties chasing love and art, rebelling against the family dynamic I was born into. A dynamic of ruthless entrepreneurialism at the expense of love.

I am determined to have both.

By the time I reached my late twenties, that rebellion gave way to a new reality: the chance to lead 320 Ranch.

The general manager put in his notice. My older brother broke the news to me. He planted the seed. The nucleus of opportunity. The visions of myself running the ranch flourished and I assumed the persona of the future GM. I became her in my essence.

My identity changed instantaneously. That’s how change happens, from an internal mindset shift. The tangible products of such unfolding arise.

This was a major shift. Going from having a boss to being the boss. I was excited and nervous. I want to be a great leader, leave a legacy, and prove myself to my family. Prove that I am competent and capable of creation at their level. This was an opportunity to expand beyond making tangible art, like pottery or an immaculate plate of food, curation of place and experience. Orchestration. I am the conductor, determined to leave a legacy. A creation that outlives me.

That is immortality.

It’s art too, and affects more people. It’s systems — alive.

By becoming GM, I assumed responsibility for leaving my legacy. Zealous would be an understatement.

Creating abundance and success for myself and those around me consumed me. No doubt in my mind that I would get what I envisioned.

Pregnant with my first son, craving more than watermelon and rice krispy treats, surprisingly, and hungry to live a different life.

I phoned my father — exuding passion and motivation — and told him I would be the next general manager of 320 Ranch.

This was a test. He had me in mind, with no plan to ask. I passed.

I felt vulnerable asking for the job. I didn’t have a relationship with my father prior to working with him. He travels constantly. Never ‘home’ more than a week and when home, he’s all business. He had no interest in gatherings, holidays, or birthdays. All we share is a last name.

I married when I was 21 — at 320. Two hundred people. Live band. White Dress. Pastor. Traditional. My husband composed our love story into a song and performed it during our wedding ceremony. He was my path to happy housewife, my ticket outta town. My dad shed tears when I walked down the aisle. That was my first time seeing him cry. Moved. He did love me. My husband and I drove off the next day to begin our lives in Boise, Idaho.

I felt resentment toward my father. For the lack of connection. For him not showing up how I wanted him to. That all shifted when I began to speak his language, the language of business. I was vulnerable — I asked for the job. I got it. And sowed the seed of our relationship.

When I took over 320, I had no prior managerial experience. Sink or swim.

I spent two weeks shadowing the GM. He advised I get to know the managers of each department… each requiring different managerial tactics. Differentiate my approach. We set up a permanent Out of Office on his email, directing traffic to my new email. He surrendered his key ring and showed me how to find the safe combo. I gave him a hug goodbye and said thanks for everything. I was being polite.

I had a bad feeling about this man. His voice increases two octaves with every person he greets — people-pleaser. It’s theatrical. The non-stop smile, nod, and empty gaze that says ‘I see you but I’m not listening’. It didn’t take long for me to discover the depths of his deceit.

In spring 2020, a momentous opportunity to trailblaze appeared. The world was shutting down due to the Corona Virus, yet our ranch doors stayed open. The state decreed our hotel as an essential Montana business due to our hotel operation. Businesses crumbled and people stayed home. I took the opportunity to renegotiate bad deals I inherited from the previous manager.

Schools shut down. Adults weren’t going to work, others became remote workers. People discovered the liberation to travel. Most of them practiced social distancing.

Yellowstone Park’s wide open spaces appeal when fleeing a pandemic. 320 Ranch is mere miles from its border. Record-breaking year.

Gallatin county published mandates for restaurants and bars. Can’t have bar seating, max party of 6, restaurant at 50% capacity, no groups over 20…

This let me cancel one of those bad inherited deals.

The ranch hosted Disney as part of their Yellowstone tour series. We contracted out three years with them and have been hosting them for a few years already. They’re locked in at an exceptionally low rate, receive comped rooms, cost us money on horse operations, their catered meals aren’t adjusted to market rate, and they arrive in an unsightly tour bus. It’s an involved ordeal to host them. The contract served its purpose in the past. I know it’s a loser now.

The only time I willingly enforced a COVID mandate is with Disney.

I told them the ranch was canceling the summer series because — COVID.

Force Majeure in my favor. That’s as rare as being struck by lightning. The local mandates restrict group sizes to 20 people. I am unable to host a tour bus of 50. Not a chance.

Disney wanted to take it week by week. I said I’d lose potential business that way. Several meetings follow, each with someone more executive. I was intimidated, Disney is a megacorporation. They came for a fight, but eventually succumbed to my wishes. I refused to renew any of their contracts.

The 320’s books opened up and the travelers with new-found wings flew in. Paid peak season prices for their rooms and food.

The ranch gained equilibrium. I increased prices and lessened our obligations.

I gambled and won.

I innovate, take heat, and come out stronger. 2020 was the best year 320 ever had. We thrived. I thrived.

I am all about creating abundance in my life as I inspire others to do the same. I have always been this way.

Shortly after I became GM, senior management left, one by one. I went through hospitality bootcamp. First the hotel manager quit. Incredible woman. She held down the fort. Sassy, witty, intelligent, pint-sized, and not afraid to lay down the law. Her wealth of knowledge, invaluable, after her numerous years living and working 320.

With her went her partner, my maintenance manager, and his 15 years of experience. His mother, Pat Sage, was GM when I was a little girl. They knew the rhythm of the seasons and the systems to sustain. They left me with homework.

I had the hotel covered, easy. The front desk manager is pleasant, has a sweet southern charm — she’s from Georgia — and, eager to step up and lead. She’s come back for her second summer season and fallen in love with a tall, handsome man. They both want to stay. She knew the basic systems. That transition was smooth.

I hired Tim, a serendipitous connection, as my maintenance manager. Tim made my dreams come true. He was eager to carry out my creative pursuits.

My creativity developed in new mediums while living on the 320. I collected wildflowers and pressed them between paper and wooden boards that I bolt tightly together.

I designed and opened a cafe on the 320 in Spring 2020. Shop Quarantine. I had the concept for the counter built for me. Tim is an exceptional craftsman, with experience making wooden canoes. I inlaid a curation of my pressed wildflowers in epoxy atop the counter.

The door to the cafe is a work of art. I found it at an antique shop in Bozeman, MT. Hand carved wood and a stained glass window. My style. Tim rebuilt the door frame to fit my door and installed it.

The cabin that housed the cafe is one of the originals, from Dr. McGill, former owner and founder of Bozeman’s Museum of the Rockies. It sits inches from Buffalo Horn Creek, under looming pine trees. I’m surprised it never eroded into the creek during high water.

My grandmother had a boutique on the ranch when I was a little girl. Buffalo Horn Boutique. I hung her original sign among framed historic photos of the ranch and a handwritten menu — featuring a latte called ‘320 Honey’. Foreshadowing my journey with bees.

We host events at the ranch. Weddings usually, but everything from family reunions to corporate events. People like our campus. 58 guest cabins, a restaurant, horses, summer camp.

We have a tent by the Gallatin river for dinner receptions, with a pop-up bar setup. Folding tables draped with table cloths and a metal trough with ice to keep the beer cold. It was janky.

One of the wranglers had an old one-horse trailer he was fixin’ to scrap for the metal. I bought it off him. Tim and I set out to renovate it into a mobile bar. To elevate our event amenities.

Gutting it, patching and buffing metal. The outside got rhino lined and painted black, and Tim built windows that opened up from top hinges and propped open for service. The inside was sided with shiplap wood, stained amber. Adorned with stained glass lamps and my wildflower window.

Wildflower Window is made of epoxy resin and my pressed wildflowers. Tim built me a window frame, placed in a mold so I could pour and arrange my flowers. He set the finished product in the bar trailer wall. The flowers take center-stage when the sun hits the window. I love that window.

The food and beverage director quit. I felt this one coming and welcomed it. I was building my dream team.

I conceptualized what hierarchical system would work best for ranch operations. Disregarded ‘how it’s always been done’. That had been the mantra. Unsurprising when the top four managers had been there for 10-20 years. They were too comfortable.

Change was not a question for me, the financials told the story — the ranch couldn’t sustain itself. I analyzed and restructured ineffective systems.

I broke the food and beverage director into two positions and hired for wedding sales and a restaurant manager. Laying in my bed with my week old baby sleeping beside me, I interviewed Bethany for the wedding role. Her job was to carry out sales of event space and catering for wedding clients specifically, and manage event staff for all events... She killed it.

I noticed something different about Bethany. She asked questions and had ideas of her own. She absorbed my knowledge and paired it with her experience to build better systems. She was eager, reliable, grounded, and didn’t let emotions interfere with business. When my new hotel manager quit after a year, Bethany stepped up to the plate. She reminds me of myself.

Asking my father for the GM role had been my test, my stepping up to embrace ambition. Watching Bethany claim hers, I recognized her hunger.

She passed the test.

The ranch was my bootcamp, my crucible, my classroom. There I collided with my father’s world, there accountability replaced absence, there rebellion evolved into leadership. There I first gambled on myself — and won.

Every cabin, every trail, every pressed wildflower in resin became artifact and metaphor: proof that creativity can live inside systems, that beauty and business can entwine, that love and legacy can co-exist.

Managing 320 Guest Ranch taught me that leadership is orchestration and improvisation. It is the willingness to gamble when fear says retreat, to speak the language of those who came before while writing my destiny. Stepping into the unknown with faith that abundance will follow.

Dad checked the ranch bank accounts monthly, comparing them to their historical counterparts. He watched their balances climb exponentially. He never told me I was doing a good job. But — he personally delivered cash payments to me. That unheard-of action was my pat on the back.

The ranch is my foundation. Homage is where I build forward.