You have to remind yourself that you are here with a mission for a reason. And you must find ways to re-inspire. And you must make art: as sculpture, pictures, words, dirt drawings, or flashes of beauty as form. Anyway, all that just to say that we did a little exercise tonight in remembering the naivete that we knew we would lose! We were always honest with ourselves about that, and perhaps a little too honest. The fall has been a little less far, but I feel like we are a tad out of gear because of it. But oh well. We are where we are, doing the best we can and it’s not too shabby at that. Our list, that hopefully will take shape into a concise mission that a bank will want to fund (even if it does take us months to try)!!

MISSION (seemingly impossible)

▪ lightly tred, heal the lands scars, and conserve the integrity of the land
▪ protect the work of those that cared for this land in its modern history
▪ don’t live so isolated
▪ see clearer, more openly, with hope in what we can actually do
▪ live a life that we believe in
▪ work as a laborer as humans have done in the past
▪ integrate within the cycles, working together with animals in a synergetic relationship
▪ produce that which we use, survive because of, and eat
▪ build a space to exist that is comforting and spatially aware (not self-centered)
▪ choose to live as healthy a life as possible: food, water use, animal protection, stress reduction, reality of that which is important, emphasis on community and learning and teaching and accepting and countering
▪ use less plastic
▪ share with others a whole foods system based on living with and on the land, outside of a commodity market without losing the integrity of our time, family, and interests (we can’t just give the shit away)
▪ fight with experience and kindness the industrial food system
▪ become a resource
▪ spend our time on that which we love or at least find it to be worth the effort
▪ balance. keep art in the picture. make a system of producing food… Art. The communication of that which is life’s reason, is time spent daily, spelled out letter by letter through art. In whatever form we feel completes our wavy and crazy heads.
▪ this is why we live with gramma. in a pink room with shag carpet.
▪ and the stars are pretty great.
▪ and the 9 bovines out there are pretty darn happy.
▪ i just don’t want to have to kill coyotes. or prairie dogs. or rattlesnakes. but who keeps the balance? learning the balance of the land…. a feat worth pursuing. a reality worth keeping our eyes wide open to, a travesty that we choose to not pretend away.
▪ partnerships with animals is another study worth pursuing
▪ thanking the land on a daily basis for existing. Just as it is.
▪ better knowing our native peoples who lived before the extermination of buffalo.
▪ accepting that which is not understood in nature and trusting that it just might know best.

Before we came to Wyoming, in the midst of saying goodbye to what we had learned to know so well, we came up with this original mission statement (to be edited soon due to a heavy emphasis on one topic):

“To live in a world without acknowledging that which makes us human- food, water, and shelter- is to choose to scar the earth and selfishly live until we die. We live once, and in this living we impact all life, be it bug, plant, micro or macro. Our interaction with food links us to an earth that has embraced our beings, creating us as humans until maternally absorbing us back into the earth once our hearts no longer beat.

The food we eat spiritually grounds us as humans into the cyclical earth rotation. We embrace this concept by choosing to simplify our lives with a focus on food, antithetically opposing the profit-driven and consumption-fueled cultural mindset of conventional factory farming. In the life and death of animals, we choose a project that will consume us as consumers nurturing both art and food, seeing eating as art and knowledge; to be stewards and not excavating capitalists of the land. Changing the definition of profit, we will not be foreign to these cycles. We will know what we put into our bodies, into the bodies of animals in our care, and the food that feeds the earth we borrow. In this, art and food will remind us of what it is to be human.”

I think it might behoove most people to occasionally write a mission statement based on goals. It’s good to be able to see it evolve and then learn to say you’re still okay, even if you are unstable.

Elk, mule deer, antelope, rattlesnakes, all kinds of unidentified (by us) birds, jack rabbits with ears to compete with our dingo, fox, horny toads and coyote- creatures that seem to be brimming with activity every evening. Tonight we took the four wheeler up over the horse pass and spent time bouldering as the sun was setting. It was an unusually less dry day, and as we climbed from 7,100 feet to 8,000 feet, the sky illuminated itself with patches of glorious sunset reflections and stretched clouds of color. It was at that moment, reaching the top and panting from such close grip on the rocks, that we looked out upon that completely open sky and wondered what took us so long to get here.

I suppose every transition comes with hilly moments, your stomach fluttering from the rise and fall of the movement. It’s not easy to be without our own space, but yet one thing that we do have here is completely open space. It’s amazing to be staying with Gramma, continually experiencing history and relics in forms the like of a history museum yet so much more personal.

There hasn’t been nearly enough time to tug at decaying door frames, kept at bay with ages of dirt on its doorstep, but today I peeked into a shed that lives in the yard. The small four by four foot building was patched together from found wood and mortar and really is quite beautiful. I turned the wood lever keeping the door closed and creaked the vertical boards away from the place they had been stationed for so many years. Inside was a wonderland of Ball Jars. I have a bit of a fetish for ball jars. I love drinking from them, canning with them, storing dry foods in them, using them as packaging for gifts- I love ball jars. Literally the entire floor was littered with glass relics, the walls papered in their stories. As lightly as possibly I began removing any of the larger ones I could find, picking my way gingerly to the back shelves, stepping directly on years of chaotically collected containers. The last jar I grabbed was labeled 7-72- July, 38 years ago, the month and year my parents were married.

There is such beauty in what this place is, and so much gravity in the work that lies before us. But I find such peace in waking to the sound of a gentle cow outside the window, peace in seeing nightly sunsets and starlit skies that reflect so many loved souls on and beyond this earth.

Yesterday we made it to Laramie to find phones that work and can provide us with internet. We ended up at a great brewery, some extremely stocked thrift stores, a vibrant farmers market, and an amazing store that sells grass-fed buffalo and specializes in wind and solar building options. We dream of building a yurt that is powered by this Wyoming wind, build on a foundation of rocks from the ranch and floored with a simple cork. So many dreams to prioritize- living space, horses, wind power, barn/studio set-up and renovation…

When all seems a bit daunting, we head for whatever spot of land our cows have found themselves grazing. We reach them, Diego circling the grass with her nose down and face a-smiling, and we count them. We recount, saying their names and feeling oh-so-grateful for this years giving spring rain and the abundance of grass.

A major force in bringing us across six states with six cows in tow is the fact that I’m sick of hearing myself complain. I’m exhausted from working for other people who have good ideas and follow their hearts, and then frowning at the life in front of me. Not that I’m overly pessimistic- even if comparing myself to Josh or my closest of Ann Arbor friends. I like to think of myself as having a sense of reality in juxtaposition to their optimistic and lofty ideals.

But my reality is striking me in a hefty way. And I’d like to iterate this not in a negative way, but in a pragmatic way; Wyoming is a very hardcore place. I’m not sure every soul is meant to make it out here. The wind walks on up behind you and then without warning, knocks its knees behind yours so you tumble onto the sage brush around you. And then it sits on you, barely letting your lungs recover before sucking on the hollows of your cheeks. And it’s already April.

We went on a drive around the ranch with Grandma two days back. This drive actually covered quite a few miles with all the checkerboard spots of federal and railroad land in between the Smith Meadow Ranch land. She renounced the lack of rain, responding to every patch of dusty dryness as being unlike anything she has every seen. She never expected it to be this dry back behind the saddle, just north of the ranch headquarters. The reservoirs thankfully have water (some of them anyway), but not nearly the water they should.

I heartily believe that livestock and wild beasts are meant for this land. In fact, you can’t help but breathe a little deeper with the open landscape and elk or antelope galloping past in herds, with muscular cattle grazing on the dry and green grasses. Birds of all sorts free to fly and wander without encountering man other than you in that day. I am at total peace with the cycle of livestock on this land, eating on the grass and drinking from the natural springs, returning to it nitrogen and minerals and spurring its continued health in that way. But the water is running low. Is it the 200 year cycle of drought that some are talking about? Is global warming going to change everything that’s been a given on this land for people in the last 100 plus years?

I have no idea, but it’s frightening. The snow that has flown behind my ears and the cold that landed in the crevasses of my shoulder blades is real. Ann Arbor is 60 and sunny, blooming with bulbs and colors aplenty. Lilacs dotted the highways as we traveled. Things are about to change in our world. We will fight with the wind until we give in or give up. We will struggle to make things as we think we know them until we realize we have become the place we are at.

It’s hard to say if working for ourselves in this new capacity will be all we’ve dreamed. Or if we will find ourselves in the history of all those family members that began on this land, building the railroad and rounding up wild horses in a time before fences. The work is astounding and overwhelming, the air is dry and soil sandy. The prospect of chickens and a milk cow so seemingly distant that you wonder if you can hold tight long enough and still remember the original goal and vision.

But as long as we keep moving and working, I think we’ll smile a foreign smile. The fences need mending, the buildings need tearing down, the barn needs cleaning. This place is one with history, and a bit of a neglected present. With that we can make it our own- even if it is snowing.

Well, we did it. 1,399 miles later, we arrived at Meadow Ranch, Lander Route, Rawlins, WY from Ann Arbor, MI after a stop over to pick up six heifers in Charlotte, MI.

The journey was like a giant checklist of “if’s”, of inquisitive adventurers wondering if they would make it past the next level. Without a wink of sleep for me, Josh and I left at 5:30am for Charlotte. Pat and Larry, the farmers we bought the cows from, rounded the girls into one place and we loaded them into the trailer. We were on the road with them one hour later. Check!

We arrived in Omaha, no pullovers and with no more excitement than travelers pointing and wondering what these long haired beasts were, just 15 hours after we started at 7:30pm. My folks met us at the spot we were securely leaving the cows in the trailer, took a bunch of pictures, and shook their heads in what I’m choosing to think was excitement rather than baffling bemusement. Check!

After a great nights rest, Josh, Diego and I met the cows early, made sure they were fed and watered, and hit the great wide western scene. Things changed pretty quickly as we pulled that trailer along Interstate 80. The culture, the characters, the vehicles all started to take on an entirely new perspective. Agriculture  jumped out from every corner and byway. And here we were, hauling six amazing cows, with me finally submitting to a bandanna and muck boots on this last leg.

Wyoming’s Port of Entry accepted our paperwork, and after a brief gas fill in Laramie so we could hug Josh’s little sis, we were off on the final 90 miles. Yet another check on the list of unknowns! The truck had climbed up to 8,600 feet in elevation and was still smiling. Snow flurries were landing around the eyes of the cows and they had never looked better. Diego awoke from her slumber and sniffed the clean Wyoming air. And Josh and I listened to music, finding the intense gravity of what was actually happening to be a bit much to actually talk about.

These were the Avett Brothers lyrics that just so happened to play as we made our way into Rawlins (partially copied at the bottom of this post)…

We pulled into the ranch at 7:30pm, just as twilight was descending. Josh’s dad was waiting for us to help with unloading into the corrals, and just as we unloaded, our closest neighbor (six miles away) was pulling in with a load of alfalfa/grass hay for the cows. With their help, we forked it into the feeding trough. The girls started munching and we headed in for dinner with Gramma. She still doesn’t know these cows have long hair and horns- that they aren’t Angus. Today will be interesting. She will be baffled and I’m sure have plenty of words about our naivete to those that stop in to the ranch.

Off to work on some decaying corrals! To check on the girls and let Diego chomp on some Wyoming grass. The to-do list is already growing in leaps and bounds. One thing is for certain- we will not be bored!

HEAD FULL OF DOUBTS, Avett Brothers

There’s a darkness upon me that’s flooded in light
In the fine print they tell me what’s wrong and what’s right
And it comes in black and it comes in white
And I’m frightened by those that don’t see it

When nothing is owed or deserved or expected
And your life doesn’t change by the man that’s elected
If you’re loved by someone, you’re never rejected
Decide what to be and go be it

There was a dream and one day I could see it
Like a bird in a cage I broke in and demanded that somebody free it
And there was a kid with a head full of doubt
So I’ll scream til I die and the last of those bad thoughts are finally out

The countdown for our first trek west has begun. The plan is to leave this coming Sunday with our first load- five heifers: Espresso, Estelle, Elaine, Eirwyn, and Echo.

We are working on having a gooseneck hitch installed on our truck, and then buying a used trailer tomorrow that will carry these lovely ladies! It might seem absurd to name your beef cattle, but the beauty of it is that each of these cows come from a long history of recorded sires and dams (papas and mamas). They are Scottish Highland cattle that are known to thrive in a variety of climates, including the harsh and windy climate of Wyoming. We’ll see how they like being up almost 7,000 feet in elevation!

The trip should be interesting. A normally 22 1/2 hour trip, but with five heifers and an excited cattle dog, it might just take a bit longer. We’ll make our usual stop over in Omaha, staying with my parents. I dream of parking a stock trailer full of cattle on their suburban Omaha street, long-haired beauties bawling and mooing at the passers-by. One of the last things my father said to me recently was, “I never dreamed I’d have a daughter grow up to be a rancher.” I guess some things you just can’t plan.

This trip (and this investment!) makes it all much more real. After Josh teaches one more spring class at the University of Michigan, we will pack up from this state and drive off with a trailer full of memories the end of June.

But first! An adventure! Five cows, one cattle dog, one couple, a 16′ trailer, a bunch of hay, and six states. All in a couple of days time. Here’s hoping for good weather, good vehicles, and a whole bunch of correct paperwork to travel along those interstates.

Home cured, home made, home cooked corned beef.

Check it out, people. It takes days to cure before cooking. And it is that time of year. It’s a good sign that it’s finally corned beef and stout season. Longer days are already here and warmer days supposedly are slipping around the corner. I also love the theory behind this roast, soaking the meat in a brine solution with stout beer and pickling spices, the house filling with complicated smells as it cooks. Yet it’s so easy to put the whole thing together on the stove and forget about it- welcome to my week. Ahh… forget about it.

The recipe, from epicurious.com:
Homemade Irish Corned Beef and Vegetables