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.

One of the things that Raymond taught Gramma her first winter at the ranch is that there’s no time to cry over the dead ones. I guess when Josh told her yesterday that we’d lost one of the steers, her tears rolled freely down her face. And of course with the tears of a more than 80 year old ranching woman, Josh was feeling the weight of his day and crying too.

We lost a steer. Josh went to do the methodical check on the cows where you sit on the four wheeler with a dingo gripping on behind and you count. You count twice. Yep, there’s ten. And you either sit there and pet the bull and talk to the cows for a bit, or you zip off to move a couple of black cows that somehow snuck in through a downed fence. But yesterday he counted. He counted again. And then again. Each time there were only nine. He moved closer in and saw all the cows bowing their heads, not eating, but surrounding the still and bloated body of our only not-horned critter.

We called him cross-steer. We lost our cross-steer, the charolais/angus/highland mix, the animal that was always veering off course when we tried to move the group. “That damn steer!” we would holler as he moved towards brush and bumps and holes- I just knew I would sprain my ankle as I tried to suggest he move back towards our path. He was the rambunctious one, always taking to the hound dog when she got that sparkle in her eye. She loved to be ornery and pick on that guy, and I think he loved to pick on her.

He’s gone now. I love each and every one of those animals and we feel a deep responsibility for their well-being. He was to be the first on the list to slaughter. We brought him from Nebraska with the intention of comparing his nature to straight highlands, and also the quality of his meat. It’s a weird prospect, this animal as meat. I know that. It’s not quite real to me and I know it will evolve in it’s meaning, rolling out like a legendary scroll as it answers so many questions left unknown right now. We all take a journey with death. I see our role as ranchers one that dances with death. Yet I’m pretty uncomfortable with the notion that we all die, and that some of us coordinate the dates of death for our food.

Maybe this sounds like I’m ready to go back to the ways of vegetarianism. I’m not. We can talk about that on an individual basis later, preferably with a coffee in hand, sitting on the high rim above the ranch, watching the sun set behind its wall of daily regrets.

Last night in our heavy sleep, eyes coaxed down ever so quickly by a day full of sadness, we heard the chatter and singing and communication of coyotes. The call of a coyote is always ominous, always intriguing, and always eery. Last night as I tried to pretend their voices were only in a nightmare, I gripped onto Josh’s chest and hoped he wasn’t awake. To know what those coyotes were supping on for their nighttime, moonlit dinner brought back the heaviness of all that we have undertaken. It’s not easy knowing where your food comes from. It’s not easy knowing that life isn’t all heat pumped through your vents, cheese pre-sliced for you, and clothes made to fit around every town corner. I mean, I guess it can be, but I don’t really want it to be. I want every day to be a realization that we do the best we can, we live until we learn what it really all means, and we stick together.

Cross-steer is no longer with the herd, and I think they all know it. I think they saw him die, and they were paying their respect when Josh found them. We’re keeping a very close watch on the rest of the herd- as close as we can. They seem to be walking further than they had before and are right now a couple miles deep into the pasture. Maybe it’s just exploration, maybe it’s some other animal understanding that I can’t even begin to understand.

There are theories as to how he died. We sent a vet out who said the tissues had been dead for too long for her to find any results in tests. She also said the pasture looked great, no killer weeds that she could see. And she said his rumen was full and healthy with good grass. It appeared that he had not paced around, but instead plain old laid down and died. Our hypothesis is lightning. We think we heard the original call of coyotes before dark on Wednesday as the first rain in months came down, the sky darkened with charcoal-like clouds. We’ll continue on, paying homage to the steer who journeyed through this western landscape with us, and perhaps journey through our thoughts on food even quicker than anticipated.

I’m so grateful for Josh. I can’t even imagine what yesterday was like, stumbling upon death, then caring for the rest of the herd and juggling the cut and dryness of a vet’s knife. He had to move that steer from that pasture, and to know the smells that Josh encountered and the stiffness of a body that before was so full of life- ah. Thanks for being willing, Josh. You’re a good one.

It seems that last week the honeymoon period here on the range had a not so smooth crash landing. My spirit broke daily from having to walk into work at a steakhouse, and Josh’s spirit desperately choked from this dusty barn that can’t quite seem to make sense yet as a shop. And these overwhelming feelings of heaviness in the brain continually reminded us that: We Need A Yurt. Stat. Winter looms, the mornings already falling below forty degrees; the frost predicting flowers that have bloomed six weeks before frost for decades and decades last week began showing their yellow blossoms. Lovely.

And then we had the opportunity to attend a conference within the Wyoming state line called Living and Working on the Land. We drove four hours over a remote and beautiful highway, eyes peeled looking for bighorn sheep (to no avail), reaching a delicious evening of acoustic music, local food, and our very own hotel room. The two days that followed were full of amazing speakers, wonderful local farmers and ranchers, and great time spent thinking that perhaps this ranching project of ours might have some validity to it after all. You know, it can be real exhausting to think to yourself hour after hour, day after oppressing day, that you are an anomaly, a being of extraordinary strangeness that will just not ever fit into this wild and rustic west. But we met others who’s eyes shine when you say the words, “diversity!”, “sustainability!”, and “rotational grazing!”. And now the real challenge comes with finding a way to remember that we are not alone, we are not being unreasonable dreamers, and that we just might be able to be successful with ranching while simultaneously bringing greater health to this soil and all who subsist on it.

We met Joel Salatin, leader of all things unconventional and diverse in farming. All ears perched as the audience took in his every authentic word, spoken with the unapologetic intensity of a robed and animated preacher. Who knew in this contemporary day and age it would take a farmer to stand up and speak the truth to the connections of health, food, government, politics, family, and land values. One of our favorite topics addressed by Joel was about how new ideas and growth come from disturbance. He speaks of not only how disturbance of the soil brings new growth (thus the importance of grazing animals on the land), but how allowing our false economy to crumble, thus using human capabilities to exercise and design a higher level of ecology. Innovation will arise. Joel’s Polyface Farm in Virginia works to improve the soil while providing food to a great number of people in his local community, all while teaching and employing a substantial number of well-compensated young people; young people who will take this knowledge and exponentially touch cities and rural lands alike. And as Joel said at the conference, “We are all more similar than we are different. We all eat.”

We also were fortunate enough to have an engaging conversation with rancher and writer Diane Peavey. On an evening trip to Table Mountain Vineyards Winery, we waited in the buffet line for locally produced burgers on a stick (for real) with Diane and heard some of her amazing stories about her sheep ranch in Idaho. She listened to our bit of bitchy banter about the struggles involved when two young people leave a yuppy university town and end up in a western town with the state’s severest reputation, all while not having a very good plan for how soon and very soon a yurt will be built. She thought it was hilarious and hopeful, repeatedly saying that the best marketing any of us at the conference could possibily do is to tell our stories. Tell your stories. And ah, if there’s one thing this Wyoming family has, it’s stories. And if we can only hold on to our wacky sense of humor, oh the stories we can tell of this beginning, slightly ungraceful and definitely uncomfortable, period of learning to walk despite the badger holes at our feet and battering wind at our backs.

Rodeos. Everywhere, every town, every nook and cranny of this state. There are cowboy boots and broncing four-legged critters bursting around dusty rings with Wrangler ads plastered on the sides throughout the summer, sometimes every night in some towns. Needless to say, there is a culture about this place that mimics the old rodeo ways. The people who are from this western world tend to have stories that revolve around working with animals, be it rodeos or hunting, cow handling or predator control.

We started the weekend in Cody, a town bustling with visitors that want to experience the wide open, rough and tough land of Wyoming. Every night of the week July-August there is a rodeo in Cody that is packed with onlookers. We ended up camping for a night in the Bear Tooth Mountains over the border in Montana and didn’t make it back for the rodeo in time. So I have yet to attend a Wyoming rodeo, despite having passed through a dozen towns hosting the festivity. Perhaps this next week during Carbon County’s summer rodeo?

We left Cody and headed over the Big Horn Mountains, chugging our little Honda up and around the 1,000′s of feet of elevation, eventually heading through the town of Sheridan and on east to the small town of Arvada. We were meeting a couple of skilled ranch workers at the Arvada bar to follow them in to a really beautiful and large ranch, Powder River Horses. The Arvada bar is one of a few places in the town- where the paved road ends and the dirt roads to the working ranches of the town seem to begin. Walking into the (fairly gritty) bar, cowboy hats strewn around on the strong faces of the locals sitting at the circular bar, cans of domestics in hand, we were faced with trophy heads of antelope, deer, etc. and some tried and true cowboys.

After following Rich and Sarah out to the ranch, they introduced us to some amazing people and beautiful horses. Rich, a former rodeo rider, hopped on a couple of horses and demonstrated how the horses did with ropes, rifles, and directions. It was inspiring to learn about the horses and their history, to talk with the people on the ranch about the work they do and the integrity of their working ranch. The ranch family works organically, raising long-horn cattle, weed eating goats and geese, and naturally maintained grasses. They focus on breeding quarter horses that are genetically sound, strong, and brilliantly colored. The horses originate from the Hollywood Gold and the Hancock lines, both strong western horses that handle the rugged miles of the west and know how to tightly turn and move cows. The experience of meeting these ranchers only made us more anxious for horses on the ranch and excited for the potential in focusing in on the proven strength in these historical breeds of horses.

The horses we saw really were beautiful and brilliant in color and form. But we were so engaged in the experience that we didn’t manage to take one picture- not one of the people, the horses, the cows, the geese, the grass… so instead the pictures below are the horses that were here at Meadow Ranch most recently, the horses that were broken by the family here, ridden to work cows, and sold after there was no one here to ride them. They are missed dearly… below are pics of Trof, Frosty, Sassy, Missy, & Principessa.

Productivity. It’s all I ask for in a day. And finally the other day we actually physically seemed to get something done.

Fences are a pretty big deal out here. And when you see a Smith fence, it’s more than likely that you are looking at a century or more old fence. A common phrase around here is, “That’s older than your grandfather.” And Josh’s grandfather passed away thirty years ago at the age of 70. I’m still trying to grasp how the plots of land out here work, but they basically are set-up as a checkerboard, squares being divided between the Bureau of Land Management (federal), the railroad, and private. We don’t have lots of land, but we are able to lease from the feds and the railroad. With that we potentially should be able to run about 100 head of cattle. The wide open west is just that, cows roaming and then rotating within these patches.

Josh and I went out to check the miles of fence line and make sure that other ranchers cattle weren’t in our sections that we’ll be using for late summer and winter feed. Lo and behold, 30 or so cows were in the School Section (Smith land), having meandered straight through a downed fence. Here are a few pics of us repairing fence and trying to communicate with Diego about how to appropriately move cows, not just tease them.

You can see how I like to discuss with her on her level, pointing out the cow we are going to push into another area. She mostly was focused on the rabbit that just might be to her right. Or left. Or really just about anywhere. I seemed to do most of the running on foot, encouraging her to “Push ‘em”, “Get ‘em”, or signal to head a certain way. She seems to think her job is to chase rabbits, but only because she doesn’t think she’s allowed to chase cows. She’ll figure it out one of these days. She’s real smart. But until then, I really want a horse. All that running wore me out.

Have we already mentioned our to-do list? I told Josh last night that I just want to revel in our naivete a little longer, or at least as long as possible- to take those long evening hikes, looking out at the sunset, and see beauty not work. To see a coyote silhouette hanging on the high rim framed by the night sky, know its ominous presence but feel the power in its beauty at dusk without feeling the need to have a rifle. I want to keep climbing high into the rocks, looking down hundreds of feet at the open grass, jagged rocks and muscled elk on the horizon without seeing the poison weeds or the fence desperate for mending.

Nonetheless, the work is omnipresent. The place we are is certainly romantic but crumbling all around us. There are barns with buggies and antique horse gear. There are bones and corpses from the rotting of life. There are views touched with scampering wildlife. And there is this growing to-do list. We’ve only been here since July 1st, though, and in that time we have seen some amazing Wyoming country and taken care of the nitty gritty efforts from relocation. We’ll take in the rest of this one dusty bit at a time, and hopefully with a couple of good horses at our sides sooner than later.

Check pastures- grass, water and fences of all pastures

Rebuild the corrals

Fix squeeze shoot

Rebuild, clean out and organize barn

Write our business plan

Find and buy two horses

Research cross-breeding

Get a loan and figure out grants for new and younger farmers/ranchers

Finance, buy and build yurt

Train a cattle dog

Find winter hay