Final Reflection – 2nd year

November 2022

Finding a stable career has not really been part of the program. At least, not in practice. In theory.. sure. I went to university, got a degree, and have ever since been bouncing from one exciting idea to the next, with some kind of vague concept of future permanence. I went to college with the express intent of doing something to save the world. Being part of a solution. However when your degree is International Development, the focus lies in countries far afield from, yet inextricably linked to, our domestic affairs. My tune began to change. It was finally within the realm of agriculture that my ideals and drive found a resting place. A place that provided work and lifestyle that I loved, with potential for tangible effects with wide reaching impact. Once I caught the fever, all I wanted was to be working on large scales impacting ecosystem health for better function, and utilizing livestock as tools to do it. All the while producing nutrient dense food! What a win-win. And then I spent several years trying to get a foot in the door.

 I had no idea how difficult it would prove to be. I flew places. I visited people. I made phone calls. I wrote so many emails. And I found lots of encouragement- pretty unilaterally- but an opportunity for ‘someone like me’? Hmm… they’ll think on it. Maybe make some calls. I was already thirty and didn’t feel that I had the time to spend several years working my way up the ladder from ranch newbie, or to take a summer job to ‘see if I liked it’. No, I was looking for a progressive operation where I could get an immersive experience learning grazing for land health. I had a decade of agricultural experience, surely I was hirable! But it turned out that to start speaking to someone about ranch cows was like hearing another language. I knew nothing. You calve once a year and it’s in the dead of winter? And you go check them at what hours of the night?? Ranching isn’t economically viable? And this is an industry of the American ideal? I know ranchers! How are they all losing money? I was a cultural outsider. And still am. It’s a sentiment that I have heard since from people my age who want to be involved in forward thinking ranching or animal agriculture, but believe they’ll never be accepted or respected by the culture. And who wants to exist within that?

I didn’t. However… I wanted to find a loophole. I believed it was there. I wanted so badly to be given the chance to be a positive agent of change in this regenerative ranching space. I could feel with an extremely rare certainty that this was and is my path. Lucky for me, Quivira offered that entry point. Last year in Eastern California on the Richards Ranch and this year in Western Colorado with Grasslands. I have been accepted, educated and valued. I have found mentors that treat me with respect despite being a woman from a non ranching background. And in all of this I am lucky. During my campaign to enter the regenerative ranching space I was periodically assailed by fears that the work would be monotonous and boring, that the culture of exclusivity, workaholism and sexism would leave me isolated and unfulfilled. I like to travel, eat middle eastern food and go to museums! Would those parts of me be whittled away until all that remained was a single facet of my personality and being? My body broken and childless because there was never any time for anything else?

Well I am happy to report that the work is not boring. And only occasionally monotonous. As land stewards and animal husbanders we’re working on the micro and macro levels and everything in between in terms of observation and management to let nature function her best. We’re raising nutrient dense food on land that has coevolved with grazers and needs that relationship to effectively cycle nutrients, water, energy and biota. We’re trying to learn and amplify the language of the land. It is complex and challenging and so engaging. I have found refuge from the culture of machismo and pridefully endless and grueling workdays in mentors who have hobbies outside of leatherworking, who take time off for extracurricular activities, who are deeply involved in their children’s lives and who are level headed, compassionate human beings. They allow me to feel seen and accepted in a culture in which I exist as an outlier. 

When I ponder the pressing issues of this field, it is the need for widespread adoption that comes first to mind. But instead of policy or incentive programs I immediately get stuck on the people side of it. There is a desperate need within ranching – and the larger culture — for bright young people to be involved in continuing the tradition of land stewardship and connection, with an open mind to progressive practices to address the major degradation of natural resources and climate viability. We can’t affect the millions of acres we need to if we don’t have people on board to do it. Before we can have effective, sustained practice we need buy-in. To have buy-in we need to offer a culture of acceptance, humility and compassion. And for such a culture to exist we need to be practicing showing up as good humans everyday. We need acceptance, humility and compassion for ourselves as well as others. We all have 10,000 excuses for poor behavior, but excuse or not the end result is the same. To be effecting positive change on the land we need to be affecting positive change on people.

First Reflection- 2nd year

May 2022

What is my land ethic? A few years ago, this was a completely novel and uncontemplated concept. I  grew fruits and vegetables, I used compost and didn’t spray chemicals. But whole system thinking?  Foundational prioritization of ecological health? These ideas were still outside my framework of  thinking. Coming across the principles of regenerative agriculture, and regenerative ranching in  particular started to bring these new ways of thinking to life for me.  

I’ve spent a few years now (hardly a drop in the bucket) excitedly geeking out over new facts and  figures, new management strategies, test cases, research papers and keynotes speakers. I have barely  gotten started, but already feel the dilemmas of any ambitious, information hungry land steward- the  challenge of balancing time to ingest information and time to practice, of balancing ideals with  practicality, and balancing the focus of the micro and the macro. But what is my land ethic?  Stewardship. That in itself was a transition, a shift from a focus on making a living by ‘responsibly’ or  ‘sustainably’ taking from the land, to a focus on playing a role in promoting healthy, thriving ecosystems  that can in turn produce food. However, of course, here we find ourselves mired in detail. For the word  ‘producer’ exists in both of those sentences. However for me, there became a difference in focus. The  fundamental principles of holistic management or regenerative practices boil down to taking care of the  land so that it can in turn take care of you. An idea far more practiced by previous occupants of this land  than our current civilization has had time and patience for. This concept also entails a higher degree of  humility about human’s role within our environment, and of letting go of ideas of control. But how to  learn how to be a effective land steward? Well that it why I am here, participating in a second year of  apprenticeship within regenerative ranching. The dynamism of this field is immense- on any given day  one may need to be competent in water management, nutrient management, mechanics, animal  husbandry, local politics, ecology, predator conflict, neighbor conflict, low stress livestock handling,  equipment handling, time management (!), the national economy and the local cattle market. And so  much more. And as fun as learning as all this micro processes can be (or sometimes less so), I know I  must remind myself to zoom out, to see the macro. Learning to flood irrigate has been an apt analogy.  Spending two hours channeling water to an acre of hard to get pasture, when I have 400 other acres to  get to that day, means I have most likely lost sight of the bigger picture, and am less effective. So this  year, balancing my focus, will be one of my focuses. Ideals brought us here, but without practicality,  ideals are of little use. To make the large scale changes our earth requires, we need both. And at the  root, that is what brought me here.

Final Reflections

November 2021

I came to learn. Through experience, yes, but also through words. Through discussion,  through shared observation. Though books, and lectures. I came to this apprenticeship  with the explicit desire to learn, but with the unacknowledged, and implicit need to remove  myself from my status quo and commit to full time learning. Much like enrolling in a  higher education program, the information is already out there, and we don’t necessarily  need to pay tuition and undergo the rigamarole of college to learn a desired subject.  However there is certainly something to the public commitment we make upon entering  such a program, that we are submitting ourselves to the time frame, prescribed paces and  expected outcomes of our superiors, and that we are going to see this through- and this holds us accountable. And so, as hard as the isolation and change of pace was, I  simultaneously knew I had to celebrate it for forcing me to spend my time focused on the  subjects at hand.  

And with this immersion and focus I dove in. Having spent my adult life so far working in  organic agriculture, I was no stranger to ecologically friendly farming practices. Yet this  concept of ‘land stewardship’ was still one that was vague to me. Taking good care of the  land… yes. So far this had meant not spraying chemicals, utilizing compost, incorporating  diversity and crop rotations. However what did that mean exactly in terms of working  landscapes? In regards to what has already been done to the land and what we must undo? Where do we intervene and where to we get out of nature’s way? Of course the nuances necessarily involved in answers to these questions are many, but general principles started  to emerge over time. I had come to the ranch eager for information, questions springing  from me like coils out of a worn down mattress, my threadbare façade of restraint hardly  containing pent up questions. My mentors fielded an ongoing barrage of questions, and relentlessly poor metaphors. Every new piece of information opened new paths of inquiry  and learning. The endorphins raging around my mind with the access to so much  intellectual growth harkened to the years of college, but unlike my university experience, which was all theory, this all pertained to the land right in front of me! The soil under my feet and the plants waving in the wind.  

However with time, this new wealth of knowledge being presented to me began to prompt a less welcome state of emotion… overwhelmed. The processes to learn and the facts to  memorize and the variations to consider and the skills to master and the fluctuations to understand and the… fence to fix. I wanted to learn it all and learn it all now! Being in my  early thirties and entering a new field with such a dynamic and wide ranging spread of  applicable knowledge provided a seemingly never ending torrent of information to absorb – when I was starting late and behind the curve. I wanted the mastery of an old ranch hand  and the expertise of a seasoned land steward. We have global crises to address! How can I absorb faster? If I play podcasts while I’m sleeping will knowledge seep into my brain for recall later? As may be evident by now, patience is not a skill I’d bothered to acquire much of. But that was about to change. 

When I had arrived at the ranch, it had been at the cusp of the busiest time of year in their  season. After a winter’s worth of precipitation and mild sunshine, plants were primed to  explode with growth as the days were growing longer and the sun stronger. Calves that had  been born in the fall were getting ready to be weaned. We started spending long days  bringing them in from the rangeland that surrounds the heart of the ranch, driving roads  that at times were mere tunnels through the chaparral brush, and made one feel that if the  side by side broke down surely an ogre would be stepping out from under a boulder to  nosh on any unlucky occupants. Then came the corral days, where the intensity hung in the  air like curtains of billowy chiffon. (*For as any good cowhand knows, there is certainly no  textile nearly so intense as chiffon.) Sorting, squeezing, tagging, sorting, squeezing, hustling, squeezing, hustling. Whips cracking in the air (purely as visual aids!). Sweat pouring off  faces, backs, dust puffing, wisping, blowing. Calves bawling, fences breeched. And then…  just like that, it was over. Mother cows and finishers were shipped to leases up north in  irrigated country, calves were sold off in response to the coming drought. We had many handfuls of animals left who qualified as an in-between misfit crowd that we continued to  move around the property, but all in all, things got quiet. 

For my mentors, who usually have no break from the day in and day out of ranch life, this trial year of having most animals out on leases was a welcome reprieve. For me, it was  borderline torture. Coming from the farming world, where physical labor held a direct line to productivity and worthiness, and where I might have three or four jobs come late  summer and fall just to make full use of every hour of every day, ‘quiet’ time in the summer seemed obscene. This is what winter is for! But this is what I had signed up for. I  had committed myself to this position, with the slightly subliminal understanding that if  given any option, I would find work to keep myself busy. Busy, but not learning. For despite my deep, passionate love of learning, I, like many other agriculturalists, find it very  hard to justify sitting down and reading, watching webinars, digesting information.. when there is work to be done! But here I had no option. I had to be here, to be present, available. And so, with many deep breaths and likely some teeth grinding, I began to pour myself into the sources. The literature, the webinars, the online courses, the email  discourse, the podcasts. I took huge gulps from the firehoses of knowledge. I sometimes  forgot to breathe. But as I drank, pictures began to form. 

My initial forays into regenerative methodologies, combined with my preexisting ideologies of holistic farm management, had painted an image for me of what all this talk of regenerative, holistic land stewardship might entail. But it was a picture painted in very broad strokes. Like the kind of strokes you use to paint a house. An outline had been  formed, but within remain much uncolored space. As I spent my time seeking out, and attempting to soak up the information to become an adept steward of the land, Jackson  Pollack sprays of color were thrown across the image- disorganized, but exciting. As the months flowed by, the splotches began to move. They melted into each other. They  migrated into shapes- the dark shimmer of a stream, the shadow of a mountain, a cluster of  trees in an arroyo. The information that I had been collecting was starting to coalesce into  the beginnings of understanding. Relationships were being formed. The economics of traditional ranch operations. Declining soil productivity and desertification. Water  infiltration versus run off. The lack of groundwater recharge. Fungal versus bacterial  dominance. Beavers. Weeds, nature’s first responders. Sage grouse. Tannins, alkaloids,  tertiary compounds. Mineral cycling. Perennial bunch grasses. Everything inextricably  linked. And at the center of my universe – cows. Or rather, hooved livestock. The power that such a seemingly simple creature is capable of amazes me.  

Growing up surrounded by hillsides that cattle had transformed from grassland to dead  lawn, I couldn’t have imagined the reconciliation they were begging for. Who traps children in a candy store for a week, then blames them for the ensuing mess, stomach aches, and potential early on-set diabetes? In a world that has been woven in a fine, delicate  gossamer of intricacy, we paraded in with limbs flailing, whirring around as we unwittingly  destroyed balance and structure wherever we stepped. But we have choices. We can stop flailing. We can try to help still our neighbors who are still noodling away. We can bring back the spiders to reweave nature’s webs. Nature will heal herself, she need not us mortal souls. However, time is short, and if we want to help speed the repair, so that we may  continue to revel in her beauty, we must play a role. And that role requires humility,  diligence and respect. And livestock. We need the livestock. Cows and sheep are the best  tools we have to help restore the vibrant ecosystems that sustain this earth, and the nuanced  cycles that carry them. We can use them to mimic the patterns and effects that modern  society prevents wild animals from doing. And this isn’t just on your neighborhood farm or ranch. This is all over the world. There are vast swaths of land that are crying out for  animals to show up responsibly. It seems the newest science coming out keeps reinforcing how extremely intelligent and well designed our natural world is.. and how little we really  know. As more delicate brush strokes continue to fill in my painting over the coming years, I know my eyes will still widen and my lips will still smile as I continue to fervently learn. But the borders will expand. (Luxuries of a metaphorical canvas). Empty space will remain. For it is in acknowledging the unknown that we leave space for humility and creativity. I came to this apprenticeship with an underwhelming and undersized canvas, and not  enough paint. Quivira brought me to the art shop and set me loose. I will forever be humbled and grateful.

REFLECTIONS AFTER THE FIRST MONTH

May 2021

I always knew I didn’t want a ‘real job’. I cannot remember a time when work and life were separable. Which may say more about my memory than anything. However, I can remember sitting at my adolescent self’s desk, defiantly proclaiming to my parents that there is just SO MUCH SUFFERING IN THE WORLD and it was my responsibility, nay, duty!, to do something about it. And they supported me. They supported me through college, through my fierce naïveté and passion, through many conversations ‘informing’ them as to the many injustices of the world. I saw a future for myself working with disenfranchised peoples in ‘underdeveloped’ countries, devoting my life to helping others in crisis situations in foreign places. And the more I learned, the more I.. began to question. I began to question the narratives about why the world was the way it was, the motives of the rule makers, the paradigms of power, the efficacy of the solutions. By the time I had neared graduation, the idea of being yet another privileged citizen of a first world country full of its own economic and societal inequalities, traveling to an impoverished nation in a crisis most likely created by said first world, to preach the gospel of development, felt highly.. hypocritical. Plus, I had come to believe that grassroots, ground-up efforts were huge is creating real societal change. So I put my binoculars down, and looked at what was right in front of my face.

It was the food system that really caught my attention. The subsidies, the CAFOs, the food desserts, the diet induced health epidemics. I had long held a love for being outside, and experiencing wild places, and as I pivoted towards issues within my own society, I vacillated between environmental stewardship- keeping the wild wild, and agriculture- which I saw as human manipulated nature. For I felt that communities needed access to numerous small farms growing real, nutritious foods to move the needle. However, I first decided to try the wild wild, and I took several internships at National Parks, the Grand Tetons in Wyoming and Olympic National Park in Washington. And I had truly beautiful, character developing times in those places. But the bureaucracy and desk oriented nature of the work? Not for me. So I came back to California and took a job at a budding heirloom seed company, and have been completely unable to shake farming since. There is a lot I could say about the satisfaction of the work, of being outside daily and in touch with the environment, and using my hands and my body, of watching things grow, of nurturing ‘real’ food. Over a decade later, and I still often think of the words of a farmer looking out at a vibrantly healthy field, row after row exploding with color and sheen, “If looking out at this field gives you a deep feeling of fulfillment and happiness, you know you’re in the right profession”. At the time I wasn’t sure if I was, but I can not quantify the amount of time that I have spent watching animals graze and frolic, and plants grow, and felt that deep sense of contentment and gratification. Farming has a romantic reputation for good reason, and I have spent a lot of days feeling very lucky to do what I do. But it can also be grueling, never ending, beating your body and sanity to a pulp, and leaving it’s dirty dishes in the sink and the front door open when it’s done. But I wholeheartedly love what I do, and that’s the bottom line through all the bad days and times of doubt. Because there’s got to be something down there right? I didn’t want a ‘real’ job, and I didn’t get one. I’ve found a lifestyle I’m passionate about that makes me a living. That’s certainly not the same for everyone in agriculture, and I respect that. However I’m looking at a way to marry the wild wild nature and our human created agriculture, in the way of regenerative practices, and specifically regenerative grazing practices. This apprenticeship, a decade later, feels like walking through a door I hadn’t known existed. The many different paths and trails I’ve taken within agriculture have all seemed to coalesce to bring me here. Healing the land and raising nourishing foods? I’m here to learn.

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