Letting Go
Pete Ferrell
Originally published in Resilience, Issue #45 – Searching for Home Ground
My daughter is a compassionate physician. One of the more difficult tasks she faces is telling a patient that they “need to get their affairs in order.” Few of us have to address an immediate situation as dire as this, but when talking about the process of ranch succession, many of the same emotions will arise: denial, grief, sadness, repeat. My generation is asked to plan for a time when we are not going to be here. Who wants to do that? It’s not fun, it’s not pleasant. But if we want to perpetuate our ranches, it is absolutely necessary. In my opinion, a perpetuation plan needs to be in place regardless of the age of the current ranch owner/operator. Statistically speaking, the death rate is hanging right in there at 100 percent…one to a person.
The Ferrell Ranch is 7,100 acres situated in the beautiful Flint Hills of Kansas; the Flint Hills are home to the largest tract of intact tallgrass prairie in North America. I began thinking about the succession of our ranch about 20 years ago; I’m 71 now. My children, now adults, were in middle school. Like many ranch dads, I certainly admit that I wanted either or both of them to consider following in my footsteps. I also knew that either or both of them could develop the skills needed to become a ranch manager. At the same time, I felt strongly that neither of them should step into a position of authority just because their last name is Ferrell. I wanted to make it clear that managing a ranch required a skill set similar to any other profession. Just because they were part of the family didn’t mean they naturally had the skills it takes to run a ranch. Stan Parsons, founder of Ranch Management Consultants, advocated that we needed to separate ranch management from land ownership to get a clearer idea of the true worth of our actions. So that’s what I did; I created a management company that leases the ranch real estate. Cash rent is paid from the former to the latter. I also recognized that I would need the rent as retirement income and to satisfy my ongoing debt requirements.
When I turned 60, the hand of time slapped me. By that point, I knew that neither of my offspring were choosing to go into ranching. They love this place as their ancestral home but picked other careers. I also realized that I was not really doing justice to the care of this ranch. I knew there were enterprises and infrastructure that needed to be developed. I recognized that I was not the guy to get that done. I wouldn’t say I was burned out, but I was certainly past my prime. I turned to my colleagues in Executive Link, an educational program for graduates of the Ranching for Profit School, for help. It took a while, but I was able to locate an amazing young man who is more than capable of managing this ranch. He is now in the process of buying the management company. In this way, we have taken the cost of the land out of the succession equation. In my opinion, it is heartbreaking that we typically ask each and every generation to buy these ranches over and over again. What often suffers is the land and the people paying for it. I am doubtful that my generation will find highly-qualified successors (as I have) without offering real ownership. Even with adequate pay, a job title is not enough. Furthermore, few of our successors will arrive at the ranch gate with adequate capital to operate the ongoing business. My successor needed the financial equity that I have worked so hard to build. I’ve learned to trust him with it.
So … has it been a smooth transition? Hell no. Pete Ferrell sometimes exhibits an overactive ego that can really get in the way. He is an unrepentant workaholic and has an opinion about how everything should get done. Whew! He’s a piece of work. Who wants to be around that? Well, we found some secret sauce in the form of a family coach and counselor who has been able to smooth the waters during our transition. There have been several times the process could have been derailed had it not been for our resident sage … a genuine advocate for us all … holding up a mirror to show us who we really are and what we really want. He once shared an Irish adage that has stuck in my head: Every son must kill his father and every father must let him. Now, I’m not suggesting violence here (although that has happened repeatedly throughout history as authority clings to power), but the saying does speak to the necessity that the younger generation must step out of the shadow of their elders. And the elders must encourage this development if they want the next generation to flourish. Every ranching tradition that we might hold near and dear was once a brand-new, unknown thing. It’s time to let go of those traditions and let new ones be born. I have a deep sense of empathy for my brethren who struggle with the unspoken turmoil of this phase of our lives. Sadly, many ranches will not pass to the next generation until they are pried from the cold, dead hands of the late proprietor.
Rootedness does not begin to describe how I feel about this place currently known as the Ferrell Ranch. I was the fourth generation of my family to manage this ranch. Some of our story could be seen as tragedy but threat and opportunity live under the same roof. My great, great grandfather was murdered for money during the Civil War. His wife died soon thereafter, leaving my great grandfather a teenage orphan. My great grandfather (1852-1928), who founded the ranch in 1888, lived a rags-to-riches story not uncommon in the development of the American west. My grandfather (1879–1969), my grandmother (1879–1969), my father (1907–1980) and my mother (1912–2010) witnessed two world wars, the Great Depression, and the Dust Bowl while holding this place together. My ancestors are the heroes of this story, as they had many opportunities for failure but prevailed. I came to my career in ranching with a deep sense of obligation, knowing how much they struggled to give me the opportunities I have enjoyed.
This sense of rootedness goes even deeper. I have a “homing pigeon” sensation about the exact place where we live (in my great grandfather’s house). I became fascinated by the work of Fred Provenza and the way diet (nutritional wisdom) from a specific habitat can affect animal behavior. My parents were eating food grown from this soil when I was conceived. Take. Eat. This is my body given for you. I came from that soil, and I’ll go back to it. I have never wanted to be anywhere else. I was deeply moved watching George Whitten give a Quivira Coalition presentation while standing in a bucket of soil from his ranch. I totally understood that he is not comfortable unless he’s rooted in the very soil that gives him life. His ranch does not belong to him; he belongs to it. It may take a lifetime to develop that feeling.
When my father was 61, he awoke one day to discover that our family’s ranch, where he had worked his entire adult life, had been partitioned. Dad had already suffered a stroke and was told by his physician that a court battle could kill him. He wept and acquiesced to this fate. I’m grateful that he chose to live another 12 years. However, it gave me a front row seat on what happens when the succession of a family ranch is not well managed. I know what happens when there is no habitat of trust. In some respects, my life’s work and instruction is a consequence of that dysfunction. Believe it or not, I’m grateful for those lessons.
My dad had a master’s degree in business. He understood economies of scale and knew that our ranch would not survive if we didn’t try to buy it back. In 1976, he and I purchased half of the portion that was lost in the partition. When he died, I had never written a ranch check. Frightened does not begin to describe my 27-year-old state of mind at that time. Knowing our family history, I didn’t want to be the generation that “lost the farm.” Just beyond my incessant grief over losing my dad waited the haunting question: how was I going to make my payments? After attending my first Ranching for Profit School in 1987, I learned how to answer that question. Stan Parsons became my mentor, sharing his insight about the economics of ranching. I honed this essential skill, and in 1999, I was able to buy back the other portion that was lost. The ranch is now composed of the same acreage that my great-grandfather established in 1888.
I am now of the opinion that it is not possible or even desirable to put an old head on young shoulders. As I recall the five and a half years of my adult life when I worked with my dad, I learned a lot, but he wasn’t able to teach me much of anything. I learned more by watching his example, not by direct instruction. He held space for me to learn. Mark Twain once said, “When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.” That was me. Had anyone else behaved as badly as I did, I’m sure he would have fired them. I have consistently remembered that time, how patient he was with me, and have tried to extend that to my successor.
Teach your children well
Their father’s hell did slowly go by
Feed them on your dreams
The one they pick’s the one you’ll know by
What kind of ancestors do we want to be? I think my generation needs to become true elders (not just “olders” … geezers … set in our ways). It is no longer our turn but we still have much to offer … but only when asked. If we become directive, we rob the next generation of the joy of discovery. If there is trust and faith, they will ask us about our dreams and experience and perhaps learn from us.
And you, of tender years
Can’t know the fears your elders grew by
Help them with your youth
They seek the truth before they can die
(“Teach Your Children” by Graham Nash)
Those who follow us really cannot know what we have been through. And, until you get to this age, you cannot know what it feels like to have to let go of your life’s work. We need help, hope, energy, and empathy from the next generation. Please be gentle with us. We never had all the answers. We’re still finding our way too. We’re all walking each other home.
Wendell Berry shared a quote with me of something his father said to him years ago. When John Berry was quite elderly, he said to Wendell, “I’ve had a good life.” Long pause. “And I had nothing to do with it.” This is the way I feel about my life’s journey. It’s all been a gift … the trials, sorrows, struggles, love, joys, triumphs. I have been blessed beyond measure. I’m happily married and have uber talented children and amazing grandchildren. I hope the next generation may enjoy the adventure as much as I have. I want them to flourish.