I feed my family beef.
I believe in what we are doing with every salt grain of my soul.
If ranching was simpler, I would spend every day on the pastures where our cattle live.
A Spring spent in wildflowers and storms that make the bunch grass sweeter.
Summers up high in the canyons, watching snow melt into springs where I drink.
Fall would be tougher but I'd be happy to come home. I would lend myself to fertilizing farm fields and eating leftovers like it was Thanksgiving all season long.
Winters spent pregnant, lounging in snow.
Comfortable knowing that the feed truck may be late but will never not deliver.
That is the life of a cow. That is where your beef comes from.
I know you must care.
About this land we live on, live from. About what your feed family.
Keep listening when I tell you, you don't care like I do.
You see, my kids won't get to eat if we treat these animals and the land they are on with neglect.
If the soil was bare and the elk stopped returning, my grandkids wouldn't have a chance to live like we do now.
You can't compete with the way we care out here because, you are not and your calloused hands, are not.
You haven't had to take a life and waste the meat of another wolf killed heifer.
You didn't group text a picture of a dung beetle like it was a gender reveal.
And you didn't cry into the cracked soil when a rainstorm didn't deliver.
I feed my family beef.
We sit at our table, 3 generations, with blood on our hands and light in our hearts.
We are grateful and grounded in our choices.
The cows are on the mountain range chewing their cud, bedded under starlight.
I add salt to my steak and we will ride with them in the morning.
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