[ Read time: 10 minutes | 934 words ]
Hey, Mama. I had a big day today, and I decided to email you, instead of calling you, because today was important. I needed to write my thoughts out and look them over, and really think things through.
As we drove into town, Mac’s old ’63 pickup bumping down the street, he told me that people were trying to shut down our beef operations. Put us out of business.
He said, “They make fake beef out of vegetables, now, son. I’ll take you to the local supermarket here and show you.”
“Well, Mac,” I said, “Some people can’t eat beef. Digestive problems. Or, they choose not to, and as far as I know, this is still America and they’re free to make choices, right?”
Mac looked left and right as we crossed the intersection and headed to the town’s central plaza. “Son, that’s not what I’m talking about. You’ll see when I turn the corner here.”
Mama, we drove toward the courthouse, and there they were, about a hundred people protesting on the courthouse lawn, holding up signs and banners condemning ranchers as evil murderers.
After Mac drove around the courthouse plaza, he headed to a grocery store. I hadn’t spoken a word the whole time I was in such shock about the protesters. Mac and I went inside the store and he headed toward the frozen foods section. There they were, dozens and dozens of frozen meals made out of plants, but pretending they were from animal protein. The chicken nuggets made from plants? They had the words “chick’n” on the front, without the “e”.
“Uncle Mac, don’t they have any real chicken nuggets?”
“Over here, son.” Mac walked over to a small section of the freezer case. Down at the bottom, almost hidden from view, were a few boxes of meals made from real chicken. Same with the beef burritos. I had to look real hard to find them.
We walked out of the store and drove to the post office, where Mac picked up the mail and packages for the ranch. That was the reason we came into town. I was quiet the whole drive over. Mac loaded the packages behind me, set the mail between us, and headed toward the highway.
The open rangeland came into view. Ravens and kestrels circled on the thermals, watching for prey. A coyote ran across the two lanes and disappeared into a dry wash. The thunderheads, hugging the horizon, turned the sky a robin’s egg blue and gave us a promise of rain on our parched lands.
Mama, what did our family do to cause such hatred in people? What did our neighbors and their families do? I asked Uncle Mac.
“Son,” he rubbed an eye with one hand. “We did nothing wrong, and I want you to hold onto that. It’s the truth. The world is changing, and it’s changing fast. People believe what they believe, and officials are trying to choke us out of our business. I don’t know why, but our folk did nothing wrong. We live a way of life that humans have lived for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. But, it seems, the world is changing against us based on new beliefs.”
“Uncle Mac, I don’t know how to be anything but what we do.” Mama, I felt my throat tighten. “We all care for each other. Look after our neighbors. We treat our livestock with respect, and we’ve always felt grateful that we were producing food for our communities.”
“I know, son, I know.” Mac rubbed his other eye with his other hand. “And your father would be so proud of you the way you’re growing up. I believe he’s watching from heaven. I know my sister is very proud of you and surprised at how fast you’re becoming a well-mannered, hard-working young man.”
So, Mama, I’m here at the ranch house writing this email to you because I have some questions. Mama, will they, those protesters and the officials, will they let me grow up to follow in your footsteps, to be a rancher like you, Dad, and Uncle Mac, and my grandparents? And their parents and grandparents? We’ve been good stewards of this land, of our livestock, for many generations. We’ve worked with other land managers to make sure we don’t overgraze, and we protect the watersheds and riparian areas.
We provide food for our communities. We help our neighbors through hard times, pulling together and getting things done through love and teamwork. We learn to work very hard when we’re only toddlers, taking on ranch chores you give us because we want to be like you adults.
Mama, if only these people would come visit us, get to know us, and learn about our way of life. We’re not evil people because we raise cattle. I’ve only known good people in our community, and I value our way of life. I love looking up at the millions of stars on moonless nights, my head resting on my saddle while my dog sleeps beside me after riding all day to the most remote section of Mac’s ranch.
Why can’t they have their beliefs and we have our beliefs? Why push us out of business? The family’s always told me that’s what’s good about America, living together with our different beliefs.
I’m missing Dad tonight. Wish he were still here so I could talk to him. But, I think all these protests would break his heart.
Mama, will they let me grow up to be a cowboy?
What am I going to do if they don’t?
© Copyright 2021—Present, Jenise Cook, All Rights Reserved Worldwide.
Written: 25 September 2021.
Self published: 26 September 2021, on JeniseCook.com
Image credit: “Mutton Bustin'” by Jenise Cook (on a ranch in northern Arizona)
The Story Behind this Story
Mark and I attended an event open to the public. The local cattle growers association holds an annual Calf Sale and BBQ just off a state highway in our county. I’ve wanted to go for over 10 years, but something always got in the way of our schedule. This year worked out for us, and we had a nice time, even in the rain. Arizonans love the rain; it’s never an unwelcome guest.
Everyone was pleasant, fun, and nice to talk with. The event was canceled last year (2020) due to COVID. We all were grateful we could be together.
Before the BBQ lunch, we watched the Mutton Busting event for the three-to-four year olds. The adults took great care of both the sheep and the little ones. Families cheered on their toddlers with pride. I chatted with one family who said their kids sit on sheep and horses months before they learn how to walk. An adult helping them, of course.
We then walked over to the huge, dirt covered BBQ pit and the outdoor ranch stoves and ovens. Teenagers with wooden paddles half their height stood by the hot fires, stirring up the ranch beans cooking in the huge aluminum pots.
Then, the rain increased and we took shelter under the large, covered dining area. We talked with a visiting rancher, who lamented that there were only 20 calves available for sale. We talked about the decades-long drought in the west, and how the previous year hurt ranching operations. Precipitation was scarce and wildfires decimated the land. Cattle producers this year had to cull their herds by 50% to survive as the rain held itself back and feed prices rose.
People on both ends of the process are getting hurt. Beef prices on the wholesale market, what the ranchers receive, have dropped while we shoppers see rising prices in our grocery stores (doubled as I write this). Who profits? The processors (those who butcher and package the meat) and the distributors. Early this year, Mark and I began to buy as many groceries as we could from local food producers. We want to support our community farmers and ranchers directly. They all work hard to produce healthy animal protein and pesticide-free produce. The best part is we get to meet the families who produce our food.
The visiting rancher also talked about the new and rapidly growing trend to get people to stop eating beef (we were at a cattle ranch). I’ve seen the videos of protesters in large cities, and the growing number of plant-based frozen meals in one of our large chain grocery stores.
I understand when people choose not to eat animal protein, and they are free to make that choice.
Melancholy
When I was born, my parents still lived on the old dairy ranch (farm) founded by my Cook grandparents, Ridge-View Dairy. Just up the highway was my Dad’s cousins’ cattle ranch. My family’s property no longer functioned as a dairy when I was small. My father had a “real job” as an engineer during the Cold War in southern California’s bustling defense contracting industry. When I was three, we moved off our land to the suburbs. Through eminent domain, the state built a four-lane highway through my family’s property, and our collective hearts were broken.
Today, as I write this, I still have an Ag daughter’s heart. (Ag meaning agricultural) My grandparents had put together a beautiful photo album of the property they loved, and had worked hard to build out of raw land. I flipped through those pages constantly, trying to engrave every photo in my memory of my family’s beautiful land. After our move, we visited my Dad’s relatives on Sunday drives to their ranch house, and my eyes would sweep over their rugged cattle land. How I longed to own and ride a horse.
At times I wonder, what if the state had built a highway somewhere else, and we were able to keep our property. My growing up years would have been very different and more in line with how I am deep inside.
At the Calf Sale and BBQ event, as I looked at the teenagers stirring the ranch beans in the stock pots, and I wondered about their futures. Would their family ranches still be operating when they were ready to take over as the new leaders?
And thus, this story was born, from a bit of wondering, and from a lot of personal melancholy.
Your Turn
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