What Generational Ranching looked like for me.

I grew up a ranchers daughter, and knew from a pretty young age it was an industry I wanted to stay in. Figuring out my place in it hasn’t always been easy, but I can’t imagine doing anything else.

When I was a kid we lived in “town.” A tiny little town on the county road the led up the valley. It consisted of about 75 people. A little store that sold gas and groceries, a post office, and an old bar, that provided beer, wine, and a game of pool or cards to all the dusty cowboys that came in. We lived right next to the bar. It was owned and operated by an old couple up in their eighties, Jim and Bertie. They never stayed open very late, and would let my sister and I come in and play pool when it was slow. I was barely big enough to see over the edge of the table, and old Jim was teaching me how to make a bank shot, while Bertie was yelling at us not to track dirt on the floor.

The family ranch was about three miles south east of town. My great grandpa lived there in one house. My aunt uncle and cousins in the other one, they called the cook house. I was always jealous they got to live on the ranch and I didn’t, but every chance I got I was there. If I was up early enough in the morning I would catch a ride with my Dad. If I missed him, I would wait for my Uncle Dave to pull up to the bar. He would go in and visit Jim for a bit, and I would be sitting in his pickup ready to go when he came out.

Once there, my cousins and I had the full run of the ranch. We had forts built in the barn loft, in the willows out by the creek, and down the lane. We trapped skunks, rode horses, played games, and visit Grandad for snacks. Usually sugar cookies, or government cheese. No one worried about where we were, as long as we surfaced sometime before dark. And we were oblivious to the work and the worry they all had keeping the operation going.

Once I was about twelve I could drive myself down. Of course that also meant the fun and games were over, I was big enough to help. So they put me on the swather. I helped cut hay every summer until I was sixteen. I figured out I could make more money if I took a job in the next town up the road, and I wouldn’t have to spend my summers in the hot hayfields running old equipment. It didn’t take me long to realize being on a ranch was where I belonged…

It seems to happen often with farm and ranch kids. They can’t wait to get away from it, then realize the money isn’t worth it, or it is not the life they want. Once they leave it’s not always easy finding a way back.
I think a misconception that is made about generational farmers and ranchers is that their kids are just given something for nothing. Just handed a business. It isn’t that simple. The next generation might be given the opportunity, but it is definitely worked for. It is hard to pay a living wage on these places. There is no benefit packages, or overtime payed. In most cases a different profession would be a more financially sound choice.

By staying, or going back. These kids are choosing unreliable markets, family conflict, year to year uncertainty, sacrifice, struggle, and constant worry that their generation might be the one to lose it.

It takes years to start and grow these operations. It’s hard to do in one lifetime. Many times ownership is barely obtained in a generation, before the next one takes over running it.

So why does the next generation stay, or come back?

They don’t choose it because it’s given, or because they aren’t educating enough to do something else. They choose it because its the life they want, a life well lived, and one they want to pass on to their kids. There is a loyalty to family, and to the land they grew up on. They know that money isn’t what makes you rich.

What is the alternative if it’s not passed on?

The average age of the American farmer and rancher is 58 years old. If the next generation doesn’t step in, land most likely will be sold. Much of it will be developed. 1.9 million acres of it in 2022. Land that will never see another crop, or animal grazed on it. Out of production forever. If we keep going at that rate where will our food come from?

Any first generation rancher can tell you how valuable land is. The income from raising cattle certainly isn’t going to buy you land. These folks are renting or trading for the use of it, and it is hard to come by. This makes it hard for anyone just starting out in this business.

Right now 98% of farms and ranches in the US are family owned. This number is so important, it means food security. As long as we can keep food production in the hands of independent producers, the consumer will win. If it starts moving in the way of meat packing, where four big corporations own it all, the price fix will be in and the supply uncertain. We experienced some of this during the pandemic. Like the saying goes, control the food, control the people. It is in everyones best interest to keep these generational family farms and ranches going.

So the next time you hear someone say “they got that from their dad” I hope you say “good, I hope they can make a go of it.” 

As for me, I did stayed in this industry. I graduated high school. Took some college course, and got married young to someone that wanted the same thing I did. To raise cattle, and a family. We have spent the last three decades on his family ranch doing just that. I worked in town when we needed the money, but it was always for a common goal. Just like when I was a kid always looking for a way back to the ranch.

Now seeing our kids working hard for the same life, and their kids excited to get on the horses and ride in the tractors. Having the same experiences I did as a kid. I feel like all the hard days were worth it.

My Uncle and cousins are still on the old family ranch keeping things going to hopefully see the next generation on that land one day.

Looking back, I don’t think I really realized how bad I wanted it until I left, but I feel like I have been fighting for it my whole life. From all the way back in front of the old bar in my Uncle’s pickup.

Like I said, I can’t imagine doing anything else.