Juan Andres Pacheco. Former caretaker of this portion of America’s vast grassland. He wasn’t the first. The Native Americans…the Spanish…the Mexican vaqueros once inhabited this land. Natives still roam the landscape.
Along with current ranch occupants.
The ranch family tree keeps branching.
Coronado explored this part of North America searching for the Seven Cities of Gold.
He didn’t find the cities. He found the great American West.
Did he observe how the sky swallows one up in this part of New Spain?
The blood of Coronado’s lost horses beats true in the hearts of our equines. The land and beast stewardship continue.
Doesn’t matter your age.
Doesn’t matter your sex.
There’s no time to question.
Just get the job done. It doesn’t have to be pretty, but sometimes it is.
Wisdom is available. Listening required.
Years of abundance blend with years better forgotten; drought, fire, record snowstorms.
Loss is a companion.
Pulling on boots can signal hope.
Work is unending. Cattle don’t consult calendars or time pieces.
Moments treasured with family and friends in precious, cool water. Perhaps we’ve found our Cibola?