A Blaze Encounter
The Matter of our Existence
We are sovereign American citizens
By Stephen L. Wilmeth
Glenn Beck
bought me supper the other night.
No, he
didn’t make small talk with me nor did he share his own insight regarding the
state of the State, but he bought supper. He was represented by one of his TV
production crews led by Kate Wilke. Kate, Tom, Ryan, and Ted represented him
with professionalism and projected a passion that was refreshing and real.
Until we
meet, Glenn thanks for your involvement, and we appreciate greatly your
interest in the matter of our … sovereign western existence.
The subject of the Visit
Joe Delk
organized the Blaze production visit. His commitment to matters of local
customs and culture must be recognized and applauded.
The ad
nauseum discussion of the designation of Organ Mountain
Desert Peaks
National Monument was
certainly a driver in his efforts, but it wasn’t the only factor. Joe has
become increasingly horrified at the partisan and subversive assault on all heritage
industries. Heretofore, the only national or international press coverage that
has displayed any comprehensive investigative reporting inclination of the
matters surrounding the complex issues of the monument came from a Norwegian TV
crew. That crew was perplexed at the absence of comprehensive coverage of the
issues, and they did a credible job of covering the matter. The problem was it
wasn’t broadcast in America!
The
Delk-Blaze effort became a four day blitz trying to set the stage for a broader
based expose on the complexities. Folks from across southern New Mexico and
eastern Arizona were brought together to discuss the monument, the matter of
border security, the wolf, the wildlands project, the absence of elected senatorial
representation, the breach of legislative planning dictates, and the increasing
assaults on all matters of private property rights.
The interviews
During the
hot, dry, windy day that preceded that meal, six Westerners convened to sit for
interviews in our Goodsight Pasture. We each came worrying about what we were
leaving undone in the midst of the most difficult conditions of the year. June
is, without debate, the harshest time of our ranching year.
Walt
Anderson had seen the dead cow coming up the pipeline road that the others had
been oblivious to. By the time I got back that afternoon to inspect her, her
back end and insides had been gleaned by coyotes and the cause of death
couldn’t be determined. She was a young cow, a second calf cow, and I suspect
she had died fighting coyotes and trying to have her calf.
Later, when
Walt sat for his interview, he discussed the importance of our interdependence.
Without the promised inclusion and participation of most local land use
planning, our mutual support is extremely important when the newest revelation
of impact upon us is discovered in the Federal Register. Our defense countering
the governmental actions against us has been critical, and it has come only
through cohesiveness in our ranks. Within a group of individuals whose natural
inclination inherently prefers individuality, we have found we will likely
cease to exist if we continue alone.
Young
rancher, Wes Eaton, discussed the matter of abject indifference and hostility too
often waged against our ranching community. Asked why he would ever consider
such a life style, his answer was perhaps as revealing as anything else said
during the day. He expressed the immensity of the role of stewardship and how
so few get the opportunity of participation. The barriers, including the endless
regulatory burdens, handicap the vital role of recruitment of young operators,
but, if a young person can navigate the obstacle course leading to the role of
steward … “why would anyone who understands the role want to do anything else”?
While the
production crew and many of the observers sat baking in the sun with short
sleeved shirts and bareheaded or with limited billed cap protection, rancher
Dudley Williams sat comfortably, as he would any other day, in his black hat
and a baby blue long sleeved shirt that matched his eyes. He talked about his
daily life near the international border where state employees are required to
venture only with armed escorts. He reminded the crew of the physical features
of the Arizona class smuggling corridors and
how his Potrillo Mountain ranch has every feature along
with the expanded concern of the rail lines feeding the largest inland port in
the world at nearby Santa Teresa. His assessment that the most important
defensive buffer along the border is the presence of Americans defending their
property rights and … the livestock industry is a most important feature of
that defensive mechanism.
Jim, Seth,
and Haize Hyatt represented three generations of an unbroken lineage of Hyatts
that have ranched in Luna
County since the 1890’s.
As the crew shot video footage of the three of them together, the realization
of the genuine matter of endangered Americans could not be avoided … there they
stood.
Jim talked
about their history. His testimony was a parallel to similar testimony
transcribed from the public hearings held prior and during the ranching
industry cleansing in the Tularosa
Basin following World War
II. Few men in our midst can sit and observe the multigenerational link to the
land that Jim Hyatt referenced. You could see the pride and the concern in his
eyes as he talked about the past and the growing fear of the unknown future.
His ranch is impacted fully by the newly designated national monument that
President Obama signed into law by unilateral fiat. Jim Hyatt doesn’t know how
he will operate with overlapping and confounding jurisdictions and regulatory
impasse.
Seth, like
Wes Eaton, is a precious marker to links from our history to the next phase of
our stewardship existence. Not a single one among us has missed the maturity
Seth has displayed over the past two years. It isn’t that he has not displayed
that trait. It is the obvious level of change that has marked his presence. When
Seth talked about his dad, his family and the importance of continuity in stewardship
commitment, we saw factors of huge importance. The future isn’t a matter of
managing and fighting weather, markets, or the cost of capital … it is the
defense of our existence under the assault of our government.
Continuation
The morning after the TV crew
visit I was back in the Goodsight Pasture trying to catch up.
A phone
call came when it was least welcomed and under the most undistinguished
circumstances. I was lying across a pipe framed float box trying to rebuild a
cover to protect a trough float from cattle pushing for the clean, cool water
discharging from the valve. Twice the float had been broken off and precious
water had been lost from the nearby storage. I cussed the interruption and
dropped my pliers into the trough trying to roll over to answer the phone. I
missed the call and was immediately shoulder deep in the muck as I dug around
trying to find those pliers. Hanging nearly upside down with my face against
the stinking water, I finally found the pliers only to drop my mechanical
pencil into the same black, oozing muck.
‘This
ranching life is pretty dignified’ was part of my uttered words, but it was
framed with adjectives that I would find less dignified after I thought about
them.
The fact is
ranching is my life.
It has always been the driving
force long before I was able to invest in this place. It is from that unintended
emotion I couldn’t grasp any words to answer the Kate Wilke question when she
asked what I would do if I couldn’t continue. I finally answered with the only
thought that would come to mind.
In 1888, Lee
Rice, trailed a herd of PIT cattle down the Butterfield Trail on his way to Grant County.
It is likely he came by our headquarters to water and continued northwest
toward the Uvas Valley
and Ft. Cummings beyond. If that was the route,
it would have been within a quarter of a mile from where I sat trying to answer
Kate’s question.
The
Butterfield Trail has been used as a key feature in the rationale for
designating the monument that now threatens our existence. Lee Rice, using that
trail to create his own family legacy would simply not comprehend how that
thoroughfare, then a simple cattle trail, could serve as a reason to curtail
the stewardship of any rancher … much less his great grandson’s.
I remember eight years ago when a group of ranchers came to my place and asked if I would help them fight a wilderness proposal. I agreed to help, but right now I can only think of three things of a positive nature that resulted from this eight-year battle:° Joe Delk was a ranch-raised fiddle player and feed salesmen. Now he's the chairman of a conservation district, political activist and event organizer dealing with a nationally recognized TV and print news organization.
° Steve Wilmeth had returned to NM to pursue his family heritage of ranching. Now he is a nationally recognized author who writes for Range Magazine, The Westerner and other publications. His style is to beautifully meld history with current events and he's become the premier writer on federal lands and associated issues. When asked about him, I often tell people that I write in mono while Steve writes in stereo.
° The designation of this monument was an admission of defeat by the enviros and their political henchmen. That's right, an admission of defeat. Their goal was to impose the most onerous of all land designations - Wilderness. Senator Bingaman's original legislative proposal never passed the Senate. His second version of the legislation never cleared the committee of jurisdiction, which he chaired. And there wasn't even a hearing held on the version introduced by Senator Udall. In the arena of the democratic process they had their hats handed to them, so they had to go find Obama lurking around behind the chutes. The future of ranching in a Monument is not secure, but it is far better than in a Wilderness, which would have been its death knell.
So the real "hats off" go to the folks like Delk and Wilmeth.
As I sit here reflecting on these two gentlemen, one thought keeps entering my mind: I would like to go back in time.
With Steve Wilmeth I would go back to my pre-wheelchair days when I could mount up and help him work cattle. Hell, I'd even jump off my horse and go fetch his pliers out of the muck.
With Joe Delk, I would go back to our college days, when we'd drink beer by the keg and I would insist Joe play Draggin' The Bow just one more time.
Come to think of it, I can still drink in this wheelchair. So Joe, get your fiddle out and we'll go wake Wilmeth with you playin' and me hollerin'.
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