From the Editor

It was the third straight Christmas we lived far from home. I worked in a college town in the deep South, where it never snowed at Christmas.

Let me start this year’s Thanksgiving column by admitting that our family won’t be cooking a traditional meal come Nov. 25. The household has thinned over the years, and my wife and I have soured over the commitment to cook for eight hours only to eat together for 30 minutes.

The cattle cycle – wherein inventory goes from lows to a recovery to herd highs, followed by liquidation, and then repeats itself – lasts about eight to 10 years.

I grew up on a ranch about four hours away from where I live and work now. It’s about an hour from there to the nearest town with an actual stoplight and an additional half hour to the nearest Walmart. There are more cows than people, and the mountains are only a breath away. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss it. 

As I write this editorial in my hotel room, my boots are off, my feet are up – and if I was wearing a Fitbit, I am certain I would have exceeded the day’s recommended 10,000 steps with more planned tomorrow.

“They’re not growing,” I said, frowning at my dad.