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Paul Marchant

Paul Marchant is an active rancher who tells stories as though we're all "sittin' horseback and ridin' drag" together. His Irons in the Fire articles both entertain and spur thought about personal values and goals.

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She got home later than she’d wanted to. She’d been out on a breeding project over by the Nebraska line. It had been a windy, miserable day by most folks’ standards, but a little rain had come with the never-ending east Wyoming wind, so she knew better than to complain.

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Way back when I was in grade school, one of the biggest events of the year was the science fair for the fifth- and sixth-graders.

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The newest tractor on the place is 40 years old. We call the 2003 Ford the “new pickup.” The closest thing we have to a side-by-side ATV is the ’93 Chevy 3/4-ton with a modified flatbed we use to feed the cows.

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I grew up on a diversified little outfit. Along with my uncle’s family, we ran a couple hundred range cows, a mink operation and a little dairy where we milked 30 or so cows.

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I had a free weekend, and I’d worked it out so I could help my dad move cows from one unit of the forest allotment to another.  My folks had just bought the ranch in southern Idaho’s Oakley Valley a year or two earlier while I was in college, and it would be several years before I would make that same ranch my permanent home.

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His color was just ordinary old bay, but he was a real looker – big, stout hip; nice, neat, pretty head; solid, heavy bone; four black feet and built like a brick house.

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