Paul Marchant

The changing seasons and my constant struggle with those changes provides me with plenty of writing fodder. It seems that no matter what Ma Nature throws at me or lays at my feet, I can find a reason to whine about it. There are those around me who might use a different term to describe my incessant “complaining,” but I try to keep my musings as family-friendly as possible.

Hard though it may be to believe, I am not the most tech-savvy guy crashing and burning his way along the information superhighway.

The Matthews boys had gathered their cattle down off of the Camel Rock piece a few days before the real rank weather hit. The next day, Broden called to let us know he’d seen a pair of ours up on the hillside above Emerson Green Spring.

Harold A.I.s a lot of cows. As a matter of fact, in my view, he’s kind of a rock star in the world of big Western herd A.I. Every spring he has big breeding projects lined up all over the Great Basin and Intermountain West.

Over the years, I’ve argued, debated, conversed and commiserated with my kids over myriad subjects and themes, ranging from the length of my daughters’ dresses and my sons’ ability to tuck a shirt in to presidential politics, the price of October fat cattle and serious social issues like racism and sexual violence.

Every year, about the middle of June, we turn the cows out onto one unit or the other of our Forest Service allotment.