Vagneur: Connecting generations of ranchers
Tony Vagneur/Courtesy photo
Like any good budding example of suburban sprawl, our valley now is a cohesive, 4-lane strip of asphalt between Aspen and Glenwood, with friends living all along that black ribbon, either side of the road. Some even farther away, much further away.
Coming from a rancher kid who grew up in Woody Creek, it was much more singular and insulated back in the day. Some of us young ranchers were in 4-H and might notice each other once a year at the fair, which was usually held in Aspen at the Silver Stampede rodeo grounds.
We knew who each other were, but we weren’t really friends, and I was always impressed by how business-like and hard-working they seemed to be. They stuck out in my mind, as generally I wondered how their lives compared — were they similar to mine? Did we have comparable chores? How did we deal with the isolation? etc. Ranch kids. That’s what many of us were. Some of us still are.
Darwin Barta, son of long-time ranchers next to Holland Hills, has been a life-time friend, and his neighbor, Stanley Usel, was a good friend until they sold and moved away. Today, I’m good friends with Jerry Gerbaz, uncle of life-long friend, Jimmy Gerbaz (RIP), and for years, I worked with Jimmy Cerise and Carolyn Cerise Barabe on Aspen Mountain, familial, one-time owners of Little Woody Creek. And Robert Zupanicis. The Natal boys lived up the road, and I spent a lot of time with Dennis. Leroy Duroux ring a bell?
About 20 years ago, I became good friends with Billy Grange, who lives and ranches just across 82 from Basalt. The family is well-known locally for not only having ranched there for 4-generations, but who also put a conservation easement on their ranch back in 2007. Saved that view plane from development.
I had leased some hay ground contiguous to Billy, and for this reason or that, I’d sometimes stop by his house, and we’d spend an inordinate amount of time visiting over his kitchen table, much of it reminiscing about our growing up years in the valley and on our respective ranches. Our tales were similar, but Billy had me bested when he said, “At least you had the movie theater.”
At present, Billy ranches the place with his nephew, Peter, son of Jimmy Grange who died in 1993 from a ranch accident. I’ve made the offer to Billy in years past, that if he needs any help to give me a call, and he always says his family is happy to be doing the work. Perfect.
So, as it turns out, if you can keep up with this anecdote of life, my son-in-law, Ty, and I also lease some ranch land just down the road from Billy, and rather than wait to get our tractor hauled from Woody Creek to cut our hay, Ty connected with Peter, who said he’d be happy to do the cutting.
Glory, that saved us some big logistical issues.
Peter and I agreed to cut this past Monday and, given the modern convenience of iPhones, determined what time to meet, in a different manner than we might have in the old days, when we were using horses to power farm implements.
Except Peter is a fourth-generation rancher who knows how it all works in this contemporary age. He showed up with a shiny John Deere and a seasoned cutter, ready to get with it. He impressed the hell out of me: a young guy with years of maturity beyond his chronological age, cultivated by his years on the ranch. His questions about the job were right on, like mostly what should he look out for? Use your best judgement, Peter. That was about the first conversation we’d ever had, I think.
And then it hit me: He was the next generation of those kids I used to see at the 4-H fairs and other venues, a ruddy-faced, good-looking man, healthy, alert, and clearly one who enjoys his work. It took me back years, to those days when I first saw his father Jimmy and Billy around, and somehow, there was a kinship I felt between us, a connection from the past, two of a disappearing, pioneering breed in the valley — a generation apart but who spoke the same language of ranching and farming.
He probably didn’t feel it as I did, but he made a huge impression on me to be sharing a part of the day, getting something done. Making more history. And, I might add, he did an excellent job of cutting our hay.
Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at ajv@sopris.net.
Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at ajv@sopris.net.
