Lately, my mind has been filled with thoughts about a man I never had the opportunity to meet but who greatly impacted my life. He was an important figure in my husband’s life before we met, and I wish he’d known the ripple effect his life had before he passed away.
When my husband was in high school, he spent summers working for Allen’s Diamond 4, an outfitter that co-operated at times of the year with a ranch outside of Lander, Wyoming. While on the cattle ranch part of the operation, he learned about cattle handling, moving cows and range management from a man named Tony Malmberg.
I’ve heard an abundance of Tony stories – and stories about the people who worked with him, including Pee Wee, who shared his native ways and tales with others. Many lives were better for having been impacted by these men.
I visited the ranch where the stories occurred but missed meeting Tony, who was out of town at the time. I got to meet influential others, like Pee Wee, the Allens and a couple of other ranch hands.
When my husband found out Tony had written a book (Green Grass in the Spring: A Cowboy’s Guide to Saving the World) about his ranch experiences, outlining his tough beginnings to his holistic management approach, he messaged Tony, ordered it and read it cover to cover. They’d planned to talk it over after he finished the book, but it didn’t happen. A long pause after unanswered texts led to the news: Tony had passed away.
We’d known he was sick, but we were still hopeful they’d be able to connect over the book and life. In fact, I had picked up the book in the hope that I’d finish it before he passed. I didn’t make it very far.
However, I kept reading. His story is fascinating, albeit unorthodox. But what kept me flipping pages was “watching” his change of heart unfold on the pages as his life experiences blended a tough cowboy with a tender observer. Having come from a background of keeping old cowboy traditions, Tony’s initial beginnings were that of rough stock – make the cattle obey you, work constantly, work harder, take the grass until it’s gone, mock the newcomers and the rich who obviously don’t give a lick about real ranching. The mindset he describes himself as having in his early years certainly isn’t an anomaly. Perhaps all of us go through a phase where we assume that if we only work harder, it’ll work out.
If we only give up all our free time, it’ll help.
If we only push to make this work, it will.
If we only yell a little louder, pray a little harder, sleep a little less …
When we were first beginning, we made mistakes, and one of the biggest ones was pushing harder to make things happen. It rarely works. Hard work is necessary. That’s a given, but it doesn’t have to be around the clock.
Reading about how Tony changed from one mindset to the next and how it impacted his overall well-being, both on and off the ranch, was an encouragement. While we hadn’t stayed in touch with Tony during that phase of life, we were also going through a similar process in changing our mindsets.
How does one become a tough cowboy with a tender touch? Well, it’s a process that includes being open to new ideas and listening to people with whom we wouldn’t ordinarily sit at the same table.
We are living in a time when it seems like it always has to be us vs. them. It doesn’t really matter who the us is or who them is, there seems to be a rhythm of disunity whenever different ideologies are discussed. This is the right way to do it, so if you don’t do it this way, you are wrong.
This way of thinking automatically kicks us out of conversations that might bring us closer to creative solutions. We don’t have to give up our way of thinking or our beliefs. Quite the contrary: Our different trains of thought are all important. We need to see people for the value they have, not for the fight we think they are bringing. What can we glean from each other’s experiences? How can we see things from a different perspective?
Tony talks about this regarding his pasture health. He thought he was taking care of his land in the best possible way, but a certain pasture had bare spots and grass that seemed to be thinning. After taking time to harshly judge a khaki-pants-wearing conservationist, Tony listened to him and learned about resting his land, when to rotate cattle in that pasture and how to bring back native species. It took several years, but he saw benefits as native grasses began to return to the area where they hadn’t been seen in a long time.
Tony’s words reminded me of what life is about: process.
I’d rather see a neat bow tied at the end of every day and every season. Plans are good and necessary – we need them – but the outcome we anticipate those plans producing isn’t going to happen overnight. It might take many nights. A year. Several years. But the process is worth it.
Thank you, Tony, for blessing my husband when he was a teen and for reminding me of the importance of connecting with others and paying attention to the process. You had the tender touch of a tough cowboy, and we are grateful for you.
