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Writer's pictureMarie

The Rangelands



The rangelands are alive.

They speak to us.

They teach us.

Made by God’s hand, in His beauty.

Ever growing, ever changing, but somehow staying the same.

The wonder of growth without rain, green without light.

Providing for its creatures, feeding the countless livestock and wildlife the same.




I sit in a patch of green grass amidst the surrounding thick sagebrush.


Almost able to watch it grow as the sun finally begins to share its warmth at the end of May.


As I run my fingers across the soft blades, I watch as a ewe nibbles the grass beside me.


And then another ewe and another as they walk and graze, constantly walking while grazing.


I notice while herding the 1,600 ewes that they only stop when it’s time to bed or get a drink, otherwise in forward motion with their heads down biting off a blade of grass here, or a chunk of a leaf with the next step.


I learn what they like and what they don’t, where the vegetation changes and grows most abundantly, and the habits of both the sheep and the weather throughout the long hours of the day.


My job is to direct my flock in the right direction so as to not graze the same area twice, aid in lambing complications, and enjoy their presence and the serenity of the range around me.


I love simply being here, watching and listening to them graze.


Selecting the slender green leaves of the prickly greasewood bush or the fine grasses underneath.


These rangelands are their home.


This land is my home.


It’s been our home since the early 1900s, when my great-great grandfather, William Julian, started a sheep herd and family of his own.


Those sheep, this land have been passed down for five generations.


Five generations of caring for our sheep, loving our land, and raising a family.


Countless years and sheepherders watching the sheep graze across the same sagebrush hills, and watching the forage grow back again and again.


I am in constant awe at this incredible and resilient relationship, grazing and growing, the cycle of this beautiful life.




The rangelands are alive in the songs of the birds, the blooming flowers, the smell of the forest.

They speak to us, urging me to continue my family’s legacy and bringing me peace in its presence.

They teach us resilience, patience, and appreciation.

Made by God’s hand, in His beauty, miraculously shown through the bright colors of the sky and glimmering frost on the sagebrush.

Ever growing, ever changing, but somehow staying the same.

The wonder of growth without rain, green without light.

Providing for its creatures, feeding the countless livestock and wildlife the same, just as it was made, for us all to live as one with this land.

Our beautiful and irreplaceable rangelands.

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