As a child, I was often deployed to spend my summers on ranches near Pagosa Springs, Colorado. Before you say, "Oh wow! That place is beautiful!", which by the way it is, understand that this was very much a working vacation . I love my family. I loved my time on the ranches. I was outside. I was free. I learned by doing. I was tutored by experts who cared deeply about me and about the work. The ranch and the animals treated everyone equally . There was diversity of experience and life. We were all included in the tasks. My grandpa's sister, Eula, kept sheep. Lots of them. This day was my day to help, while the others cut, raked, and bailed hay. One day while we were riding around in the flat bed Chevy, checking irrigation and fence, as we headed back to the pens, she was telling me about how she knew each of her sheep by their voice. I was inwardly incredulous, as they all sounded alike, echoing one another with their baa-ing. As we wound our way up the dirt road tow...
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