Romancing the Ranch
When two 1970s city slickers try their luck at ranching in the great American West, they earn a newfound respect for farm life—and some very amused neighbors.
My move from Princeton, N.J., to Denver, Colo., after college was a quest for a better work-life balance than my dad ever had. He was a lifelong commuter from Princeton, mostly to New York. At best, his round trip was three hours, adding up to fifteen hours a week, or sixty hours per month in transit. I resolved to find something different.
After graduating from college I made haste to Denver and before long had a job at the city’s second-largest bank. It was a good job with great co-workers, even if the pay was largely in the form of great weather and nearby mountains rather than cash. A couple of my co-workers at the bank, about ten years my senior, had had success investing in ranch properties. Their first buy was small but well-timed. They were soon able to sell it for a big profit, reinvesting immediately in a larger place. They were on their third iteration when I met them. Their business plan involved buying 450-pound steers in the spring and pasturin…
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