A Land of Grass Ranch

04/28/2024

First lamb of the season — he has a lot of mamas!

12/19/2023

11/18/2023

Pondering Biofuel Waste
By Lisa Schmidt

I have questions, far more than I have answers.
I have hope, even as I wonder whether what is happening up the road from my ranch could easily become hopeless.
I’m optimistic that the people involved will follow the spirit of the law. Optimism goes along with hope, holding hands as both venture into the dark, slimy world of potentially toxic, contaminated wastewater.
Maybe everyone is following laws designed to protect groundwater that feeds all of us.
A few weeks ago when I stopped in to chat with my county commissioners, I happened to learn about a biodiesel company that wanted to dump wastewater down an abandoned oil well.
I support the American Dream of capitalism. In fact, I spend a lot of time and effort chasing that dream, but groundwater from that abandoned well could flow into my watershed and impact the 16 springs I rely on to water my family, livestock and grass.
I needed to know what is in that wastewater.
The county sanitarian and Disaster and Emergency Services coordinator were interested, too. Both had visited the site and made phone calls. Neither had received any guidance from state or federal agencies created to protect resources that communities share.
The commissioners told me that the waste disposal company had applied for a class 5 permit from the Environmental Protection Agency. They want to fill four injection wells for the next 20 years. While the company waited for permit approval, they had filled an above-ground Poseidon tank almost 100 miles from the biodiesel plant.
The expense of hauling 10 semi-loads of wastewater 100 miles every single day of the year seemed excessive if the wastewater was harmless.
I called the EPA. The recorded message said they didn’t plan to return my call because they were short-staffed. I checked online. Same message
I called the Montana Department of Environmental Quality. Several employees told me that they did not have jurisdiction over biodiesel and nobody knew who did. One employee had called the Montana Oil and Gas Commission, but they denied responsibility, too.
The sanitarian managed to get the results of a wastewater test but couldn’t interpret those results. I sent them to several friends who work in the groundwater industry. Interpretations were mixed. One person was concerned about the arsenic, oil and grease in the water and the increased reactions of oxidized chemicals with natural soil. Another said drinking water wouldn’t be compromised, but the salinity level in the wastewater would eventually rise in the soil until only kochia would grow there.
An expert who had worked in the coalbed methane fields of southeastern Montana said he had never seen a Poseidon tank that didn’t leak.
Meanwhile, the Poseidon tank needed to be emptied so trucks hauled wastewater to railcars in Shelby, another 40 miles away. The railcars would take it to an EPA-permitted site in Wisconsin.
Sometimes those trucks roared past residences at 4:30 a.m., sometimes at 11 p.m. The gravel road turned to soup when it snowed. The narrow county bridge on that road worked harder than ever.
Nobody has accused the biodiesel manufacturer of breaking the law, but nobody is monitoring the waste contents or disposal. The county commissioners, sanitarian and emergency services coordinator have asked for guidance, yet received none.
I worry about the impacts to the soil and groundwater, but the real problem is that there is no process to track and supervise biofuel waste. Hauling it 100 miles away to a rural site on a dead-end road conjures the phrase “out of sight, out of mind.” As a relatively new technology, legal oversight of biodiesel wastewater is left in the dust.
A reliable process provides answers.
I need answers.

Lisa Schmidt raises grass-fed beef and lamb at the Graham Ranch near Conrad. Lisa can be reached at [email protected].

08/29/2023

Bringing the sheep in from the west pasture tonight.

08/08/2023

Can’t get much more local than A Land of Grass lamb and garden vegetables!

06/18/2023

Pondering Sampling Water Just in Case

By Lisa Schmidt



I expect oil drillers to arrive at my ranch any moment.

I don’t own the oil and gas rights under my land so I don’t have a way to negotiate how their drilling and fracking procedures will protect my land and water. This concerns me.

I’m most concerned about my water.

This ranch boasts 16 springs, all of which are vulnerable to drilling holes in the ground.

Groundwater experts have told me two things: First, the water originates in the Rocky Mountains, about 50 miles west of the ranch. Second, that water flows down into the ground, hits a semi-permeable layer of shale, turns and flows out of the ground on my ranch.

So all 16 springs are connected and could be contaminated by spills or drilling through that semipermeable layer of shale.

And all 16 springs are vulnerable to water leaking through the drilled holes so they could dry up.

My sheep, cattle, horses and my daughter would have nothing to drink.

Cows need 30 gallons of water each day.

Sheep need 5 gallons each day.

My daughter, Abby, enjoys a gallon to drink plus enough to shower. Laundry, cooking, dishes and hand-washing use more than that.

Without water, this ranch would cease to function.

I have yet to meet the particular oil drilling company who has leased the drilling rights, but industry experts assure all of us that during the normal drilling procedure, they slide well casing down the hole to support the well, protect the tools, hoses and chemicals that go deep into the ground and shield the surrounding earth and water.

This is only good business.

When oil explorers came to search for oil in 2011, my friend Ginette, who is a groundwater expert for the Montana Bureau of Mines and Geology, helped me measure the flow of my springs.

We tested the water quality of each spring, too, but we didn’t test for hydrocarbons.

Meanwhile, I read about ranchers in eastern Montana and Wyoming who could light the water flowing from their kitchen tap on fire after fracking occurred in their areas.

Every rancher knows that when something breaks or something bad happens, it is probably caused by the most recent change.

If the cows get out, check for fence that was knocked down.

If the electricity goes out, check for a flipped breaker.

If tap water starts on fire, check for oil drilling in the area that pumped volatile, flammable chemicals down a well casing, deep into the earth.

But in the articles I read, the oil drillers denied responsibility for contaminating the groundwater. The drillers said the water could have already been capable of catching on fire, but nobody noticed before. The ranchers had not tested water samples before the drillers began so they had no way to prove their water had not been flammable, no data to compare.

Oil drillers might or might not contaminate my water. My fingers are crossed that all will go well, my cows will continue to have a drink and my daughter can continue to do laundry.

Still, I collected water samples from three of the most vulnerable springs that are scattered across the ranch and sent them to a reputable, objective water testing laboratory so I have baseline data. If I need to test contaminated water someday in the future, I will have something to compare it to.

Besides the usual tests for drinking water quality, I asked the lab to test for heavy metals and volatile petroleum hydrocarbons. I already know my water won’t catch on fire right now. These tests prove it.

These tests are not cheap. So far, I have invested about $1000 in water sample testing.

I really hope I just wasted that money.



Lisa Schmidt raises grass-fed beef and lamb at the Graham Ranch near Conrad. Lisa can be reached at [email protected].

05/03/2023

Pondering Spring Football Season
By Lisa Schmidt

I spotted her up on a grassy hill, head lowered, front feet splayed.
She turned in a tight circle. I caught sight of tiny white ears in her shadow.
Spring football season was about to begin.
This time, the field was about a half mile.
Each team had only one player, the ewe and me.
My goalposts were at the barn where the ewe and her baby would be safe. The mysterious location of her goalposts varied.
The lamb was the football so a passing game was off-limits.
I planned to let the ewe play offense first, leading the lamb downfield until the baby got tired. Then I would pick him up and carry him at my vulnerable knee-height to keep the defense’s attention.
Most ewes are not great defensive players – after all, what do they really have to work with? -- so I expected to make a touchdown.
This ewe had been practicing during the offseason.
I stepped closer to her, expecting her to turn and walk away. Instead, she faced me, pawing the ground.
As a good defensive linebacker, I hunched low and stepped closer.
She circled her lamb, nudging it away from me, gaining only a yard.
At this rate, we would get to the barn just in time for fall football season.
I called delay of game.
My turn on offense. I picked up the baby.
The ewe rammed my knee.
It wasn’t actually a tackle, but at this rate, I would be crippled before I made a touchdown.
I relinquished the football.
The ewe pulled a quarterback sneak, taking off with lamb dashing behind her, trotting toward her secret invisible goalposts down in the coulee.
Her bleating sounded like the roar of the cheering crowd.
As I sprinted to block her progress, I realized I should have been practicing during the off-season, too.
I also realized that I had played this opponent before.
I made the same chase from the same hill last year.
I checked my record book.
I had scratched a note next to this ewe’s number – Good Mother.
That’s my euphemism for a formidable football opponent -- cranky, mean and aggressive.
I use it for ewes, cows and several people.
A few of them are my relatives.
Some of them are my friends.
I am familiar with this ewe’s game plan.
Fortunately, the lamb got tired and laid down before the ewe scored her touchdown.
I switched to offense, picked up the lamb and headed for my goalposts with a roof, warding off a barrage of attempted headbutts with one outstretched hand.
I was just glad I wasn’t packing two footballs.
An hour later, I scored.
The ewe and her baby settled safely in barn straw.
The next day, I played Game Two of the spring football season.
Gardenia, who I raised on a bottle, lost the coin flip so she started on defense.
She used a different strategy, but she was just as aggressive as my first opponent.
I played running back with her baby while she leaned in against my leg, shoving me toward the secret invisible goalposts in the coulee.
Defensive lineman Gardenia outweighed this running back.
I tucked the lamb under my arm, then spun my way out of Gardenia’s tackles.
She might be bigger than I am, but she is also faster.
With every one of my quick spins, Gardenia muttered and grunted her way back to leaning on my right leg.
I began to get dizzy, but I clutched the lamb and kept moving.
Forty-five minutes later, I scored.
Not without a price, though.
As I tossed flakes of hay to my opponents, I promised myself I will work out during the off-season.

Lisa Schmidt raises grass-fed beef and lamb at the Graham Ranch near Conrad. Lisa can be reached at [email protected].

02/28/2023

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about my experience with oil explorers in 2011. I appreciated the support I received from that post, but I also received a poignant, sincere, respectful letter from a man who disagrees with my point of view. I sincerely appreciate the effort he spent to articulate his point of view without insulting mine.

I wish all of us could discuss disagreements this way.

Jeff gave me permission to post our conversation. This is how it went:

Jeff wrote:
My stomach was sick, the clanking of the chain against the steel gate echoed up the basin with undeniable clarity. Whatever game within earshot was sure to distinguish the threat. If the clanging chain and vroom of the small-block chev didn't communicate human presence, the flash of headlights cresting the ridge surely would.

We had slipped in the night before, glassing the pivots on the surrounding ranch in the fading dusk to confirm the herd was already down the hill and feeding out of earshot. No fire, minimal lights to start the day, taking the long loop around our, and the neighbors' property to keep the wind in our favor. Elk country is big, and our little slice doesn't hold many. Everything has to be perfect for us to get our chance.

The surrounding ranches have a bit more leeway when "planning" their "hunt". For them, rolling out of the rack 10 minutes before shooting light to haul ass up and through our property is just part of the thrill. You see, our little 20 acres sits inside an undeveloped subdivision surrounded by an old money cattle ranch (The kind TV shows are based off of), and another fair sized operation of whom, take excessive liberty with their "ranch activity" easement that cuts through the subdivision. We have no argument to prevent their blatant disregard for our peace and privacy. After all, the two track trail does connect to their upper pasture. The fact that they intentionally rotate cattle off and away from this portion of the ranch prior to hunting season does not imply that they ought not be "checking for cattle" in the pre-dawn hours of opening day of big game rifle season. So, again we sit with long faces as we watch the herd divert its path into the other large ranch where paying clients wait with their guides. With the wind direction we had that morning, chances were high that some (if not all) of the herd would have passed through our property, or that of the neighbors that grant us permission. With elk, nothing is certain except the fact they will not travel in the direction of an active threat. The clumsy approach of our inconsiderate neighbors all but guaranteed failure for our otherwise carefully laid plans.

This property is a gem, something I've dreamed of since my days in grade school. Dreaming and waiting til I would be old enough to hunt, old enough to work and someday build a cabin in elk country. The opportunity to purchase this little slice of heaven is a direct result of the wages I earned in the oil and gas industry.

Ever since I purchased this property I've been dismissed, derided and sneered at by the neighbors for "ruining" the hunting in this area. I find this perplexing being elk sign is prevalent all through our place and the permitting neighbors property. I think what they mean is, I took ownership of ground they had assigned carte blanche for themselves as it was previously unoccupied. I've dealt with their "stray" cattle, sh****ng and rubbing all over my work. I've repaired the perimeter fences of our and the neighbors' properties in hopes of enforcing the grazing rules described in the covenants. I've shrugged off their rifle strapped tours through our place and the entire subdivision "checking fence", or "looking for strays". Their concern seems to always escalate during hunting season. Nevermind that open range laws are always cited, and my concerns dismissed, when I request they retrieve their livestock during the summer months. That's just the way it is. Kind of like your predicament with the exploration company.

My point to all of this is simple. None of us are guaranteed peace and privilege if allowances exist for other parties to utilize the same property (Try floating any unrestricted river on a July Saturday) As I say to hands and employees when they start to bitch about work tasks or our schedule, "You knew that goin' in"... Yes, the situation you describe in your editorial to the GFT, does happen from time to time, maybe more often than it should. But please don't lump all oil and gas into the same bag of s**t that showed up in 2011.

I have been blessed beyond my wildest expectations thanks to my career in O/G. I personally oversee day to day frac operations for a large operator in North Dakota. We are incredibly sensitive to landowner perception as those issues can become quite costly when activity is suspended in order to deal with angry landowners. We deal with jilted landowners from time to time. Surface owners not cashing royalty checks for the end product, stupidly rich full-right owners, and all owners in between who do not appreciate the disturbance to their property while we perform our duties.

My inconsiderate neighbors have many alternative routes to their upper pasture. They choose to take the route they do as a gesture of disregard toward us as "intruders" to their perceived privacy. This doesn't mean ALL cattle ranchers are dicks, it just means these cattle ranchers are dicks.

Please find time to engage some of the folks who earn their living in the industry that literally keeps the wheels turning all around the world. We're proud of what we do and we do it for you!

I responded:
Good afternoon, Jeff,
Your letter is brilliant. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you laying out your point so well -- so visually and so clearly. I feel your pain, both because of the slimeball oil explorers from 2011 on my land and because I, too, enjoy elk hunting ethically and strategically.

My experience with oil explorers was horrific. However, I know that it didn't have to be that way. I have a friend who worked at drilling for oil at the time. I learned a lot from him. At first, he disagreed with my stance, discounting the damage done on my land until he came to see it. Then he apologized, both for the destruction by people in his industry and for discounting my experience. But he also taught me, like you did, that every oil explorer and driller is not amoral, uncaring and greedy. Just as every cattle rancher is not amoral, uncaring and greedy. I know we all benefit from oil -- I certainly use my share -- and I think we all can protect the land and water where drilling occurs. We need to protect that land and water. I also know that it is far too easy for explorers, drillers and hunters to follow the letter of the law while completely ignoring the spirit of the law.

I appreciate your integrity. It takes effort to act on your principles, especially to write such a poignant letter. Thank you. I would love to visit with people who know how to explore for oil while minimizing harm to the land. If you have any recommendations, please forward them to me. Meanwhile, good luck finding elk.

Jeff replied:
Amen to "The spirit of the law!!" Just because its legal doesn't make it right and (unfortunately in today's society) just because its right doesn't make it legal...
Thanks for reading and responding so quickly. Feel free to use my response on your platform. Its a conversation worth having. Too many are in the extreme camps on both sides. There is a balance for resource development and conservation. As cliche as that may sound.
Wishing you an uneventful calving season.

02/22/2023

Pondering Ranching as an Art Form
By Lisa Schmidt

The low mew of a cow to her calf.
The tactile luxury of a soft wool blanket.
The checkerboard of grazed and ungrazed golden grass swaying in the wind at sunset.
These are among the music, poetry and paintings of ranching, all of them a completed masterpiece by two artists working cooperatively – a rancher with Nature.
Art is the expression of an emotion or a comment on a condition.
Art, like ranching, wells up from a fundamental need deep within the soul.
That fundamental need is creativity insisting that the artist express herself – in a dance, a painting, a pot, a floral arrangement, a song or a story.
The rancher creates art where she cares for a newborn calf who hears his mama sing.
Where she moves cattle and sheep to graze, choosing how the sun will paint golden grass seeds against green blades.
Where she trails her herd across the earth, watching the footprints create stunning sculptures.
Where she accepts the gift of a fleece from a ewe and spins it into a coat.
Where she learns the lessons that Nature teaches, then shares them in stories and legends.
Art only appears to be passive.
We might appreciate art when we happen to hear a song or the silence of glistening snow or admire the angles and curves of a pot or a stream.
But making art requires – demands actually – effort and attention and focus on an action that yields the stroke, the word or the note that communicates to the senses.
The artist must take courage in hand to satisfy that fundamental need to express her soul.
The art is already there, waiting to be expressed.
Ranching, too, is an expression of emotion and a comment on a condition.
A rancher partners with the sun and wind and rain and earth – Nature’s artists – to interpret the lives and deaths of the land and animals.
Baby calves, lambs, grass, shrubs, grizzlies, protozoa, fungi and bacteria; bare dirt that blows in the wind, parched cracked soil, ravens and eagles circling in the sky searching for their turn at a carcass, steers that feed people so their nutritious gift might be used in productive effort – all are sculpted or destroyed by the rancher’s hand.
Each appears to be a completed work, but each requires – demands actually – a rancher’s effort and attention and focus on actions that yield the expression of life and death on her land.
The rancher must take courage in hand to satisfy that fundamental need to express her soul.
The art of life and death are already there, waiting to be expressed.
The rancher, like the artist, must ranch, must express the emotion of life and the condition of the earth because the inner need cannot be subdued.
The result is the art—the steers and lambs shipped, the wool sheared, the grass popping from the ground in the spring and grazed in the fall, the unseen life that works among the mysterious networks to feed the grass, use the sunlight and drink the raindrops.
While art results in a completed work for others to interpret, the artist’s personal reward -- as is the rancher’s -- is the process.
The reward comes from the constant, obsessive consideration of what can be done, what should be done and how to do it; how a brushstroke here or a word spoken there, a horseback ride now or a hay laid down tomorrow will result in a message to a microbe or a planet.
The artist and the rancher must show up, must focus, must create.
Each can only ignore and avoid until the choice becomes expression or extinction.
Either the soul creates or withers away, disappears into thin air.
P**f.

Lisa Schmidt raises grass-fed beef and lamb at the Graham Ranch near Conrad. To learn more, visit www.a-land-of-grass-ranch.com

02/16/2023

Pondering Another Oil Lease
By Lisa Schmidt

The note arrived unexpectedly.
The Graham family is negotiating to lease rights to drill for oil under my ranch.
Again.
My hands shook.
My heart sank.
The Grahams gave us a good deal on this ranch, including all of the subsurface rights except oil and gas.
I like the entire family.
They have no incentive to sell those mineral rights.
Unlike a gold claim, mineral rights cost nothing to retain and they might generate income.
Leasing mineral rights makes perfect economic sense.
But the last time oil explorers came to the ranch ranks among the Top 10 most traumatic events of my life.
I learned firsthand about the worst of human nature – deceit, greed, utter disregard for the land, slovenliness, pride and power-mongering.
My chest tightens at the memory of awakening to dishes rattling and spotlights lighting up my entire house.
The exploration crew was shaking a 5.9 earthquake next to my house at 11 pm, while my children slept.
My husband, Steve, warned me not to go out there.
Their lease trumped our property rights.
But I refused to stand idle and let them destroy my beloved home.
As I shook my finger at the 40,000 pound truck that towered 15 feet over me, I caught a glimpse of Steve standing in the shadows, wearing a heavy jacket in July.
He had my back.
My kids tried to sleep, but I rarely managed rest that summer.
Instead, I worried about my water.
A review by the Montana Salinity Control Association determined that the water for my 16 springs originates in the Rocky Mountains and flows downhill until it hits a semi-permeable layer of shale.
All of those springs are connected.
If fracking cracks the fragile shale, my springs will either be contaminated with deadly chemicals or disappear.
Without water, this ranch won’t survive.
The damage the explorers caused to my land in 2011 – a dozen years ago – is still visible.
I don’t dare drive my pickup on some of my roads for fear of getting high-centered in the deep ruts.
My creeks still pond where their 20-ton monster thumper trucks broke through the thin crust and sank.
All of that summer, I filled garbage bags with dirty toilet paper, sandwich wrappers and hundreds of survey stakes scattered across the range.
Sure, they forked over a few greenbacks in an attempt to remediate my land, but it wasn’t enough to repair the damage.
And no amount of money could reimburse the emotional toll of watching them devastate my ranch or enduring the bully-tactics of amoral attorneys.
But I wasn’t the only person who faced horrific consequences.
The roustabouts brought crime to Conrad and their machinery wrecked county roads.
One county commissioner – she happened to be illegally selling my water to the explorers until I caught her – lobbied to close the library and use that money for more police protection and to rebuild roads.
Libraries are fundamental to democracy.
After all, information is power.
She was willing to threaten a foundational institution for the almighty dollar.
I suggested that the county commissioners institute a fee on the explorers’ business permit so they would pay for the impacts they caused to our county.
She said she needed to be nice to the oil explorers or they would leave, taking economic development with them.
Oil doesn’t move.
Explorers can’t take it with them.
In 2011, the explorers tried to sneak out of town, but they tore out power lines with their rigs as they left.
Eventually, electricity was restored.
The library levy passed.
Life returned to normal.
Until now.
Again.
The potential lease is legal, rational and completely unjust.
I haven’t slept since I received that note.

Lisa Schmidt raises grass-fed beef and lamb at the Graham Ranch near Conrad. To learn more, visit www.a-land-of-grass-ranch.com

02/01/2023

Pondering Tractor Headlines

By Lisa Schmidt



Last week, the headlines at A Land of Grass were all about tractors.

Green tractors.

Tractors without computer chips.

Tractors built when men wore hair below their shoulders, women broke out of the kitchen prison and Walter Cronkite described horrific scenes of war while my family ate dinner every night.

We kids ate with our backs to the TV so we were protected from those scenes.

One of those elderly green John Deere tractors developed a leak in the box where the hydraulic hoses attach to the tractor.

I happen to have a couple of extra hydraulic boxes laying around.

I didn’t know what happened inside that box, but maybe a different one would do the same thing.

Loosening a few bolts would do the job.

I asked my friend at Napa whether replacing the box would fix the problem.

He mentioned o-rings inside the connector box.

Yes, o-rings could wear out after 55 years, I agreed, beginning to understand what happened inside the box.

The thought that this might be a common problem increased me confidence.

Knowledge that I needed this tractor to feed my cows and sheep the next day diminished my confidence.

I don’t mechanic well under a deadline.

Really, I just don’t mechanic well at all.

Naturally, my hydraulic box wasn’t exactly like the box in the picture, but I gathered enough information to understand how it worked.

I have discovered that understanding the system is the key to every challenge, whether it is mechanical, physical or biological.

So I pulled the plungers out, used my fingernails to stuff new o-rings inside them and put the box back together before darkness fell.

The next day, no hydraulic fluid dripped from the box.

So I was already feeling pretty good when my mechanic, Ron, texted.

Ron has been working on my 49-year-old John Deere 4020 for two years.

He helped me pull it out of my alfalfa field after it sat there for a year, able to start but not move.

This tractor has a cab.

A cab is handy during wintertime feeding.

Three winters of open-air hay hauling using handwarmers and scarves as barriers to arctic breezes has helped me appreciate new-fangled ideas such as cabs on tractors.

Ron repaired the worn-out hydraulic pump, but the non-functional transmission system was a conundrum.

Ron said everyone who ever knew how those transmissions worked had died.

Only a John Deere tractor would outlive humans, I replied.

Ron talked to a friend, reviewing how the transmission worked and how to test it.

The conversation didn’t yield any ah-ha moments, but Ron’s mind worked overtime during the night.

He woke up with an idea.

I hope to get my tractor back within a few days.

I’m not sure what I will do with a tractor that has a cab, heater, air conditioning and a functioning transmission.

My first thought was that I’ll probably get stuck.

The after-market loader on that tractor shifted the weight to the front so if a snowflake falls, that 4020 disintegrates into a tizzy.

I had a couple of rear wheel weights laying around.

All I had to do was get them to Ron’s shop so he could bolt them on and rebalance the tractor.

Those weights are heavy.

I couldn’t lift them into my pickup, but I could create a pulley that would.

I hooked a ratchet strap to the weight leaning against the passenger side, laid the strap across the top of my pickup and attached the other end to a stable piece of heavy metal.

I ratcheted each weight into the air so I could swing it into the passenger side of my truck.

No problem.

After all, this was just one more system.



Lisa Schmidt raises grass-fed beef and lamb at the Graham Ranch near Conrad. To learn more, visit www.a-land-of-grass-ranch.com