Just a Piece of Land

Today, I moved most of the rest of my belongings from Oak Hill Ranch. My landlords, Rich and Peggy Beltramo, from whom I’d leased irrigated pasture since 2008, had graciously let me store much of my ranch equipment at their place since I moved last summer. On this rainy foothill day, more like late February than late April, I finally feel like most of my stuff is here. But I didn’t fully appreciate how hard it would be to close this chapter on my life. Oak Hill Ranch, after all, is just a piece of land where I got to graze my sheep, right?!

I think I first grazed livestock at Rich and Peggy’s in 2008. I had leased irrigated pasture from Rich’s niece, who lived next door (on what most folks in Auburn called the Parnell Ranch), earlier that spring. Since there were no fences between the properties, the cows that I was grazing soon made their way to the Beltramo’s. And that evening, when Rich called and said, “What the hell are these cows doing on my place?!” I learned (again) that family (and neighborly) communication is often lacking.

But since that first encounter, my relationship with Rich and Peggy has been incredible. They grew to love my sheep. And especially my dogs! I grew to appreciate Rich’s mechanical knowledge and abilities with equipment; and Peggy’s knowledge of gardening and love of animals. We’ve become close friends; so much so that they opened their home to me when I was still bouncing between Placer and Calaveras Counties last summer and fall.

In many ways, our family became part of Oak Hill Farm - and it became part of us. The girls spent many days with me - pulling cocklebur, moving sheep, building fence. We would camp at the ranch during lambing season. We’d cut firewood and pick apples and persimmons there in the fall. Sometimes they’d complain about having to work, but they grew as connected with this landscape as I was - so much so that Emma asked to have her senior pictures taken at the ranch the spring she graduated from high school.

I didn’t realize at the time that 2022 would be my last full year running sheep at what my family came to refer to as “the ranch.” Oak Hill Ranch was a significant part of our operation - it was our irrigated pasture ranch. We’d usually move the sheep from our lambing grounds (at a slightly lower elevation) to Oak Hill in late March or April. We’d have some sheep (and sometimes, all of our sheep) on the ranch through November. We weaned and sold our lambs off the ranch; we flushed the ewes there before turning the rams in in late September. We irrigated about 15 acres, which meant most of my days from mid-April through mid-October started with 45 minutes of moving water (on a “normal” day - sometimes water problems made this chore twice as long - or longer).

In 2023, while Sami was sick, my friend Roger Ingram took care of a significant portion of the irrigating and sheep management. Last year, we grazed sheep at Oak Hill through the winter and into lambing, but I didn’t irrigate in 2024. Once we sheared the ewes and weaned the lambs, we turned over the lease to a friend who runs cows.

And so to today. Today was harder than I expected - not because loading my trailer was difficult, but because I realized (once I got home here to Calaveras County) that my ties to this piece of land have been mostly severed. I realized tonight, as I was unloading my ranch equipment, that I will miss this piece of land - and the people who own it - immensely. I realized that much like selling our place in Auburn, today’s final load of equipment represented the end of my connection with this farm. I realized, I guess, that today represented the final admission that everything in my life has changed.

This evening, I’m sad. But as I’ve written previously, I’m also realizing that my sadness is related to the immense happiness that working this piece of land for 17 years has given me (and that being married to Sami for 33 years provided). I’m sad because I know how much this piece of land - and the work that we put into it - has meant to my family. I’m sad, too, to have driven away from the pastures that I tended for so long without seeing my sheep grazing as I drove off. But despite my sadness, I returned home happy to look up the hill from my new house, and see my new sheep grazing. I’m happy to bring the lessons I learned from that piece of land (and from my friends who still own it) to my new place.

I find that I’m sometimes envious of my friends whose families have managed the same piece of land for generations. But then I think about that first generation - that person (or people) who said, “we’re going to try to ranch here.” Perhaps the economics of the 21st century make it difficult, if not impossible, to make this start in California, but in my sadness this evening, I also feel a certain measure of pride. I’m proud that I was able to form such a connection with the land, and with my community. I’m proud that the days my daughters spent pulling weeds and working sheep helped them become the incredible young women they are today. And I’m grateful that Sami supported (or at least humored) my dream of earning at least part of my living from the land. From that little piece of land on Mount Vernon Road in Auburn.