On Becoming a Past President

Photo: K. Schiller

Seventy-seven years ago, in the midst of the Second World War, the U.S. Navy took over the Palace Hotel in San Francisco. In the 160-year history of the California Wool Growers Association, 1943 was the only year we were unable to hold our annual membership meeting – a remarkable record! The President at the time, J. Kenneth Sexton of Oakdale, served an extra year.

Over the last two days, our members and board of directors came together virtually to conduct the business of the organization. Video conferencing, obviously, wasn't around in 1943. And while we all decided that we much preferred meeting in person, we also agreed that meeting virtually was much better than not meeting at all.

Yesterday, I completed my two-year term as President, joining the ranks of past leaders. And while I've mostly enjoyed my time as an officer, these last six months have been a struggle. I'm looking forward to taking a step back, knowing that our organization is in good hands.

This morning, I looked back at the first President's Message I wrote for the CWGA newsletter. I ended with this paragraph:

“Shepherd” is a word that I particularly like. The primary definition is probably obvious to all of us, I’m sure! The second definition on www.dictionary.com is equally pertinent – “a person who protects, guides, or watches over a person or group of people.” For the leadership of the California Wool Growers Association, we add this second meaning to our primary responsibilities. While we face many challenges in 21^st Century California, I’m confident in our tenacity, unity and enthusiasm as an organization.  We’ll need the foresight and energy of our founders – and the effectiveness and communication tools of our youngest members! I’m tremendously excited about these next two years. I’m humbled that my colleagues have confidence in my abilities to help “shepherd” our organization.

Little did I know that the challenges we'd face as an industry - and as a society - would be unprecedented!

And so I thought I would share my last President's Message - delivered to our membership during yesterday's meeting.

Over the last several weeks, as I’ve been working on my last report to you as President, I’ve struggled to strike a positive tone. I think all of us who raise livestock are optimists by nature – turning the rams in with the ewes each year requires a faith in the future – but at least for me, these last 6 months have been really difficult, on many levels.

For me at least, many of the reasons that I find it difficult to be optimistic are beyond my personal control – the pandemic, the lamb market, the wool market – each of these challenges has been overwhelming at times. Like it doesn’t really matter what I do, or what we as an organization do.

But when I think about the things I can control in my own business and within my own family, I find my natural optimism returns. When I see my daughters carrying the experiences that they had growing up around a sheep business (even a small one like mine), I’m reassured about our future. My oldest worked as a range tech at the US Sheep Experiment Station in Dubois this summer; my youngest, a senior in high school, will be showing her last fair lamb (virtually, at least) in a couple of weeks.

And when I think about things we as the members and leaders of the California Wool Growers Association can control, my outlook brightens further. I start with the mission statement we adopted several years ago in Minden:

Our mission is to deliver lasting value to support all segments of the California sheep industry.

I want to break this down a bit further – because I find both cause for optimism and a challenge for our organization moving forward.

First, we talk about lasting value. To me, that means that we’re in this for the long haul. I joke with my cattle ranching friends that the California Wool Growers Association predates the establishment of the California Cattlemen’s Association by more than 50 years! This is our 160^th annual convention – think about that! Our organization has spanned the Civil War, two world wars, the Great Depression – and several pandemics, including two major ones!

How have we lasted this long? We’ve adapted. That’s the thing about sheep – and sheep producers – I think. We’re adaptable. When I see multi-generational operations make the shift from a conventional production model to getting paid to graze, I’m amazed. When I see producers using new technology to make labor more efficient, I’m encouraged. When I see our Ram Sale Committee put an online sale together in less than four weeks – and see our ram consignors and buyers step up and support this new format – AND our organization, I’m incredibly grateful. Our ability to adapt makes me hopeful about our future.

But our mission statement also suggests that we need to support ALL segments of the industry. I’m humbled that while this organization has largely represented the interests of large scale producers, you elected someone who operates a small-scale, part-time sheep business to serve as President. And while I firmly believe that our focus on the issues critical to our larger scale members benefits all of us, I also believe we must acknowledge the value of smaller scale – and in many cases, new – producers.

As some of you know, over the last 8-10 years, Roger Ingram and I have taught a variety of hands-on workshops for new and aspiring sheep producers here in the Sierra foothills. In that time, we’ve worked with literally hundreds of people who are enthusiastic about our industry. Now most of these folks still have very small operations, but a handful have grown viable businesses. We need to do a better job of welcoming all of these folks into our industry and our organization. If we take these folks seriously, they can help our industry move forward. If we blow them off as hobbyists or “backyard folks” who don’t understand the challenges faced by full-time operations, we’re losing a huge opportunity to expand our base and increase our effectiveness. We small producers need viable, large scale commercial production in California, absolutely; we also need enthusiastic newcomers, most of whom will start small. We can’t afford to turn these newcomers away.

Finally, I believe that the entire industry benefits when ALL segments are healthy and profitable. This includes not only the large scale and small operations I’ve just discussed; it includes seedstock producers here and in other states. It includes fiber flocks and sheep shearers and large animal veterinarians. And it includes our partners further down the production chain – processors, distributors, and retailers. These challenging times, at least for me, have emphasized that we are all interconnected.

So why is now a good time to be in the sheep business in California? Why should we be optimistic as business owners?! Here’s what comes to mind for me:

• The targeted grazing business is exploding in California – and we have urban folks who can’t get enough of what we do! Ten years ago, did any of us think we’d have allies in Oakland and Berkeley, in Simi Valley and San Rafael!?

• California is home to the largest lamb packer in the nation – and Superior has been able to ramp up production during the pandemic, when other processors were closing down. I know our relationship with Superior is complicated, but we are so fortunate to have them as a partner here in our own state.

• Our market potential is tremendous – between the wealth of places like Silicon Valley and a growing West Coast population that loves lamb, we’re in a perfect location!

• We produce more wool in CA than in any other state in the country – and wool is cool, again! All you have to do is check out the REI catalog or join the Fibershed Facebook page!

• Finally, California is home to some of the top agricultural universities in the world – and there’s renewed interest in doing sheep research! I am excited about this both as a scientist and as a producer.

 How can we NOT be optimistic?!

 Don’t get me wrong – we have hard work ahead of us. Change is never easy. Some of us will need to change our business models to meet these new opportunities. When I look at the faces on my screen today (my own included), I know that many of us need to start thinking about generational transfer – who comes after us in our businesses? In this organization? How can we encourage new producers to take the chances that many of us have taken to build our businesses? How can we support these new folks? How can we get them engaged in our organization? To me, these are the pressing challenges – and greatest opportunities before our industry and our association.

I want to thank our sponsors and auction donors for making this year’s convention possible – you’ve seen their names in my background all weekend! I also want to thank both of the executive directors I’ve had the privilege to work with. I know we all appreciate Erica Sanko’s work on our behalf. Thank you, Jay, for stepping up during these challenging times.

Thank you to my family and to my ranching partner Roger Ingram for covering things at home while I focused on California Wool Growers business. You made it possible for me to spend time away!

Thank you to our committee members and committee chairs who have put in so much volunteer time over the last two years.

I most want to thank the members of the Executive Board – Ryan Indart, Andree Soares, and Ed Anchordoguy. These last two years have definitely been a team effort – thank you for always stepping up, and always taking my call! And finally, I want to thank you, the members of the California Wool Growers Association, for giving this first-generation sheep producer an opportunity to serve as President. Thank you.

Best of luck to our new officers, too - Ed Anchordoguy, President; Andree Soares, Vice President; and Phil Esnos, Treasurer. I know you all to be outstanding leaders! Now I think I'll go take a nap!

Still Wearing a Mask

Like everyone else, I'm sure, I'm growing tired of sheltering-at-home. These last 6-7 weeks have been an experience unlike any other in my lifetime. As I've written before, my work hasn't changed (much) - I'm still taking care of sheep, and I'm still enjoying my work as a Cooperative Extension advisor serving the ranchers and land managers of my region. But I miss seeing my friends in person. I miss seeing my oldest daughter, who had planned to come home from college this weekend to help us shear the sheep. Come Sunday (when we're done shearing and hauling sheep back to the ranch), I'll miss taking the crew out for a beer at one of our local breweries. Despite my longing for normalcy, however, I'm still wearing a face mask when I venture out in public.

This post is not meant to question anyone's motives who isn't wearing a mask; rather, I want to explain why it's still important to me. I'm not particularly worried about contracting COVID-19 - I think I probably already had it in February. Even if I didn't, though, my concern is protecting the folks around me. The cashiers and baggers at the grocery story, the clerks at the gas station, the older folks who are far more vulnerable than I. Based on the scientific evidence I've read, it's entirely possible that I could be infected and not have any symptoms - which means I could infect others and not know it. According to evolving scientific understanding of this virus, a face covering can help reduce transmission.

As a corollary to my reasoning then, I continue to wear a mask in public - and to stand at least six feet away from other people - out of respect for folks who may be uncomfortable with the whole situation. I wear my mask when I go to the farmer's market out of respect for my fellow farmers, whose marketing choices require them to be in regular contact with the general public. I wear my mask when I stop by my office to pick up mail out of respect for my county co-workers who don't have a choice about working from home until this pandemic subsides. I wear my mask when I purchase irrigation parts or livestock feed.

While the mask my wife sewed for me is quite stylish, I find it hot and uncomfortable. In the cool temperatures of morning, I find that my glasses fog up when I'm wearing my mask, making it difficult to see. When I feel annoyed about this, I think about the grandfather-in-law of a friend who lost his life to COVID-19. I think about my own parents, who are staying home and healthy. I think about the doctors and nurses - and orderlies and custodians - who come in contact with infectious diseases on a daily basis. My own discomfort seems pretty inconsequential.

As our communities return to work, even as the virus continues to spread, I'll keep wearing my mask. Not because I'm afraid for myself; out of respect and concern for my neighbors. And besides, as this photo suggests, I look pretty damn cool in my mask, my flat hat, and my shades!

Drought and Disease

Okay - so I'll admit the title of this post is pretty depressing. Unfortunately, it also describes the times we're living through in Northern California (and much of the rest of the world). I'm writing this from the desk in my kitchen where I currently spend most of my work week (now that the University of California has mandated that most of us work from home due to the coronavirus pandemic). And as I write, most of the northern two-thirds of California remain in moderate drought, according to the National Drought Monitor. Indeed, we're currently on track (off track?) to have the driest year since we've lived in Auburn - drier, even, than 2013-2014. Drought and disease are our reality.

I'm amazed by how much has changed in California and the U.S. in the last five-and-a-half weeks. I returned from a conference in Denver on February 19 with a dry cough and a fever - symptoms that lasted about four days. COVID-19 was just starting to make news here - I wondered about my symptoms but wasn't too worried about it. We measured just 0.03" of rain last month - the driest February on record. Just three weeks after I returned from Denver, I was agonizing over my decision to inform all of the 4-H clubs in Placer and Nevada County that we shouldn't hold any meetings until April. This afternoon, we learned that the President has indicated that we need to maintain social distancing through at least the end of April.

This pandemic is something with which almost nobody alive today has any experience. My grandmother survived the 1918 Spanish flu pandemic as a child (an experience which, thankfully, she shared with me). Uncertainty and fear cause anxiety; anxiety, for some, causes irrational behavior. And this irrational behavior creates stress for others - at least it does for me. Whether this crisis ends in April or not, all of us will be different when we reach the other side of it.

I see similarities in the drought we're experiencing. From a forage perspective, we seem to be tracking at or above average in terms of grass growth (mostly due to the warm temperatures and false spring we experienced in February). This fact gives some a false sense of security - we'll be fine because we have more grass on April 1 than we normally do! When I look more closely, however, I see that the rangeland we grazed in February and early March has not regrown like expected. When I dig into the root zone on our annual rangelands, I find that soil moisture remains depleted - which explains why the seasonal creeks aren't flowing. And when I look at the forage we do have, I find that it is maturing 30-40 days earlier than normal. In other words, our drought is more than simply a lack of rainfall. We are seeing warm temperatures and dry days much earlier than normal. I worry about what our feed conditions will be next fall.

In many ways, drought and disease are similar conditions. Unlike other "disasters" - fire, hurricanes, floods, etc. - we don't know when these crises will end. And we don't know how bad they'll get. For me, these times have forced me to focus on what I need to do one day at a time. What can I control in my life today? What do I need to do tomorrow? This lack of control, I suspect, is one of the biggest challenges for most of us. We are so used to being able to control our own lives - our work, our social interactions, and our future. Drought and disease remind us that we're not in control - and that's incredibly uncomfortable for most of us.

Yesterday, I needed to visit a hardware store here in Auburn to buy some storage containers so I could clean up an alternative office space at home. The store was only allowing people to enter as others exited - an effort to facilitate social distancing. I thanked the store employee and security guard - which they obviously appreciated. They said they'd been told by some customers that they were overreacting. But isn't that the point?! Don't we all wish that our "overreactions" (staying at home, washing our hands - easy stuff, really) mean that our parents and grandparents (and our children and grandchildren) don't get sick? Don't we really wish that it won't be necessary to sell sheep (maybe this only concerns shepherds!)? We won't know if our actions will be sufficient until all of this is over. For me, that waiting might be the most difficult part.

Coping with Crisis Fatigue

Since last summer, my part of the world (the Sierra Nevada foothills) has experienced the threat of wildfire, multiple multi-day power shutoffs (related to the threat of wildfire), a dry October and even drier February (which impacted the forage available for our sheep), and now the spread of COVID-19. I realized one evening this week that I was inexplicably tired - more tired, even, than I usually get by the third week of lambing season. I realized that coping with one crisis after another has worn me out.

Since the first of the year, I've been worried about the lack of precipitation - and the resulting lack of grass for our sheep. As I write this, my worries are diminished (we've measured just under an inch of rain today), but not entirely eliminated. I suspect the dry, warm February will result in earlier-than-normal maturity in our annual grasses - which reduces the nutritional value and palatability of our forage at the time when we need as much high quality feed for our sheep as possible. And I'm still concerned about the amount of dry forage we'll be able to save for next fall.

More recently, I've been anxious about the spread of novel coronavirus and the resulting COVID-19 infections in California and in Placer County specifically. For me, the pace at which this current crisis has evolved has been especially difficult - every day, it seems, we learn something new about its spread and impact.

I serve on the board of a local agricultural organization that had scheduled it's biggest fundraiser of the year (a dinner and auction) later this month. Our board met Tuesday, and in a split decision, voted to go ahead with the dinner. I voted no, not because I was worried about disease transmission, but because I was concerned that many people would decide not to come and would ask for ticket refunds. Despite these concerns, the board voted to go forward. By Thursday, however, we learned that the California Department of Public Health was asking organizations to cancel or postpone gatherings of 250 or more people. We decided to follow their recommendation.

Also on Thursday morning, a local 4-H volunteer asked if I thought the club should go forward with a separate fundraising dinner scheduled for tonight. After talking it through with her, we decided to postpone this event, as well. I learned second-hand that other volunteers were critical of my decision - they felt I was overreacting. On Friday, I directed all of our 4-H clubs to suspend club and project meetings at least through the end of the month. I was a bit worried about the response to my caution; so far, I haven't heard any criticism. We'll see.

I learned during the 2012-2015 drought that decisiveness is a coping mechanism for me. I find that making and sticking to a specific course of action (selling ewes, for example) is difficult but ultimately reduces my anxiety. Indecision, on the other hand, stresses me out. I have also been told that I'm a very deliberate person (which I take as a compliment, mostly). I do find that I give a great deal of thought to the downstream effects of my decisions. I know that sometimes my decisions may turn out wrong - what if I sell sheep, for example, the week before the rain returns? What if I suspend 4-H meetings and it turns out that our anxiety over COVID-19 turns out to be overblown?

My friend and colleague Leslie Roche helped me look at this conundrum differently yesterday. I had mentioned that I was a little worried that our 4-H families would think I was overreacting. She said, "What might seem extreme now may be exactly what we need in 10 days - and hopefully not less than we need. And if everything turns out ok then, yeah - that's the point, right?!" Coping, I realized, also means sharing our anxieties with friends and family - they always provide perspective and reassurance!

Finally, I find my lifestyle and practical skills help me cope. I told someone yesterday that I feel so fortunate to have freezers full of food that we've raised. And I'm comforted by the knowledge that I have the skills and resources to refill those freezers as necessary. A full woodshed, a fire in the woodstove, and a pot of stew on the stove are reassuring, as well. And sheepherders, after all, are masters at social distancing!