Fatherhood on the Ranch: What My Boys Have Taught Me

Summer break has officially begun for our two boys, and with it comes a sound I didn’t realize I missed until it returned — their laughter echoing across the ranch. It’s a reminder that for the next three months, I won’t be working alone. I’ll have my buddies with me again.

Winter and fall are quiet seasons out here. Too quiet sometimes. When I’m working solo, my pace is fast, my focus narrow, and the only conversation is usually between me and the wind — me cursing it, and the wind howling right back. But when the boys are home, everything shifts. The silence is replaced by a steady stream of questions that always start with, “Where are you going?” and end with, “Can I come ?”

Watching them grow — not just in size, but in who they’re becoming — has been one of the great privileges of my life. Every summer, I hand them a little more responsibility, building on what they learned the year before. We started with the basics: learning the land, the boundaries, the gates, the two-tracks that stitch one pasture to the next.

Then came water systems, fencing, and four-wheeler safety.

This year, for the first time, they moved the herd on their own.

From a distance — far enough that they don’t know I’m watching — I get to see who they are when they’re working with animals. And much like the buffalo they’re herding, each boy shows his own way of moving through the world. Barrett is assertive, confident in the pressure he applies, but just as quick to release when he gets the response he’s after. Lincoln is quieter, more patient, but steady as a heartbeat. Different styles, same mission. Both effective.

And here’s the part I didn’t expect: the real student in all this has been me.
I’ve learned to let them fail. To let them get into situations that test them. To let them figure things out without me stepping in too soon. A tight wire gate. A stuck four-wheeler. A buffalo cow with that wild look in her eye. I’ve watched them troubleshoot, problem-solve, and lean on each other in ways that make me prouder than I can put into words.

Jilian and I have always tried to let their willingness to help grow naturally. Nothing forced. Nothing demanded. And because of that, they’ve become young men who are as capable as many grown men I’ve worked alongside. But the truth is, their growth has required mine.

They’ve taught me patience. Compassion. The humility to recognize that there’s more than one “right” way to do a job. They’ve shown me that responsibility isn’t something you hand out — it’s something you nurture. And nurturing it requires trust. Trust between brothers. Trust between father and sons. Trust between man and buffalo.

This Father’s Day, I’m grateful for the two boys who follow me around the ranch asking where I’m headed next. I’m grateful for the chance to watch them become themselves. And I’m grateful for the lessons they’ve taught me — lessons I didn’t know I needed.

Out here, on this land, with these boys, I’m reminded every day that fatherhood isn’t just about raising kids. It’s about being shaped by them too.