It used to be that people in urban America believed in an agricultural heartland. They believed that somewhere in the middle of the country lived virtuous people, farmers and ranchers, who could be trusted with the husbandry of the land. Many urban folk were close enough to family farm roots, here or in the old country, to have sentimental ties to the countryside. Most everyone agreed that farmers and ranchers deserved respect and support.

No more. If not for the conservatism of liberals in the U.S. Senate, farm policy today would abandon farmers and ranchers to their fates. The loss of public esteem suffered by farmers and ranchers is not merely a matter of economics. It has to do with a collection of public beliefs that reinforce one another, which is to say, an ideology. If you mix environmentalism, animal rights, consumerism, and vegetarianism in one pot, then the resulting ideology is hostile to farm and ranch life as we know it.

Let’s admit this, too: To a large degree, farmers and ranchers have forfeited public esteem by their own actions. We (and now I resort deliberately to the first person) have done many things, sometimes deliberately and sometimes inadvertently, we should not have done. We have sterilized the landscape, and then wondered why our kids don’t want to live here anymore. We have failed to support our communities, and then complained about being lonely.

So let’s pay attention to what Linda Hasselstrom has to say in her new book, "Between Grass and Sky: Where I Live and Work" (University of Nebraska Press). Let’s note, too, the dust-jacket assurance that the book is "by no means an apologia for ranching." We live in a world where a publisher has to tell prospective readers that ranching is something we should apologize for.

Linda is a rancher near the Black Hills, lives part of the time in the city, has been involved with environmentalist causes in South Dakota, and has become known, somewhat to her surprise, as a nature writer. She thinks of herself as "a rancher who also writes."

Her father used to say, "This land will take care of us if we take care of it." Linda tries to live and manage that way, with careful attention to stocking rates and thoughtful appreciation of wildlife.

"Between Grass and Sky" is mostly about everyday ranch life, as told by an uncommon ranch woman. When she writes about making hay or moving cattle or attending potlucks, the details are familiar to plains folk. When she writes about an owl as a spiritual presence or about mice as objects of fascination, well, then she’s being uncommon.

Linda Hasselstrom is a nature writer who sees more than most of us. She sees way more than people who live remote from grass and sky. Some of those urban activists are remote from grass and sky because of where they live. Others, farmers and ranchers, are remote from grass and sky despite where they live. Linda calls on them to get in touch with nature and with one another.

"Because of my interests," she writes, "I’ve been disturbed by a steady escalation of the ‘war’ between ranchers and environmentalists." Cattle, she insists, belong in the western landscape, and ought not to be denigrated. In her most provocative chapter, she announces, "The Cow Is My Totem."

"The cow I want for my symbol," she specifies, "my power animal, is a Hereford-Angus cross, familiarly known as a black whiteface."

Is it just me, or does that seem like some sort of metaphor to you, too?

###