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Paul Marchant

Paul Marchant is an active rancher who tells stories as though we're all "sittin' horseback and ridin' drag" together. His Irons in the Fire articles both entertain and spur thought about personal values and goals.

LATEST

I’ve never been particularly fond of birds of any sort. Really, there’s nothing pleasant about a mess of nasty starlings or pigeons nesting in the eaves of the calving shed or devouring the silage pile. It’s the bird world’s answer to rodents – pure avian avarice.

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I’ve been hobbling around, dragging my leg like an old stifled bull for two or three weeks now. What I had thought and hoped was simply a pulled hamstring appears to be something a little more severe.

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I tend to get a little sentimental at times. Sentimentality is not an altogether bad trait, but it sometimes gets in the way of practicality and things like wise business choices. No doubt, sentimentality has cost me more than a few dollars over the years.

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Although not as engulfed in pomp and ceremony as the running of the bulls in Pamplona, Spain, no less treacherous and fraught with peril is the annual sorting of the bulls in the Basin, east of Oakley, Idaho. Similar ceremonies are no doubt held on ranches from Yakima to Yoakum.

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It was one of those days when Mr. Murphy’s law ruled supreme. As a matter of fact, I think the entire Murphy family was in on the act. It seemed as though any event going to occur that day was going to go wrong for me.

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This winter has been one for the ages; at least it has been in my neck of the woods. In the years and decades to come, we’ll talk and reminisce about the winter of ’17. She was kind of late arriving, but once she got here she made it clear that she was serious and intended to be in charge – not completely unlike an obnoxious mother-in-law or the shirt-tail relative who shows up at funerals and brandings.

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