Lately it seems that I have become very interested in, or at least I am paying more attention to, tradition. Tradition works on us in many ways. It is as blatant as the fireworks on the fourth of July and as subtle as voting the way our parents do without the slightest fanfare or thought. Tradition is nationwide like Thanksgiving dinner, or recording the height of a child on his birthday by marking it on the kitchen wall. Sometimes tradition instructs us to control our emotions, behavior and even our considerations about right and wrong.
Ranching communities are rife with tradition that range from the annual events in the elementary school, the Christmas play, and the Community Club bazaar to the long established days and weekends allotted for roundups and brandings amongst neighbors. Helping each other do the work and enjoying the social aspect of that work is a strong tradition in the West. And these traditions pass from generation to generation by the inclusion of children from the time they are able to attend, which is from their very beginnings—toddlers playing with lariats while their parents rope calves in the corral. Traditions survive even though they may change slowly: using propane to heat the branding irons rather than a wood fire, for example.
Once in a while traditions change radically or become broken, which can have both positive and/or negative effects. Here on this Cheyenne River Ranch we consider that taking land out of farming practices and restoring it to grassland is a positive change. But bringing a coal train railroad through those lands is negative. We also believe that using land for buffalo, the way we do, is a positive change, particularly for the process of restoring the prairie to as close as possible to its natural and, perhaps almost, original state. We also know that restoring is more of a re-creating than it is a going back. Going back is not an option. The world has changed with land ownership and barbed wire fences. The prairie has been altered through farming, the building of all the infrastructure upon which our civilization and culture relies: roads, power lines, dammed rivers, towns and cities. So tradition either holds fast to the death or accommodates itself to change.
Thus can the buffalo share a fence with cattle: thus can the reintroduction of buffalo to their traditional lands be affected. So, too, do old traditions become altered—at least that is true for us. We have learned new skills in handling and working with these animals from what our traditions in large animal (cattle) managing and handling had taught us. Our model is not that of our neighbors and friends. We have had to learn new techniques that are specific to these animals. We do not segregate any specific group of animals out of the herd, for example. The herd remains an amalgamated or homogenous group within which the careful observer can discern the social structure and function of the herd, which we insist be maintained as it is intrinsic to the animal and is part of its millennia old survival strategies. Recently a friend asked me what Curly Bill would say if he could talk. I told her, “give me land lots of land with the starry skies above, but don’ fence me in.” And that is the push and shove between tradition and unmitigated growth and change. Some necessary accommodations by both parties allow for the survival of both in a re-created prairie habitat, which mitigates against unmonitored, uncontrollable growth and expansion. In this new world order, as the buffalo provide for us; so must we also provide for them.