The strangeness of this life cannot be measured: in trying to produce my own death, I was elevated to the status of a living hero.
John Dunbar, Dances With Wolves
I was in Cary, NC just before Memorial Day weekend this year, just a few hundred miles from where my grandparents lived in Toccoa, GA. I thought it would be a nice surprise to drive down, unannounced, and surprise my mother for her birthday. She was surprised!
It was also a convenient excuse to visit the family farm and view the latest addition. Buffalo!
You see, my father has become a gentleman farmer, raising a small herd of buffalo in the most unlikely of places: northeast Georgia. The family farm has morphed into Broad River Bison. My description over there sounds so grand, don’t you think?
We are a small, family-owned ranch raising free-range bison. Our hundred acre farm is nestled in the hills of northeast Georgia along the majestic Broad River.
(That header graphic is a highly edited version of this picture I took at Thanksgiving last year during our hay ride.)
The herd right now is only five head but is expected to grow by next year. With a bull and two cows how could it not? The big bull is Tonka. The bison equivalent of a steer is named Bill. The two cows are Sophie and Toula. And poor Biscuit… well he’s the runt. [Added proper cow names. Thanks, Mom!]
I finished up the first day on the farm by helping my dad install a well pump. I think this was one of those once in a lifetime things, certainly something I never thought I’d do. How many people can say that they were out working on a well on the farm with their pa in this day and age? It was awesome.