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.
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.