[Congressional Record Volume 143, Number 66 (Monday, May 19, 1997)]
[Senate]
[Page S4686]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




           BAXTER BLACK COMMENTARY ON RANCHERS IN THE DAKOTAS

 Mr. CONRAD. Mr. President, livestock producers across the 
Dakotas have suffered immeasurable losses this winter. Baxter Black, 
cowboy poet and commentator on National Public Radio, wrote a touching 
piece describing the struggles of ranchers facing the realities of the 
season's severe weather. National Public Radio aired the commentary on 
April 23.
  Mr. President, I ask that the following transcript of Mr. Black's 
commentary be printed in the Record.
  The transcript follows:

                             We Understand

       Repeat after me: I do solemnly swear as shepherd of the 
     flock to accept the responsibility for the animals put in my 
     care, to tend to their basic needs of food and shelter, to 
     minister to their ailments, to put their well being before my 
     own if need be, and to relieve their pain and suffering up 
     to, and including, the final bullet. I swear to treat them 
     with respect, to always remember that we have made them 
     dependent on us, and therefore have put their lives in our 
     hands, as God is my witness.
       Helpless. The worst winter in Dakota's memory. Cattle 
     losses already predicted up to 50,000 head. And how did they 
     die? From exposure and lack of feed. Basic needs--food and 
     shelter. And now the flooding.
       You think those Dakota ranchers said, ``Well, I'll just 
     close down the store and put on the answering machine, we'll 
     wait'll the storm blows over, no harm done''?
       No, they couldn't. Wouldn't.
       ``Charlie, you can't go out there. The cows are clear over 
     in the west pasture. You can't even see the barn from here.'' 
     But he tried anyway. Tried to get the machinery running, 
     tried to clear a path, tried to load the hay, tried to find 
     the road.
       These are not people who live a pampered life. These are 
     not people who are easily defeated. These are not people who 
     quit trying. But days and weeks on end of blizzards, blowing 
     snow, and fatal wind chills took their toll.
       Cattle stranded on the open plains with no cover, no 
     protection, no feed, no place to go, and no relief from the 
     Arctic fury died in singles and bunches and hundreds and 
     thousands, frozen as hard as iron.
       And back in the house sat the rancher and his family, 
     stranded, unable to do what every fiber in their bodies 
     willed them to do, knowing that every hour he could not tend 
     his cows diminished him in some deep, permanent, undefinable 
     way, changing him forever.
       The losses will eventually be tallied, the number of head, 
     and extrapolated to dollars. But dollars were not what kept 
     him pacing the floor at night, looking out the window every 
     two minutes, walking out in it 50 times a day, trying, 
     trying, trying, knowing if he could only get to them he could 
     save them. And then finally having to face the loss, his 
     failure as a shepherd. That's what kept him trying. 
     Exhausting, depression, and despair.
       It's hard to comfort a person who has had his spirit 
     battered like that. ``It couldn't be helped, there's nothing 
     you could do,'' is small consolation.
       So, all I can say to our fellow stockman in the Dakotas is, 
     in our own way, we understand.

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