None of the other hands lived on site, which worried me at first. We only had sheep a short while at Dad’s farm, but I knew enough about them to understand what I was getting into. The feed was all organic, and he had about as many sheep as he did cattle. It was a good, solid operation, especially considering the owner was still pretty green. Apparently when Loving bought it, he kept talking about how he was moving out to the middle of nowhere, and the name stuck. Nowhere Ranch was smaller, and it was way out in the boondocks-hence, the name. I know everybody’s all about the sexy Southern cowboys and big ranches and tumbleweeds blowing by you, but I grew up on a farm, and it’s what I know. The other thing I liked about Nowhere Ranch was it was a hobby ranch, almost as small as a larger farm. So after a few good days of partying in Omaha, I contacted the ranch manager, who said he’d give me a try, and off I went. I’d heard it wasn’t quite as bad in Nebraska.
Also because if I went through one more fucking North Dakota winter, I was going to hang myself. I will admit I answered the ad because of the name. Nowhere, in northwestern Nebraska, was the farthest west I’d yet gone. I’d been shuffling around ranches throughout the Midwest, doing time in Kansas and the Dakotas.
I met Travis Loving when I went to work at Nowhere Ranch.
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