You see: the soil can’t speak,
So the grass speaks for it.
But the grass can’t speak,
So the cow speaks for it.
But the cow can’t speak either—
So the rancher speaks for the cow,
Who speaks for the grass,
Who speaks for the soil,
Who holds the vitamins and minerals,
Latched onto the stones deep in that soil.
We need to give the American Rancher a voice again—
From Sea to Shining Sea.
The Road to Ginger Hill
Leaving Nashville, we took to the road without GPS, just a map open across the dashboard. Slim and I were headed to Ginger Hill Angus in Washington, Virginia—a ranch tucked into the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The winding, narrow roads guided us past fields and through small towns, places that felt like they were carved out of a different era. It was quiet out there (save the muffled music coming from Slim’s headphones), just the hum of the truck and miles of open land stretching ahead.
This wasn’t just another stop on our journey; it felt like a pilgrimage. We weren’t here to broadcast our message. We were here to earn every handshake, to find the people who still understood the weight of promises and the importance of land.
Arriving at Ginger Hill Angus
We turned off Lee Highway, the single-lane road winding through the Blue Ridge Mountains, and passed through a humble stone gate, following a path that wove through pastures, crossed by a creek, and rolled past tall silos that now served as cell towers. When we finally pulled up to the ranch house, Dr. Brooke Miller was there, waiting with a firm handshake and a warm smile. I shook his hand, feeling the strength in it—a man who’d spent years balancing medicine, ranching, and service to his community.
Beside Brooke was his wife, Ann, her presence calm and steady, mirroring the landscape around us. They were more than ranchers; they were caretakers, not just of cattle but of community, running the Miller Family Health And Wellness clinic and advocating for American ranchers and health sovereignty. It was a life woven from dedication and hard work, the kind of life you could feel the weight of just standing there on their land.
A Few Days Among the Cattle
For the next few days, I found myself drawn to the cattle, spending hours out in the fields, just watching. There’s a strange peace in standing quietly among them, letting them observe me as I observed them. They’d blink, chew, and watch, with a patience that I was beginning to understand. Out there, under the open Virginia sky, I felt the roots of something I’d never known—a connection to land, to history, to something larger than myself.
Those moments in the pasture unlocked something deep within me. Growing up, I never considered this kind of life. In the ghetto, food came in plastic and styrofoam, and the only trace of agriculture was the rooster—never seen, only heard. Its call echoed through the streets, like a distant memory, urging us to remember where we come from. But here, among the cows, something in me shifted. A part of my spirit settled, finding what it didn’t know it was missing.
The Summit at Ginger Hill
The Ginger Hill Beef Initiative Summit was the largest event we’d hosted. Hundreds of people had come from across the country to be part of this conversation—to hear, to share, to stand together in something real. Brooke took the stage to speak, not just as a rancher but as a doctor, a community leader, a husband, and a man who deeply understood the interconnectedness of health, food, and land.
He spoke with conviction about the need for Americans to reclaim their food systems. He talked about the rancher’s role, not just as a supplier but as a guardian of health and heritage. Watching him address the crowd, I realized just how aligned his message was with Slim’s. Brooke didn’t just advocate for better practices; he was embodying a way of life that resisted the lure of industrial shortcuts.
Reflection in the Fields
As I walked the pastures, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own journey. I thought back to the apartment complexes, row homes, and overdeveloped suburbs I grew up in, to microwaved meals and the moments when I’d been too disconnected to question where my food came from. Standing here in Virginia, I felt a kind of grief for everything that had been lost along the way, but also a fierce resolve to restore it.
Being with the Millers made me think of my mother—her struggles, her reliance on convenience foods, the way our family was distanced from anything resembling this kind of connection to land and life. Slim’s mission was to save children’s lives, to give families a chance to reclaim their health. But for me, it was about saving something deeper: the childhood memories I wished I’d had, the sense of rootedness and wholeness that I wanted to protect for the next generation.
The Patriotism Awakened on Virginia Soil
Along the journey, I’d seen tattered American flags hanging from fences, a quiet reminder of resilience. My connection to this country was changing; I was starting to feel a pride and love for it that I hadn’t known before. The land was calling to me, showing me the heart of America through people like Brooke and Ann.
When I told Brooke that I felt like an outsider, he looked at me and said, “You belong here. You fit in perfectly.” Those words hit deep. I’d always thought of agriculture as a world apart from mine, but Brooke’s reassurance made me realize that this mission was mine, too.
The Hustle and Humor of Summit Day
On the day of the summit, I had one main task: to interview all twelve or so speakers before they left. The rain started falling, and I was sprinting across the property, juggling questions, camera equipment, and a frantic mental checklist. I remember one particular moment when I nearly interrupted Dr. Robert Malone in the middle of addressing the crowd, intent on pulling him away for an interview. I was a man on a mission, fueled by Slim’s urgency and my own drive to make this summit a success.
That day was a whirlwind, but with the help of incredible people like Bitcoin Shooter—a talented filmmaker who captured so much of the event’s spirit—we managed to get every interview, every story, and every moment that mattered. Shooter’s patience and grace kept us grounded, even as we raced to capture everything that the summit represented.
Parting Thoughts
Leaving Virginia, I carried a new kind of determination. Brooke, Ann, Slim—all of them had shown me a piece of America that was rooted, resilient, and real. This wasn’t just Slim’s mission anymore; it was mine, too. Every handshake, every mile, every story was building something that would last far beyond any one of us.
As we drove out, Slim looked over at me and said, “We’re on a 200-year journey.” I nodded, feeling the weight of it. This was just the beginning of something bigger than both of us, a movement rooted in the soil, in the grass, in the voices of those who speak for what cannot speak for itself.
5 Years. 141,000 Family Farms Gone.
67 Years until total annihilation.
Next Stop: 101 Constitution Ave. Washington DC
Shake Your Rancher’s Hand
This journey wasn’t backed by big budgets or corporate sponsors. It was driven by two men who come from humble beginnings, pouring everything they have into a mission to give voice to the soil, the grass, the cattle, and the ranchers who sustain America. Self-funded and fueled by grit, their work honors the Great American Rancher—stewards of the land who often live with little to no means themselves.
Every mile traveled, every handshake made, and every story told is a testament to integrity and resilience. But this mission needs more than just two voices—it needs yours.
Join us in saving America’s ranchlands:
- Donate to the I Am Texas Slim Foundation to amplify this movement.
- Sponsor your local ranchers on Beef Maps to strengthen your community.
- Support an episode of the BeefMaps Docuseries and bring these stories to the world.
The time to act is now. Help us honor the ranchers who put everything into the soil so we can all live better lives. Will you stand with us?
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