In my last article, I told y’all I’d be writing a 5-part series to highlight and showcase the largest wildfire in Texas history. Now, I’ll start sharing my perspective from where I sit and stand.

It’s September 12, 2024, and today, I just feel like being honest and up front with ya.

I see the confusion.
I see the clarity.
I see the best.
I see the worst.
I see the love.
I see the hate.
I see the innocence.
I see the corruption.
I see the man in the mirror.

Our minds decide what our reality is going to be.

Do we truly know how to witness an event?
Or does everything have to be followed by a reaction—a response, an opinion of sorts?
Do we know how to just observe before doing anything at all?
Does it take a disaster to see the best in people?

The answer is simple:
Yes and no.

I can say I’ve seen the best, and I choose not to validate the worst in things.

I had a conversation with a buddy of mine a couple of years ago. We were at a coffee shop on Georgia Street in Amarillo, Texas, and he said this:

“I believe it’s time you bear witness to everything going on within the Beef Initiative, or everything you’re dealing with will catch up and destroy you.”

He was communicating what he saw—the emotional toll. He was bearing witness to my reactions to everything I’d experienced in my travels and grassroots efforts up to that point.

To put myself in the boots of those who had to witness the devastation and destruction of the fire is something that makes a person pause.

Did the nation even pause when this disaster struck? To my understanding, and in my opinion,
NOT ONE BIT!

Did thousands of individuals bear witness and react when this disaster occurred?
YOU BET!

Did you know the Beef Initiative has a 501c3? Through the I Am Texas Slim Foundation, you can support ranchers directly and help preserve our nation’s food sovereignty. Donate today at $1,000, $500, or $300 and be part of the mission to rebuild local food systems and protect independent ranching.

These days, I only want to surround myself with people who know how to first bear witness, then react.

And as I type this out, Mr. Lee Wells calls, and we have an hour-and-a-half conversation with a bit of foreshadowing about things to come.

I read to him the sentence I just wrote:

“Did the nation even pause when this disaster struck? To my understanding and in my opinion,
NOT ONE BIT!”

He laughs, we pause, and both agree. “Yep, pretty much!”

That begins a conversation giving some clarity about where things stand with the film and the type of reception it’s receiving from those Lee has been working with since the fire was still burning.

I’ll tell you this today: there are people in this nation who stopped everything to honor what was in front of them. They didn’t sit there and analyze the situation. They didn’t rationalize why they couldn’t serve.

They put their life on pause because they had to—for those who lost everything and even those who lost nothing. It’s in their core belief system to give back, first and foremost.

That’s the story I want a nation to hear. That’s the clarity and the call to action every individual should take on as their obligation.

When you’re confronted with a crisis and you respond, you’re presented with a new obligation in life. The outcome of those moments carries a responsibility of spirit.

Lee and I hashed this out a bit, and it went something like this:

How would it make you feel when a grown man—built of integrity and character—grabs your hand so hard and tight that he almost breaks it?

How do you gain people’s trust when there’s so much deception and corruption in our nation and cattle industry? Our cattle producers are guarded individuals. They don’t trust easily, and for damn good reasons, unfortunately.

I shared some reflections with Lee about what it’s like coming from the Texas Panhandle, and I spun off an analogy:

“Well, Lee, boys here are a little suspect because the wind blows, and you can see trouble coming from 100 miles away.”

This is the Desert High Plains, ya know… smirk.

I’ve taken the day off to write today. It’s been over four years since I’ve taken a full day to write. I’ve been on the road for four years, and I’m road weary. I long for home, a place I can trust. I need some innocence.

My spirit is longing for the harvest moon. I wonder and yearn for the place once called the “Empire of the Summer Moon.” I feel the need to roam the ancient grasslands where bison grazed for thousands of years. There’s an unspoken word in my heart, waiting for that obligation to another man—a handshake so tight it nearly breaks the hard casing I carry like a statue.

I yearn for this nation to double down and take a pause for just one season. The season of the harvest moon is upon us, and with it comes our obligation to all those voices silenced by disaster or broken spirits.

It shouldn’t be so hard, as a society, to walk up to another man, look him in the eye, and shake his hand.

Four years ago, I told a nation to go shake a rancher’s hand and ask him how you can help. Ask him what his pain points are, ask him about his family, buy some beef if he sells to the public. Ask if he does a herd share. Ask how you can serve him.

Ask him anything you want while you still can.

A nation has lost touch with some of the best and the worst of our agricultural world. Does it take a disaster for a nation to see the best and worst?

So be it. I am here, and I am home. Home is the Texas Panhandle, and I’m about to serve up some of the best and the worst of it.

I’ve shaken thousands of hands, and the story that I’m about to unfold will be one I’m proud to tell from the perspective of what this nation is hungry for.

The handshake that makes you feel like home, and that you can see coming from 100 miles away!

Lee Wells, thank you, sir, for your service.