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             A few days ago I came across a very interesting idea in a book called “Soil, Grass and Cancer” by Andre Voisin. He writes, “The living organism is the biochemical photograph of the environment”. Its meaning is simple. We are a repackaging of our environment.

            Scattered in the soil there was once a multitude of different mineral compounds that coalesced and made my life possible. If in that soil a mineral was absent, it is also absent in me. If present, then it must also be present in me. This especially holds true for something like a blade of grass. It spends its entire life in a small patch of soil and in doing so, is a complete, single photograph of its environment. I, however, have never been a complete, single photograph of my environment. I more closely resemble a blurry collage of thousands of environments than a sharp photograph of just one. I’ve lived in a dozen locations and eat, on a daily basis, food that is grown all over the world. The blade of grass is the exact opposite. It lives, grows and dies within the limitations of the soil it is rooted to. Any disease or deficiency can be traced back to the soil it grows in. The old saying that a rancher isn’t in the business of raising cattle, but in the business of growing grass should be taken one step further. They should be saying that they are growers of soil.                   

             At the Sabo Ranch, we all do our best to help the soil grow right along. Synthetic chemicals are never sprayed. As a result, biological activity in the soil is high, letting organic matter build and nutrients cycle. The pastures are alternately grazed and rested, allowing for both stimulation and recovery. As cattle graze on a 100% grass fed diet, they naturally disturb the plant community, adding carbon below the soil and nutrient rich manure above. They are also given a well balanced selection of all natural minerals, vitamins and probiotics, some of which cycle right back into the soil. During the winter months when grass is sparse, the Sabo’s use hay that was baled from their own fields. This ensures quality feed, reduces feeding costs and replaces the minerals that were mined by the grass to cycling back into the soil. Great care and attention is put into this system because it is the basis for maintaining a healthy soil. Without which, the grass would not be as nutrient dense and the beef would not be as tender and delicious. The best part about Sabo beef is that it is an almost exact biochemical photograph of the Sabo Ranch environment. And what do you see when you look at their Devon herd? All you have to do is look at the soil. 

           

            In the last few years, I have slowly been becoming more aware of the relationship that exists between soil, food and well being. I found that once you begin to see this relationship, you cannot hide from it. Barren stubble fields once conjured up images of a vibrant country harvest and wheat being ground into flour to bake fresh bread. The realities are much less idyllic. Stubble fields are the equivalent of an open wound to the soil. After harvesting the wheat, that wound is tilled with steel or sprayed with herbicides. It is then left open to the wind, rain and sun, causing erosion, runoff and baking. It rests for a year in this state and then is put back to work. This soil is assuredly not in good health, yet it is this health that is transferred into the majority of the plants we consume. The final link in this chain of causality is that the health of the plants we eat, ultimately translates into our own health. How can you then believe that food is just food and that pleasure rests in having a full, bloated belly, regardless of what you put in it?  How can you believe that dirt is just dirt and that your health only matters when something is wrong?        

            Ultimately, food must become synonymous with place. At the Sabo Ranch, I eat good food because that food comes from a place that is cared for. The milk that I got from the cows today is tasty because it is a product of grass. That grass is a product of wind blown loess from the Tobacco Roots Mountains that has settled over thousands of years to create a productive pasture. The egg that I fried for breakfast had such a golden yolk because the chickens are allowed to embody that relationship between food and place as they scratch around for their meal outside in the Sabo‘s backyard. If Voisin were alive today to comment, I’m sure he would say only one thing. “Biochemically Picture Perfect”.

 

 

          John Thiebes, Sabo Ranch Spring 2010 Intern, with the grain bin he and his father renovated into their first living quarters on their farm near Great Falls, MT.

 

For more information on Sabo Ranch Internships, contact us at saboranch@gmail.com,

(406)685-3248.