Enduring friendships start when people realize their commonalities; friendships grow when those same people share both joys and suffering, work and service.
The five generations of Stocks and Stewarts on our Ninety-Six Ranch have been incredibly fortunate to have made and maintained enduring friendships with the Native American men and women who called this place home long before white settlement and who have since shared our journey on this land during our 158 years here.
When our founder William Stock arrived here in 1863, all indications are that he immediately embraced the indigenous people he encountered. He set up camp near them, and learned much from them about the practicalities of surviving in the wild and sometimes inhospitable landscape of the Great Basin. Evidence including written records suggest that he lived within 30 yards of the natives in a semi-communal setting along Martin creek. Because he had been packing freight through their territory for a number of years, he had already developed at least rudimentary language skills in order to communicate with his new neighbors.
Within a year of settling in Paradise Valley, William had produced a crop from farming the land and with this development and the purchase and introduction of farm animals including cattle, sheep, pigs and horses, he was able to sustain himself and provide the people with consistent food, improved shelter and jobs.
After working his homestead for approximately 18 years, Stock returned home to Germany and married a girl from his home village. When he and his new bride returned to Paradise Valley later in the same year, the native women presented his bride Wilhelmina with a handmade willow laundry basket. A humble but intricate gift, meant to be used and full of commonality of purpose between women.
After more than 80 years of daily use, that old basket was retired. Since moving to the ranch 30 years ago, I’ve lovingly displayed the basket in my home. Its willow stays are frayed and broken in places, but it tells a story that words alone cannot.
For me, the basket represents the story of enduring friendship, trust, shared experience and commonality of purpose.
As I look at the basket, I see concentric circles, circles that keep repeating and moving outward. I imagine the hands that harvested and wove the willows more than 140 years ago, their skill, pride and excitement at giving Wilhelmina their gift, and of learning about and eventually befriending the very foreign woman William Stock married and brought from old Europe to live with them in their land.
I also think about William, a young German immigrant who as a teen, sailed off to a new land, learned new languages and trades, took a chance on the California gold rush and earned just enough to start a small freight carrying business, then found his way into this valley before other settlers, homesteaded the finest location along Martin creek and lived quite happily and cooperatively with the Native Americans who were already here.
From the recorded history of William Stock butchering animals to keep starving Natives fed during the brutal winters of the 1880’s instead of retreating to Fort Scott like other white settlers, to his consistent support for education and jobs for local Natives, William found commonality of purpose and enduring friendship with his native neighbors.
Later, sons of those original native men and women became a second and third generation of trusted hands on William’s farming and ranching operation and out on the range.
Throughout the twentieth century, that tradition of native Americans living and working on the ranch continued. It is beautifully documented in the remarkable project BUCKAROOS IN PARADISE at the Library of Congress.
Today , our ranch’s most important helpmate is undoubtedly our friend Myron Smart, a local native man who has lived and worked with us for various stretches since he was a young teen when he learned his trade from uncles and brothers who made up a majority of our ranch crew.
Myron’s contributions far exceed buckarooing and farming. They are personal and a reflection of true and enduring friendship. His long and close relationship with my late husband Fred allowed me to trust Myron when others around us took advantage in the wake of Fred’s passing.
Through Myron, I am not only able to discuss ideas and plans for moving the ranch forward, but I’m able to hear lessons my father in law Les dispensed, adventures my husband had as a teenager and young man, and I am able to take in the wisdom of many generations of his family’s careful stewardship of our land, plants, animals and way of life.
Mostly however, when Myron is here and helping, I’m able to see my daughter flourish as a horsewoman and human being. His gentle but persistent mentorship is nothing short of a big warm hug and a push forward when it’s needed most.
Poignantly, the truest sign of Myron’s enduring friendship with Fred has come since Fred’s passing, as he has re-embraced the ranch and settled in to a true caretaker role. Caring for the land, the animals, the business and most importantly, the family that Fred left behind.
Thank you friend.
Kris Stewart is a rancher from Paradise Valley, Nevada.
A footnote to this column. I realize that in today’s very woke world, our family’s story of homesteading in Paradise Valley and using the local Native Americans as both teachers and employees smacks of white colonialism, and there are some who would find no good in it.
I cannot change the history of this nation, settling the West or the nature of human beings to destroy less developed societies in order to bring their ways to conquered lands and people.
I can only live in my time and with my own moral and social compass as a guide. I cannot right all wrongs or reorder history.
But I can find goodness and kinship in a shared love of the land and life here in the still wild and remote reaches of Nevada’s Great Basin. I can help people from where they are today and use the fruits of our labor to make better lives for at least a few of our Native brothers and sisters moving forward.
