Wyoming Ranch Sets Up Cow Camp for Calving Season

Needing extra space each year for calving season, Proffit Ranch sets up camp far from home in Wyoming's spectacular high country.

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

An old wagon wheel reflects the ranch's pioneer heritage.

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

Neighbor Sim Weston helps out at branding time.

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

Kim moves cows on the home ranch near Evanston, Wyoming.

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

Nonie Proffit and a team of Belgians hauls winter feed.

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

The ranch's livestock is well-traveled—and in this case very cute.

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

Shaggy-coated yearlings can't wait for spring.

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

Wyoming ranch sets up cow camp for calving season

Kim Proffit trims her horse's hooves.

    By Kim Proffit, Evanston, Wyoming

    Cow camp is what we call our unique version of calving season on our family ranch near Evanston in Wyoming’s southwest corner.
    We’re a small operation as ranches go, running only around 350 head of mother cows along the Bear River in a valley bordered on the west by a little bench sporting grass and sagebrush. A larger, steeper ridge of red and white clay borders the valley to the east. To the south, the Uinta Mountains provide a beautiful backdrop to everything we do here.

    We feel truly blessed to have this little place right on the river. Cattle do well in this high mountain valley with its fertile grass meadows and top-quality hay. We often refer to our home as the Garden of Eden. To us, it feels holy.

    While it’s a great place to raise cattle, it is not the best place for cows to calve. Winters are long and harsh, and spring often doesn’t offer much improvement. The Wyoming wind at our altitude has a bite that makes keeping baby calves alive a monumental challenge.

    To make matters even more difficult, our actual deeded acreage is so small that my mom calls it “ranching without a ranch.” So we look for land to lease around calving time that might be a little more temperate, dry and green.

    We’ve hauled our herd of gypsy cattle several hundred miles to Tremonton, Antelope Island, Grantsville, Garrison, Skull Valley, Montello, Ely, Manila, Granger and Bridger Valley. We surely have the best-traveled cows around, and they’ve become pretty savvy. They’re almost trained to get on and off trucks—almost.

    And of course, when the cows travel, we travel. My dad, Don Proffit, takes a camper, a few horses and the saddle he’s working on at the moment. Now that my mom, Claudia, has retired, she goes along, and they set up camp with the cows.

    Using whatever he can find around the place we’re leasing, Dad makes it work. He repairs old outhouses, fixes up abandoned corrals and sheds, and looks for the best place out of the wind to park the camper that will be our home for the next three to four months.

    This year we’re in Granger, about 80 miles northeast of the home ranch. We’ve had some laughs imagining “It’s Cow Camp 2013—Granger Edition!” on a poster or a T-shirt, like some big reality TV show. It is big, and there’s a lot of drama—but it’s real drama, not the fabricated TV kind. We’re dealing with the cycle of life under intimate and usually raw conditions. Working with animals is never easy, and the very nature of cow camp means fighting for the survival of every single calf against the wind, cold, mud, predators and disease.

    Then there are the crazy, nearly unbelievable tangles that cows can get into, like the time a calf fell down the steep clay bank into the freezing Hams Fork River. Mom spotted it just at dusk, and she and Dad slogged around in the water for an hour trying to lift the sodden calf out. When we were out by Rock Springs, several cows mired down in the mud and we had to pull them out with ropes. Last spring a cow got mastitis so bad that all of her hair fell off; we called her the elephant cow. Another time a calf got a bucket stuck on his head. And we had a cow that somehow got all four legs stuck in a cattle guard.

    There are so many moments when you have to dig deep, push through the fatigue and find a way to get the job done. But when you do, there’s a feeling of joy and accomplishment you can’t get anywhere else. I look back at the odd, unique, funny, incredible adventures we’ve had and think: Wow, who gets to experience these kinds of things? I do!

    It’s interesting to distill life down to a very focused and seemingly simple job with very little distraction. There’s no television—or even phone reception, sometimes—but that really doesn’t matter. The whole purpose of our being here is to help cows put healthy calves on the ground.

    To do that, we keep the 30 to 50 first-calf heifers as close as possible in smaller pastures so we can monitor them more closely. We gather them nightly and check them frequently day and night. The older cows live in bigger areas where they can spread out and calve where they feel most comfortable.

    The larger cow herd gets checked two or three times a day, if you count feeding as one of the checks. Because they’re spread out for several miles across rough terrain, we check them on horseback. Using horses to work cattle is a thrill that’s hard to explain to someone who’s never experienced it. But believe me, it can get hold of your soul.

    All the calves are tagged. Every cow has a number, and the calf’s number is paired with hers in our records. We try to tag them while they’re tiny, because they can run like rabbits after they’re just a few days old.

    Dad has all the numbers in a little red book that he keeps in his breast pocket. When we’re mothering up cows and calves for shipping, the book becomes invaluable. Even with all the technological advances we use, Dad’s little book and a pen are still the main record-keeping tools—although one grandson keeps trying to get him to switch to an iPad.

    Dad has been doing this for decades. Still going strong at 73, he has developed skills that make him a pretty good “midwife to cows,” as he calls it. Watching him work with calves that can’t figure out where to get their first meal, or warm up “Popsicles”—his name for chilled calves—is amazing and touching. He remains calm with cows having a hard time with too-big calves, and he’s patient with ornery cows that want to fight him. He often spends hours in the middle of the night helping a new pair get going.

    Despite our best efforts, though, calves die and mothers abandon or lose track of their babies. Some cows don’t produce enough milk to feed a calf, so the calf will be removed to save its life. Although bottle-feeding is sometimes an important temporary substitute, a cow does a much better job of raising a calf than we do, so getting a cow to take a calf that isn’t hers is pretty important. Dad has a whole bag of tricks to get a cow to adopt a calf. It’s heartwarming to watch it work, especially after so much effort has been put into the matchmaking.

    Even when births don’t require much effort on our part, they seem miraculous and beautiful. Obviously, we need calves to survive for the ranch to keep going, but there’s far more to cow camp than the bottom line. In fact, if you looked at the cost-to-benefit ratio, it would be barely worth it. For many large outfits, it isn’t, and they expect to take a sizable calf loss every year at this time.

    But Dad’s painstaking attention to his cows and the comforts he sacrifices at cow camp are about love of the life and love of the animals. They’re about being part of the miracle. We are stewards of these animals. We work hard for them, and they work hard for us. This is what we do, and it’s what we will always do as long as we can, out here in God’s Country.

    Photography: Jill Adams

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    Mike Olson February 3, 2014 at 4:00 am

    You are a very good writer. Capturing the essence and unique experiences of cattle ranching. And the photos are great too ! I have spent some time in this environment and very much admire those who willingly make such sacrifices for other creatures with any profit seen only as a side benefit.


    Karlyn Matthews Johnson February 3, 2014 at 5:28 pm

    Kim, this is vivid and magical. Thank you for sharing a poignant and authentic account of your heritage and family. I love the pictures…esp Aunt Claudia. She can sure “cowboy up pretty lady!” I can hear your dad saying that now.

    Karlyn Matthews Johnson
    (Elmo Matthews’ oldest daughter)


    Linda Discher February 3, 2014 at 8:18 pm

    It is wonderful to hear of these stories where folks feel the joy of being stewards of our earth and it’s animals. And what a beautiful, but I am sure difficult, way of living. The beauty of our land /surroundings /freedom makes me so glad to live in the USA.


    linda February 3, 2014 at 9:55 pm

    I enjoyed your story very much. My husband and I were in Evanston about 10 years ago. We fell in love with the town and the people who live there. We had to deliver an oil well tool and stayed four days. This was in Feb. 2004 and they were celebrating the Chinese New Year. Being from the south, I nearly froze to death. I have never seen so much snow. Both of us would like to visit again without the snow and cold temps. After reading your story, I now know why we didn’t see any livestock. I knew there had to be cows and horses somewhere. We saw a lot of antelope. Looked for a moose but couldn’t get to where they were because of the snow. Thanks again for the story.


    Lynn February 4, 2014 at 3:51 am

    Wow! You certainly write an interesting column. I loved every word of it.

    I am an animal lover also. Your Dad and Mom sound like true pioneers.

    Wish I could come out there and help. I am in sticky hot Florida.

    I hope you write more adventuresome stories. Lynn Andrews


    Lynn February 4, 2014 at 3:53 am

    My goodness….I didn’t even notice the photographs until I read the comment before mine. They are beautiful.

    Makes me want to be there all the more. Lynn Andrews


    PETER CONGLIS February 5, 2014 at 11:05 pm







    Shawna Voda February 24, 2014 at 4:57 pm

    Kim Proffit?!?! Someone at work asked me if I knew of the Proffit ranch and knew Kim. It’s been a long time. The pictures are amazing. Your description of the cow-camp and your dad was great. Way to go, Kim. It’s good to know you are doing what you love and enjoy. I just wanted to say HI!


    Irma Gregory March 1, 2014 at 6:17 pm

    I caught your story in Country this last month and thoroughly enjoyed it. I’ve always dreamed of living in such a situation – living and working on the land, with animals and lots of open air. Granted, it’s not anywheres near what T.V. depicts!! I’m 78 now and had a stroke 4 years ago and probably couldn’t even throw my leg over a saddle anymore, – but I can dream can’t I?!!Your life isthe ultimate!


    Trudy March 20, 2014 at 2:54 pm

    I loved your story of life on the ranch. Brought back memories of riding my horse out to round up our dairy cows (and not to make them run for obvious reasons) and dream of riding in a round up in Wyoming where there were few fences! It’s a lot of hard work and long days/nights. I have been in Wyo. several time and love the open ranges. Thanks for the memories…


    Marion McDowell Jackson March 21, 2014 at 3:38 pm

    Hey Kim!
    Loved the article very much. Reminded me of my cow tales at the Myers Ranch right next door to you (many moons ago). Beautiful heart-warming sentiment that was a pleasure to read. Thanks! And the pictures were gorgeous too :) Our daughter Catherine is studying at Rexburg (BYUI) and her final grade for AI is getting two heifers in calf. She’s loving it.
    She’s a country girl too xox


    Velma Crown March 21, 2014 at 11:02 pm

    Loved the pictures and story. Took me back home where I was raised on a ranch near Sheridan and Buffalo. We worked our cows the same way. It’s nice to know the good ol life is still practiced today. We’ve been by your place.


    Eye April 1, 2014 at 1:34 pm

    Wonderful description of your ranch life. I am a 57 year old woman living in a sickly body and I am home bound these past 7 years, but today through you I’ve ridden your horse, worked until I slept like the dead and knew the companionship of animals and ranch life. Thank You, Kim! Keep writing.


    Dorothy Cherney June 12, 2014 at 6:58 pm

    I was just looking back at some old e-mails . Reading your story brings back many memories. We owned a cattle ranch in the bookcliff mountains close to Utah- Colorado line. The top of the mountain was about 40 miles airline but by road 100 miles to Vernal, Utah. It is the only working cattle ranch left in the whole country. Your story could be my story. What joy to bring in a frozen calf you think is dead, warm it up and have it dancing on the kitchen floor . I left the ranch many years ago but miss it a lot. I am now 77. The only time I feel old is at the rodeo every year. I am still working selling real-estate. Dorothy


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