The new variety of ranchers shapes a lasting West
Zachary Jones are a seat-hardened fifth-age group rancher whether or not, on top, he might maybe not look like that. When he threads their pickup truck from the straight back pasture regarding an excellent quintessential Western expanse – one carpeted inside the flaxen-colored grass in the shade out-of Montana’s Crazy Hills – the guy bears absolutely nothing resemblance to the stereotype of your own Stetson-sporting cowboy. No pointed shoes otherwise spurs. No denim. No bandanna. Not a beneficial rifle climbed about vehicle’s back screen. Rather, Mr. Jones has on cargo shorts, a...
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