Yesterday we ran our entire herd through the barn chute.
To an outsider, it might look like a routine chore: cows moving steadily through, new ear tags replacing old ones that had faded or gone missing. Clip, record, confirm, repeat. But on our farm, this is one of the most important weeks of the year.
Each cow was checked against her identification tags and registration papers. Every number had to match. Every record had to align. We took time to evaluate body condition, soundness, and overall health. We studied calves closely; how they’re growing, how they’re nursing, how they’re thriving.
Proper identification is the backbone of good record keeping. And good record keeping is the backbone of a strong herd.
But this work goes far deeper than compliance or paperwork. For us, it’s personal…
Growing up, John always knew about the herd book.
A large black book that lived in Grandpa John’s study; meticulously kept, handwritten, and quietly protected. Inside were decades of registrations, pedigrees, breeding notes, and history. It held the story of the herd, generation by generation.
But John never saw it.
Not as a child. Not as a teenager. Not even when he became a man.
That book was not something you flipped through casually. It was entrusted; not inherited automatically, not assumed, not rushed.
When John and I bought the farm in 2022, Grandpa John presented us with the herd book.
It is impossible to put into words the weight of that moment.
This was not just a transfer of paper. It was an act of utmost respect. A declaration of trust. A passing of responsibility that skipped a generation entirely.
The book waited.
And when it was finally placed in our hands, it said everything: You are ready. Guard this well.
That charge carried decades of intention behind it. Long before the book was ever placed in our hands, the foundation had already been laid; carefully, deliberately, and with an eye toward the future.
Grandpa John purchased the first registered Angus cows on this farm in 1964. From the very beginning, he believed in documented genetics, intentional breeding, and performance that could be proven; not just talked about.
In 1982, he purchased the top-selling Angus bull, Cornell Franco C321, at the New York Bull Test Sale in Ithaca, an event designed to identify elite, performance-tested genetics. That same year, the New York Angus Association received national recognition for a bull, marking a pivotal moment for Angus cattle in the state.
The timing is not coincidental.
Grandpa John was there, placing him squarely at the forefront of Angus genetics in New York. He was deeply involved in both the New York Angus Association and the New York Beef Producers Association, helping shape the direction of the industry at the state level.
That mattered.
That same commitment didn’t end with Grandpa John.
John has continued this legacy through his own service on the boards of both the New York Angus Association and the New York Beef Producers Association. Different generation. Different challenges. Same heart for the industry.
Leadership, like good record keeping, is often quiet. It happens behind the scenes. It requires showing up consistently, asking hard questions, and caring deeply about the long-term health of the breed and the people who raise it.
This farm’s influence has always reached beyond our fence lines.
Yet its most meaningful work has always happened closer to home, in moments of trust that never make headlines.
When Grandpa John handed me the herd book, he smiled and told me I was John’s “cowbell.”
It was a nickname filled with tenderness and history. A name once given to John’s grandmother, the woman who also managed the records, kept the details straight, and made sure nothing important was ever lost.
A cowbell isn’t flashy. It doesn’t lead the herd. But it keeps everyone together. It tells you where you are. It makes sure nothing goes missing.
I carry that name with deep humility.
Because record keeping is not just about numbers; it’s about memory. It’s about stewardship. It’s about honoring the past while protecting the future.
This herd is more than livestock. This farm is more than land. And this legacy reaches far beyond our barnyard.
We are forever grateful for Grandpa John; for his foresight, his discipline, and the trust he placed in us to oversee the next generation.