Stan Lynde

On my father’s ranch I learned that no task was beneath me, and that if a job needed doing, somebody needed to do it. I was born in the heart of the Great Depression. Dad considered himself fortunate to find work herding sheep at $30 a month on the open ranges of the Crow Indian Reservation in southeastern Montana. With my mother and me, Dad followed the sheep to new grass and a variety of temporary homes—sheep wagons, tents, dugouts, cabins and ranch houses. When I was about five, I found